Chapter 2: The Golden Cage
345 Words
The sun didn't rise in the military sector; it simply fought its way through the gray smog and the tall, barbed-wire fences. Mirana woke up not to the sound of birds, but to the rhythmic chanting of soldiers training in the courtyard below.
She wasn't in a cell. William had kept his word, in his own twisted way. She was in a room that felt like a luxury bunker—expensive sheets, a mahogany desk, and a window that didn't open.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump. Before she could answer, William stepped in. He wasn't wearing his formal jacket today, just a black tactical shirt that showed the sheer power of his frame.
"You're late, Angelos," he said, his eyes scanning her messy blonde hair and the defiant tilt of her head.
"Late for what? My own execution?" Mirana snapped, grabbing her camera from the bedside table.
William walked toward her, his presence shrinking the room. He stopped so close she could smell the peppermint on his breath. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her.
"Late for your first assignment," he whispered. He handed her a small, encrypted tablet. "There’s a gala tonight. High-ranking officials, foreign diplomats... and a traitor. I want you there as my 'guest.' You’ll carry your camera, but you won’t be taking portraits. You’ll be looking for a specific mark on a briefcase."
Mirana looked at the tablet, then back at him. "And if I get caught?"
William leaned down, his face inches from hers, his gaze dropping to her lips for a split second before returning to her emerald eyes. "Then I’ll have to punish you personally. And trust me, Mirana... you won’t like my version of justice."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "There’s a dress on the desk. Wear it. I don’t want my 'guest' looking like a street photographer tonight."
- Writer
