CHAPTER 2
1340 Words
Grace Porter woke up the next morning with a diamond burning against her skin.
For a moment, disorientation held her. She was still in her small, drafty apartment on the Lower East Side—the one where the radiator hissed like a restless snake and the ceiling paint peeled in strips. She hadn’t yet boxed up her books or cleared the stack of unpaid bills leaning precariously on the counter.
But the ring on her finger made everything real.
She lifted her hand slowly, the morning light glinting off the stone like a blade. Her chest tightened. It wasn’t a dream. She had said yes.
A wave of nausea curled through her stomach. Not the sweet, dizzy nausea of love, but the sharp, clawing kind that came from regret.
She sat up abruptly, clutching her temples. “What did I do?”
Her phone buzzed again. Dozens of messages.
From Lila:
Girl, why aren’t you answering? Tell me you didn’t faint during the interview.
And then:
Why is Twitter saying Adrian Kane was spotted buying an engagement ring?? Is that real??
Grace’s throat closed. Already, whispers were spreading. She hadn’t even had a chance to tell Lila herself. Adrian hadn’t been bluffing—he hadn’t cared who knew.
Before she could respond, another message lit her screen. Unknown number.
The car will be outside your building at 10. Pack what you need.
Her pulse hammered. She didn’t need to ask who it was from.
By 9:45, Grace had stuffed two suitcases with the essentials—clothes, notebooks, the framed photo of her father she couldn’t leave behind. She glanced around the apartment one last time, her chest aching with a strange cocktail of relief and mourning.
This tiny, imperfect space had been hers. It had held her sleepless nights, her ramen dinners, her laughter with Lila, her loneliness, too.
Now she was leaving it all behind.
A black town car idled at the curb. The driver stepped out, stone-faced, and carried her bags without a word. Grace slid into the leather interior, the smell of polished wood and expensive cologne filling her senses.
As the car pulled into traffic, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching her neighbourhood blur away. She felt like a ghost, leaving her old life behind without even a funeral.
Adrian’s penthouse looked different in daylight. At night, it had been seductive, gleaming with promise and shadow. By day, it was stark. Steel and glass. No warmth. No clutter. Not a single photo or book to soften the edges.
It wasn’t a home. It was a fortress.
Adrian was waiting, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, as though he hadn’t slept. He smiled faintly when he saw her, though his eyes didn’t soften.
“Grace,” he said simply. “Welcome home.”
The words rattled her. Home. As if this glass palace could ever be hers.
“I brought only what I need,” she murmured.
“That’s all you’ll ever need now.” He gestured toward a waiting housekeeper, who whisked her suitcases away.
Grace swallowed hard. She felt stripped already.
He gave her a tour. Not of the whole building, but of the penthouse itself—two floors of open space, walls of glass, art worth more than her entire apartment building. The kitchen gleamed, untouched. The bedroom was vast, with sheets that looked like they’d never known sleep.
When they reached the closet, Grace stopped short.
It was already filled. Rows of designer dresses, shoes in neat lines, handbags that cost more than her salary. All in her size.
Her voice caught. “How did you—”
Adrian’s smile didn’t waver. “I make it my business to know everything about what’s mine.”
Her stomach dropped. Mine. The word echoed.
She forced herself to nod, though her hands curled into fists.
That night, Grace sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the city lights below. Adrian stood at the window, glass in hand, his silhouette sharp against the skyline.
“Have you told your mother?” he asked.
Grace flinched. “Not yet.”
“You should.” His tone was calm, but laced with steel. “She’ll hear it from the press if you don’t.”
Grace hesitated. Her mother had been fragile since her father’s death. News like this would either shock her into silence or trigger a spiral of questions Grace couldn’t answer.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she whispered.
Adrian turned, studying her. “Good.”
Silence stretched between them, taut as a wire. Grace forced herself to breathe.
“Why me?” she asked suddenly, her voice small.
Adrian’s expression shifted, though she couldn’t read it. “Because you’re different.”
Her chest tightened. “Different how?”
He set down his glass and moved closer, until his presence loomed. “Because you don’t know your power yet. But I do.” His gaze locked on hers, unblinking. “And I intend to keep it close.”
Her pulse stumbled.
This wasn’t love. It was possession. A cage dressed up as a gift.
She lay awake long after he left the room, staring at the ceiling, the diamond heavy on her finger. Every instinct screamed that she was making a deal with the devil.
But devils didn’t always come with horns. Sometimes they came with silk sheets, glass walls, and promises of safety.
Grace turned onto her side, tears stinging her eyes. She whispered into the silence, though no one could hear:
“What have I done?”
The days that followed blurred. Reporters swarmed. Headlines blared: Adrian Kane Engaged to Unknown Journalist. Grace’s face appeared everywhere—on gossip blogs, on Twitter feeds, even on the glossy covers of magazines she used to flip through at the corner store.
Everyone wanted to know who she was. Everyone had theories. Some called her lucky. Others called her a gold-digger.
Grace couldn’t bear to read the comments.
Lila called daily, her voice a mix of disbelief and warning. “G, I love you, but this isn’t you. You don’t even like guys in suits. And now you’re marrying Adrian Kane? Do you even realise what you’ve stepped into?”
Grace would force a laugh, say she was fine, and hang up quickly. She didn’t dare admit the truth: she was terrified.
Adrian controlled everything. Her schedule. Her appearances. Even what she wore. The dresses in the closet weren’t suggestions; they were expectations.
When she protested once, trying to wear her simple black dress to a dinner, Adrian’s smile had tightened. “Grace, the world is watching now. You represent me. Wear the gold gown.”
She wore the gold gown.
And every time, she felt herself disappear a little more.
One night, she crept into the study Adrian rarely used. Papers lay stacked neatly, untouched. But a drawer in the desk was unlocked.
Inside, she found folders. Contracts. Photos. Clippings.
And her name.
Her hands shook as she pulled the folder closer. Inside were printouts of her articles, old photos from college, and even her apartment lease. Notes in Adrian’s precise handwriting filled the margins: Resilient. Ambitious. Vulnerable points: finances, mother.
Her breath caught. He had studied her. Chosen her long before she realised she was on his radar.
Her stomach churned. She shoved the folder back and closed the drawer quickly.
When she turned, Adrian stood in the doorway.
Her heart froze.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was mild, but his eyes gleamed with warning.
Grace forced a shaky smile. “Just… looking for a book.”
His gaze lingered on her too long. Then he stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Next time, ask. Everything you need, I’ll give you. No need to search.”
Her knees threatened to buckle.
“Yes,” she whispered.
As he kissed her forehead and turned away, she realised the truth: she wasn’t in a home. She was in a cage.
And Adrian Kane held the key.
- Writer
