CHAPTER 3
1441 Words
Grace had been living in Adrian Kane’s penthouse for exactly two weeks when she realised she had stopped hearing her voice.
Not literally—she still spoke, still answered when spoken to, still managed a polite “yes” or “no” when Adrian’s colleagues or investors asked her questions at dinners. But her words weren’t hers anymore. They were carefully measured, rehearsed lines Adrian had either suggested or implied she should say.
She had become, in essence, an echo.
That morning, she woke before dawn, the city still cloaked in the soft grey of early light. She padded barefoot to the window wall, looking down at New York sprawled beneath her. It should have felt exhilarating—this view belonged to the powerful, the untouchable. Instead, it felt suffocating.
The glass reflected her faint outline, pale and drawn. She pressed a hand against the window, as if to remind herself she was real. Grace Porter. Journalist. Daughter. Not just fiancée.
Behind her, the faint sound of sheets shifting announced Adrian was awake.
“Come back to bed,” his voice murmured, smooth and commanding even half-asleep.
Grace’s spine stiffened. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Then let me give you a reason to.” His tone carried a promise she didn’t want, heavy and inevitable.
She turned slowly, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “I’ll make coffee.”
His eyes opened, sharp and unreadable in the dim light. He studied her for a long moment before chuckling. “Always running, Grace.” He stretched like a lion in his lair, unhurried, confident. “One day, you’ll realise you don’t need to.”
Her chest tightened. She slipped into the kitchen, fingers trembling as she measured out grounds.
The truth was, she was running—inside, at least. Her mind sprinted every moment, chasing escape routes she couldn’t yet take.
The first c***k appeared later that day.
Adrian had insisted she accompany him to a charity luncheon uptown. The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and designer gowns, filled with women who seemed carved from marble and men who exuded money like cologne. Grace wore another dress chosen from the penthouse closet—a sleek emerald sheath that hugged her body in ways she hated.
She smiled, shook hands, and laughed politely when required. Every gesture rehearsed.
But then she caught a glimpse of someone across the room—someone she knew.
Oliver Reed.
He’d been her editor at the Tribune, back before Adrian’s proposal had detonated her career. He was talking animatedly with a senator’s aide, his mop of greying curls as unruly as ever.
Grace froze. She hadn’t told Adrian much about Oliver, only that he’d been a tough boss. But Oliver knew her. Knew her. The sight of him felt like a lifeline.
She started toward him, pulse racing.
“Grace.”
Adrian’s hand clamped gently—but firmly—around her arm. His smile was fixed for the crowd, but his grip was steel.
“Where are you going?” he murmured.
She tried to keep her tone light. “That’s Oliver Reed. I used to work for him. I just wanted to say hi.”
Adrian’s eyes flicked toward Oliver, then back to her. The smile never faltered. But his grip tightened until her bones ached.
“No.”
The word was soft. Final.
Grace’s breath caught. “Adrian—”
“Not him. Not now.” His lips brushed her temple as though in affection, but his whisper cut. “Trust me.”
Her heart pounded. She forced herself to nod, to smile as though nothing was wrong. Adrian released her arm, and the moment passed in the eyes of the crowd.
But inside, something in her snapped.
He wasn’t just controlling her image. He was controlling her connections, her history, the people who had made her who she was.
That night, lying in the dark beside him, she replayed the moment over and over. The word no " is not echoing. The way Oliver had been just a few steps away, and yet unreachable.
A c***k had formed in the glass walls of her cage.
And she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend not to see it.
The next morning, she took a risk.
Adrian was in meetings all day. The housekeeper had left after tidying. For the first time since moving in, the penthouse was quiet—truly quiet.
Grace pulled on jeans and a hoodie, disguising the diamond ring with a band-aid wrapped clumsily around her finger. She slipped into the private elevator, heart hammering, and rode it down to the street.
The city air hit her like freedom. She inhaled deeply, almost dizzy.
Her feet carried her toward a café a few blocks away—the kind of place she used to frequent while writing stories. She slid into a corner booth, ordered a latte, and tried to steady her nerves.
She wasn’t running away. Not yet. But she needed to remind herself she could still exist outside his orbit.
Half an hour later, she heard a familiar voice.
“Grace?”
She looked up sharply. Oliver Reed stood by her table, blinking in shock.
Her throat tightened. “Oliver.”
He grinned, the same disarming grin she remembered. “Well, I’ll be damned. The rumours are true. Grace Porter, engaged to Adrian Kane? I almost didn’t believe it.”
Grace’s stomach churned. “It… happened fast.”
Oliver slid into the seat across from her, lowering his voice. “No kidding. You’ve been off the radar completely. I tried calling, but your number doesn’t work anymore.”
Her pulse spiked. Adrian must have changed it without asking.
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”
The question lodged in her throat. Was she okay? The answer was no. But saying it out loud felt dangerous.
She forced a brittle smile. “I’m fine.”
Oliver studied her, his expression softening. “You don’t look fine, kid.” He leaned closer. “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on, but if you ever need help—if you ever need out—you call me. You hear?”
Her eyes stung. She nodded quickly, afraid she’d break if she spoke.
A shadow fell across the table.
Grace’s stomach plummeted.
Adrian.
He stood there, calm, poised, as though he’d merely happened to stop by. But his eyes… his eyes were shards of ice.
“Grace,” he said smoothly, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “I was looking for you.”
Her voice trembled. “I just wanted coffee—”
“Of course.” Adrian’s smile was for Oliver, but it was deadly. “And Oliver Reed, isn’t it? I’ve read your work. Impressive, if a little… outdated.”
Oliver stiffened. “Mr. Kane.”
Adrian’s grip tightened on Grace. “Grace is very busy these days. Wedding planning, charity events. I’m sure she doesn’t have time to reminisce about old newsroom days.”
Oliver’s jaw clenched. “Funny. She seemed like she did.”
Grace’s breath caught.
Adrian chuckled softly, but there was no warmth. “Enjoy your coffee, Mr. Reed.” He guided Grace up, his hand firm at her waist, steering her out of the café.
Her legs shook as they walked.
In the car, silence pressed in until Grace couldn’t bear it.
“Adrian, I—”
“Don’t.” His voice was quiet, lethal. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Tears burned her eyes. “I just wanted to see a friend—”
“He’s not your friend anymore. He’s a liability. And you will stay away from him. Do you understand?”
Her hands trembled in her lap. “Yes.”
He didn’t look at her the rest of the ride.
But Grace knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that the glass cage she lived in was beginning to splinter.
And once the glass cracked, it never truly healed.
That night, Grace dreamed of glass shattering.
She dreamed of standing in the penthouse, walls exploding into shards around her, city wind whipping her hair. She dreamed of running barefoot through the streets, Oliver’s voice calling her name, Adrian’s shadow stretching behind her.
When she woke, the diamond on her finger gleamed in the dark like a shackle.
Her decision was clear.
She couldn’t let the cracks heal over. She had to widen them. She had to keep pressing, pushing, until the whole cage broke apart.
Because if she didn’t, Adrian Kane would consume her completely.
And Grace Porter—the woman she had been—would disappear forever.
- Writer
