Chapter 5 Chapter 5 – Gilded Cage

Mya

The first thing I notice is the silence.

Not the soft, comforting kind that fills a home in the morning when the kettle’s boiling and birds chatter outside the window. This silence is intimidating. It presses down like the house itself is listening and reporting back to its owner.

Dante’s house is enormous. The ceilings climb higher than any cathedral I’ve ever set foot in. Every surface is polished to a high shine. Marble floors, sweeping staircases, chandeliers that look like art pieces.

It looks far more like a palace than a home. Which is hardly surprising, considering the fact that Dante considers himself to be the king of the world.

I walk down the long corridor slowly. The hallways are lined with priceless paintings and heavy curtains. Every few feet, a discreet camera gleams from the corner, its black eye trained on me. I suppress the urge to give each one I see the finger.

My suite is at the end of a long corridor. Double doors open to reveal a space larger than most of my friends’ apartments. It even has its’ own lounge for goodness sake.

The center of the room is occupied by a carved, wooden canopy bed dressed in white linens. A vanity of the same wood, obviously an antique, stands next to it, resting on incredibly dainty legs.

The sitting area is set apart, decorated with velvet chairs, a huge vase with fresh flowers, more original art, and windows that look out over manicured gardens and a fountain that throws diamonds into the air.

It’s obscene how perfect it is. As if every single detail has been curated by a control freak who demands perfection. Oh wait...

As beautiful as it is, this isn’t a bedroom. It’s a cell. The luxury is camouflage, but the bars are still there.

I see them in the way the door’s lock is placed on the outside and the men standing right under my window. I feel them in the cameras that are probably hidden behind the gilt frames and the satisfied expression in Dante’s eyes when he looks at me.

I drag the suitcase onto the bed and unzip it. The sight of my own clothes inside makes my throat tighten. They look wrong here, shabby and small against all this luxury. I take them out anyway and shove them into drawers I’ll never think of as mine.

The bathroom gleams like a magazine spread. Marble sinks, a clawfoot tub, shelves of towels folded into perfect squares. It should be a dream. Instead, it’s another kind of trap. I don’t undress. I can’t bring myself to. I stand in the doorway and imagine him walking in, even though he said he wouldn’t touch me until the wedding.

His words echo in my head. I don’t know if I believe him. Men like Dante don’t build empires on kept promises. They build them on fear and by keeping their adversaries unbalanced. Maybe he’s just trying to lull me into a false sense of security.

I return to the bed and sit, staring at the ceiling. My mind won’t stop racing. I picture myself standing beside him in white, cameras flashing, a ring glittering on my hand while my father watches with relief and shame.

I picture the wedding night. His hands, his body, the inevitability of it. He’ll take what’s his. He stated that very clearly.

The thought of it makes my skin crawl. Not just the sex, but the idea of being turned into something less than human. A possession. A woman whose only value is whether she produces an heir.

My stomach knots. The thought of pregnancy is a black hole that swallows everything else. I don’t even know if I want children, not now, maybe not ever.

If I did decide to procreate, I’d like to bring my child into a loving family. Not... this.

What do I tell them when they ask how mommy and daddy met? Oh little sprog, it’s a beautiful story. Daddy was on the verge of killing grandpa and then he blackmailed mommy into marrying him and turned me into his sex slave.

Dante doesn’t seem to have any qualms though. He wants a child like it’s a business deadline. One year. No excuses. Good genes. I didn’t know it was possible for anyone to be as much of an asshole as he is. What if the child inherits that?

I swallow hard and move to the bathroom, pulling the small packet of tampons from the cabinet. Double checking that my pills are still in there. It’s a pathetic shield, but it’s all I’ve got right now. My tiny rebellion against a man who thinks my body is just another asset on his balance sheet.

I try to imagine my future here. Will he make me sit at his table every night, smiling like a doll while his men drink to his health? Will he keep me hidden, a secret he only lets out when it suits him? Will I live like a queen, draped in diamonds, or like a prisoner, pacing the same gilded cage day after day?

Neither one is appealing.

I think about Dad. About his tears, his apologies, his confession in the car. I only took enough to cover your tuition. Fourteen years of blood money, and he finally slipped because he wanted me to have a shot at a better life. And now that life is gone, devoured by Dante Cardello’s inexplicable obsession.

Guilt twists through me, sharp and poisonous. I hate Dad for stealing, but I hate myself more for being the reason he thought he had to.

I close my eyes, but sleep won’t come. I can’t let myself break here, not yet. If Dante sees me cry, it’ll be like handing him complete victory. So I swallow the tears, bury them deep, and promise myself one thing. If he wants me broken, he’s going to have to work for it.