Welcome to the cage
804 Words
The penthouse was ridiculous.
And by ridiculous, I mean the kind of place that made your jaw drop, your shoes feel cheap, and your sense of belonging completely vanish.
Marble floors. Walls made of glass. A chandelier that looked like it belonged in a museum. And a grand piano that probably hadn’t been played in years—but looked damn good in photos.
“This isn’t an apartment,” I muttered. “It’s a Bond villain’s dream home.”
Elias glanced over his shoulder from where he was pouring himself a drink. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He didn’t offer me one. A drink, I mean.
Not that I was expecting him to.
“I’ve arranged for a wardrobe consultant to come tomorrow. You’ll need a new closet.”
I turned to him. “Is this your way of saying I’m not allowed to wear Target anymore?”
He didn’t blink. “You’re Mrs. Thorne now. That comes with an image.”
I folded my arms. “And what image is that?”
“The kind that doesn’t wear clearance tags.”
Ouch.
I didn’t answer. Just wandered through the space, letting my fingers skim across smooth marble countertops and brushed gold fixtures. Everything was spotless. Cold. Soulless.
Exactly like him.
“Where’s my room?” I asked.
He nodded toward a hallway. “Second door on the right.”
I started walking, heels clicking against the floor.
“And Aria?” he called after me.
I turned.
“The guest room,” he clarified. “Not the master.”
I smiled sweetly. “Trust me, Elias. I wouldn’t crawl into your bed if you begged me.”
His eyes darkened slightly. Just for a second.
But it was enough.
---
The guest room was beautiful. King-sized bed. Cream linens. View of the city. More closet space than I’d ever had in my life.
And a note on the nightstand.
*Dinner. 8PM. Wear black.*
No name. Just that.
I rolled my eyes.
Controlling, cold, and now styling me?
He really was a full package.
---
Dinner was at a private restaurant that didn’t even have a name on the building. The kind of place where tables were miles apart and the waiters looked like models.
Elias was already seated when I arrived.
And he looked… dangerous.
Dark suit. Open collar. No tie. Rolex glinting under the candlelight. He didn’t smile when he saw me, but his eyes did something. Tracked me. Lingered just a second too long at the hem of my dress.
“This is a business dinner,” he said when I sat. “But they’ll be watching.”
“They?”
“Investors. The press. Rivals. They all want to see if the new Mrs. Thorne fits the role.”
“Good thing I wore heels,” I said flatly.
He picked up his glass. “And didn’t speak first. Smart.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“In this world, silence is power. The less they know about you, the more dangerous you appear.”
I leaned in slightly. “So that’s your secret? Acting like you have no soul?”
He smiled.
And damn it, it was unfair.
Because it was *hot.*
---
We went through three courses. Small talk. Forced smiles. His hand on mine once when a camera flashed.
It was all fake.
But my skin tingled where he touched me.
I hated that.
I hated the way his voice dipped when he said my name. The way people watched us like we were royalty. The way his fingers brushed the back of my chair when I stood.
All of it.
Because this wasn’t love.
It wasn’t even a real relationship.
It was a game.
And Elias Thorne? He was playing to win.
---
Back at the penthouse, I kicked off my heels the second I walked in.
“What now?” I asked. “You give me a bedtime checklist?”
Elias unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it onto the couch. “You’re free to do whatever you want. As long as you follow the terms.”
“Which are?”
“No guests. No scandals. No stories leaked to the media. Smile when we’re in public. And above all—”
He walked closer, stopping just in front of me.
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
My breath caught.
“Why would I?”
He smirked. “They always do.”
I stared up at him. “You’re that arrogant?”
“No.” His voice lowered. “I’m just not safe.”
There was a moment.
A sharp one.
The kind that crackled like static between bodies.
Then I stepped back.
“Goodnight, Mr. Thorne.”
And walked away before I forgot that none of this was real.
- Writer
