Episode 2
1879 Words
Part.1
The Gilded Cage of a Contract Wife
King Estate rose above the hill like a fortress.
Far from the city.
Far from the world she knew.
The iron gates opened slowly, silently, as the black car passed through. Amika sat upright in the back seat, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her fingers clutched a small handbag—tight, almost desperate.
It was the only thing that still felt like it belonged to her.
The white mansion glowed beneath the night lights.
Grand. Imposing.
And painfully cold.
The car stopped.
The driver stepped out and opened the door.
Amika hesitated before getting out, the sound of her heels echoing softly against the vast stone entrance. She felt small here. Insignificant.
The front doors opened instantly, as if someone had been waiting.
“Welcome, madam.”
A middle-aged woman in an elegant uniform bowed politely. Behind her stood several staff members, lined up with perfect discipline.
Madam.
The word made Amika’s chest tighten.
“I’m Mrs. Harriet,” the woman said gently. “I oversee this estate. From now on, I will attend to you—under Mr. King’s instructions.”
Under his instructions.
Not hers.
Amika nodded, unsure what else to do.
“Mr. King is waiting in the living room.”
She followed them down a long corridor lined with plush carpets and priceless paintings. There were landscapes. Abstract art. Nothing personal.
No family portraits.
No warmth.
When she stepped into the living room, she saw him.
Nicholas sat on a dark leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other, a tablet resting casually in his hand. The soft lamplight sharpened the angles of his face, making him look distant. Untouchable.
“You’re here,” he said, lifting his gaze.
His eyes moved over her slowly. Deliberately.
“Sit.”
She obeyed.
Her heart betrayed her again, beating too fast, too loud.
“First,” Nicholas said, setting the tablet aside, “you need to understand the rules of this house.”
He nodded to Mrs. Harriet.
Another folder was handed to her.
Rules.
Again.
— You may not leave King Estate without permission.
— No contact with the media or unauthorized individuals.
— All daily activities must be reported in advance.
— Your appearance must reflect my wife’s status.
Amika pressed her lips together.
“I’m not a prisoner,” she said quietly.
Her voice was calm. Controlled.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow.
Then he stood.
He stopped directly in front of her—so close that she could smell his cologne. Clean. Cool. Dangerous.
“No,” he said, leaning down slightly.
His voice dropped. Intimate. Unforgiving.
“You’re my wife.”
A chill ran through her.
“And a wife’s duty,” he continued, “is to satisfy her husband.”
His hand lifted, tilting her chin upward. The touch wasn’t rough—but it was absolute.
Amika froze.
Her heart thundered against her ribs as his gaze locked onto hers. Too close. Too intense.
“I haven’t touched you yet,” he said evenly.
“Because I haven’t decided to.”
Then he let go.
Stepped back.
As if nothing had happened.
“Your room is on the third floor,” he said, picking up his coat. “Rest. Tomorrow, you’ll meet my family.”
Her head snapped up.
“Your family?”
Nicholas paused mid-step. Turned back. A faint smile touched his lips—empty of warmth.
“Yes.”
Then his eyes hardened.
“As Nicholas King’s wife, you should know this—”
His gaze sharpened like a blade.
“My world isn’t cruel because of me alone.”
Amika stood there, unmoving.
The gilded cage wasn’t guarded by one man.
And she had just stepped inside—
with no way out.
Part 2
The King’s Wife
Morning light slipped through sheer curtains.
Amika woke on a bed far larger than necessary, surrounded by silence so perfect it felt staged. The bedroom on the third floor was immaculate—luxurious, spotless, and utterly impersonal. No scent. No warmth. No trace of a life lived here.
Everything was arranged with precision.
As if she herself had simply been placed into the room.
A knock sounded right on cue.
“Madam, it’s time.”
Mrs. Harriet stood outside, holding a pale dress and a velvet jewelry box. Her smile was polite. Practiced.
“Mr. King has scheduled a family meeting at the main house,” she said softly. “He asked that you be… ready.”
Ready.
It didn’t mean clothing alone.
Amika stared at her reflection. The woman in the mirror wore an elegant dress, hair pulled back neatly, posture flawless. She barely recognized herself.
She swallowed—and stepped out.
The breakfast room was expansive. A long table draped in white linen. Plates arranged with care that bordered on obsession.
Nicholas sat at the head, dressed in a dark gray suit, eyes fixed on the tablet in his hands. He didn’t look up when she took her seat where Mrs. Harriet indicated.
“You look… acceptable,” he said at last.
Not praise.
An assessment.
“Remember this,” he continued, setting the tablet down and finally meeting her gaze. “Today, you are not Amika.”
He spoke slowly. Deliberately.
“You are my wife.”
The same black car carried them to the King family’s main residence.
A classic estate nestled within manicured gardens. Elegant. Intimidating. Alive with people who turned to stare the moment she stepped out.
Nicholas placed a hand on the small of her back.
The touch was light—yet unmistakable.
Not protection.
Possession.
“Nich!”
A woman’s voice cut through the air.
A well-dressed woman in her fifties approached, eyes sharp as they swept over Amika from head to toe.
“And this is…?”
“My wife,” Nicholas replied without hesitation. “Amika.”
The air shifted.
The woman smiled—but it never reached her eyes.
“That was fast,” she said coolly. “I didn’t think you’d marry so easily.”
Amika inclined her head, polite, composed—aware of every gaze dissecting her in silence.
Throughout the meal, questions came wrapped in courtesy.
Where did she study?
What did her family do?
How long had she known Nicholas?
Each one felt like a test.
Each answer, a step across thin ice.
Then—
“And how much do you know about Nick’s past?”
The table went quiet.
Amika’s hand trembled around her spoon. She glanced at Nicholas.
He lifted his glass. Took a sip.
Did nothing.
“What kind of past?” she asked gently.
The woman smiled again. This time, there was interest.
“The kind that taught him never to trust anyone.”
The words lingered—heavy, deliberate.
A warning.
When the gathering finally ended, Nicholas grasped Amika’s arm and guided her toward the car. The grip was firm enough to make her stumble.
“You did well,” he said once they were inside.
His tone was calm. His eyes, cold.
“But don’t mistake being my wife for safety.”
He leaned closer—close enough for her to feel his breath.
“This world doesn’t spare anyone.”
Amika met his gaze, heart pounding.
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
A faint smile touched his lips.
One that chilled her.
“Learn how to stand beside me,” he said quietly.
“Without asking who I’m hurting.”
The car pulled away, leaving the estate behind.
And with it, any illusion she had left.
Amika finally understood—
Being Nicholas King’s wife wasn’t just living in a gilded cage.
It was standing in the middle of a battlefield.
Unarmored.
And already chosen.
Part 3
His Woman
The news broke the next morning.
Too fast for Amika to prepare herself.
Rising CEO Nicholas King Reveals His Mysterious Wife—
A Woman Never Before Seen in High Society
The photo beneath the headline made her chest tighten.
She stood beside him at the King family estate. His hand rested on her back. Clear. Possessive. Unmistakable.
There was no room for misunderstanding.
Amika sat motionless on the sofa, her phone heavy in her hand—like a stone dragging her under.
“Mr. King has declined all interviews,” Mrs. Harriet said calmly.
“Everything will be handled by the legal team.”
Handled.
As if she were a complication in a system.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind her.
She didn’t need to turn around.
“You look unsettled.”
Nicholas stood there in a dark suit, composed, unbothered—like the headlines meant nothing.
“Can you tell me,” Amika said, rising slowly, forcing control into her voice,
“why you had to reveal us so quickly?”
He looked at her.
Longer than necessary.
“Because I wanted to.”
The answer was short. Final.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that Amika instinctively moved back until the sofa pressed against her legs.
“Remember this,” he said quietly.
“The world doesn’t care why we married.”
His hand came down on the back of the sofa, right beside her head—boxing her in. He still didn’t touch her.
The pressure was worse that way.
“What they see,” he continued, leaning closer, his breath warm against her cheek,
“is that you belong to me.”
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
Anger. Confusion.
And something dangerous—something she didn’t want to feel.
His phone rang.
Nicholas froze.
He glanced at the screen.
A name flashed.
Selena.
Something in his eyes shifted—just slightly.
He answered.
“What is it?”
Amika couldn’t hear the other side, but she saw it clearly—his jaw tightening.
“Don’t complicate things,” he said low.
“Not now.”
The call ended.
Silence flooded the room again. Thick. Suffocating.
“Your ex?” Amika asked carefully.
Nicholas studied her—quiet, deep, calculating how much truth she deserved.
“A woman who once stood where you stand,” he said at last.
The words sent a chill through her blood.
“But she never had a contract like yours.”
He reached out, lifting her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him.
“And I don’t like misunderstandings,” he said slowly, precisely.
“Especially about my women.”
His fingers brushed along her cheek.
Light. Deliberate.
The first touch that wasn’t a command.
Amika held her breath, her heart shaking out of control.
Then—
The doorbell rang.
Mrs. Harriet hurried in, her expression carefully neutral but tense.
“Mr. King,” she said quietly,
“Ms. Selena is here… and she says—”
Nicholas turned sharply, his eyes hardening.
“Tell her to wait.”
He looked back at Amika.
His gaze steady. Heavy.
“Don’t forget your role,” he said softly.
“Tonight, you stand beside me.”
Amika met his eyes, her pulse racing.
She didn’t know what was coming.
But she knew one thing now—
The woman named Selena hadn’t come to reclaim the past.
She had come to reclaim power.
The very power Amika was holding in her trembling hands.
- Writer
