Chapter 2: The Gilded Cage

The car ride was silent. Deadly silent.

I sat pressed against the cold leather door of the limousine, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. But the car wasn't big enough.

Damien sat relaxed, scrolling through his phone. He looked like he was just coming home from a normal day at work. Not like he had just blackmailed a woman into marriage.

"Stop shaking," he said, not looking up.

"I can't," I whispered.

He reached out and placed his large, warm hand on my thigh. His grip was firm. Possessive. "You’ll get used to it."

The car slowed down. I looked out the tinted window and gasped.

We were driving through massive iron gates. Ahead of us, on top of a lonely hill, stood Blackwood Manor. It didn't look like a home. It looked like a fortress. Dark stone, tall towers, and surrounded by thick, dark woods.

"It’s… isolated," I said, my voice trembling.

"Private," Damien corrected. "I don't like visitors."

The car stopped. The driver opened the door, but Damien got out first. He extended a hand to me.

I hesitated.

"Take it, Elara," he warned. His tone was sharp.

I took his hand. He pulled me out, pulling me close to his hard chest for a second before leading me up the massive stone steps.

The front doors groaned as they opened. Inside, the house was beautiful, but cold. Black marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and shadows everywhere.

"Where are the servants?" I asked. The house felt empty.

" dismissed them for the night," Damien said, locking the heavy front door behind us. Click.

The sound of the lock echoed in the empty hall. It sounded final.

"I want privacy with my new wife," he added, turning to face me.

I took a step back. "Where… where will I stay? Which room is mine?"

Damien chuckled. It was a dark, low sound. He stepped closer, backing me up until my back hit the cold wall.

"You really don't understand, do you?"

He placed his hands on the wall on either side of my head, trapping me.

"There is no your room, Elara. There is only our room."

My eyes widened. "But—"

"You belong to me now," he interrupted, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "You eat with me. You go where I go. And you sleep in my bed."

Panic rose in my chest. "I can't… I barely know you!"

"You have a lifetime to learn," he whispered.

He grabbed my wrist—not painful, but firm enough that I couldn't pull away—and started dragging me toward the grand staircase.

"Come. Let me show you your new cage."

I looked at the locked front door, then at the man dragging me up the stairs.

The contract wasn't just paper . It was a life sentence.

S E E. U . S O O N. N E X T . C H A P T E R 3

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