Chapter 4: The Golden Cage

Later in the night, the silence of the mansion feels like a weight on my chest. I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see the glint of that camera lens. I slip out of the room and make my way back to Leo. He is lying in the guest bed, looking pale, the IV drip still clicking beside him.

“How did you survive?” I whisper, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“I managed to escape the back way,” Leo rasps, his voice thin. “Ria, there’s something you need to know about the night of the attack. I saw—”

I quickly reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it firmly. I pretend to be checking the bandage on his shoulder, but I catch his eyes and give him a sharp, pointed look toward the corner of the ceiling. He freezes, his eyes tracking my signal to where the camera is hidden. He nods almost imperceptibly. He understands. We can’t talk here.

“Just rest, Leo,” I say loudly enough for the mic to catch. “We’ll talk when you’re stronger.”

I walk out, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I step back into the master suite, I gasp. Simo is standing in front of the floor to length mirror, his shirt off, his muscular back covered in tattoos that seem to writhe in the dim light. I startle, my breath catching in my throat.

“Where have you been?” he asks. He doesn’t turn around, but his reflection watches me with an intensity that makes my skin burn.

“I wanted to check up on Leo,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I walk toward the bed.

Simo turns slowly, his eyes hooded. A dark, jealous smirk plays on his lips. “You’re very concerned about him. Are the two of you close, Ria? Should I be worried about what my guest is doing with my woman?”

“Stop it,” I shun him, feeling the heat of his insecurity radiating off him. I know exactly what he’s doing. “You know I don’t belong to anyone.”

He doesn’t like that. He walks toward me, his movements slow and predatory. I step back, but I run out of room quickly. He pins me against the wall, his hands flat on the surface on either side of my head. The scent of him, dark, expensive, and masculine fills my senses.

“You are my property while you are under this roof,” he growls, leaning down until his lips are brushing against my ear. “And I don’t like to be shared. I don’t like other men touching what is mine.”

“Let me out,” I say, trying to push past him, but he grabs my waist and slams me back against the wall. The force of it isn’t painful, but it’s firm, a reminder of the power he has over me.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask, my voice breathless with shock.

“Nothing,” he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I have just never dealt with someone as provocative as you. You push and you push, Ria. One of these days, I’m going to stop holding back.”

He stares at me for a long beat, his thumb tracing the line of my hip through the thin silk of his shirt. Finally, he lets go. I don’t wait for him to change his mind. I walk over to the bed and lie down, immediately turning my back to him and pulling the covers up.

The room is silent, but I don’t feel alone. I can feel his eyes on me, a heavy, physical presence in the dark. He’s standing there, watching my every breath, and I know that sleep is a long way off.

The next morning, Simo is already dressed in a sharp, tailored suit when he wakes me. He tells me to get ready because he is taking me shopping. I feel that familiar prickle of pride and remind him that I can handle my own affairs.

“I know you’re broke, Ria,” he says, his voice flat as he checks his watch. “You can’t even access your family money because the accounts are frozen. Unless you plan on wearing my shirts for the rest of your life, you’re coming with me.”

I bite my tongue, knowing he’s right. I eventually agree and get dressed in the only thing I have left. As we walk into the living room, a woman steps in from the opposite hallway. She is tall, sharp, and carries herself with a lethal grace. Katya.

“Simo,” she says, her eyes flicking to me for a fraction of a second before returning to him. “The warehouse is secured. Everything is ready for the next shipment.”

“Good,” Simo says, not stopping his stride. “Keep me updated on the perimeter.”

Katya shifts her gaze back to me, her eyes narrowing with blatant suspicion. “And who is she?”

“It’s not important,” Simo answers dismissively.

Katya doesn’t look satisfied. She gives me a look that radiates a cold, bad vibe, one that tells me she sees me as either a nuisance or a threat. I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Simo places a firm hand on the small of my back, guiding me past her, and we walk out toward the waiting cars.

The workers at the boutique move around me with practiced speed, pulling designer fabrics from the racks and ushering me into the dressing room. Every time I step out, Simo is there, lounging on the velvet couch with a glass of sparkling water. He doesn’t say much; he just watches. I try on a deep emerald dress, then a sleek black one. If he nods, it’s added to the pile. If he shakes his head, it’s discarded without a second thought. He is the one to pick, and so be it.

His bodyguard gathers the mountain of shopping bags as we finally head toward the exit. As we step out onto the sidewalk, Simo slides his hand onto my waist, his grip firm and possessive. He holds me like I am his most expensive acquisition.

“You don’t have to do that,” I murmur, trying to subtly pull away from his touch.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls me closer until my hip is flush against his. “You should start accepting the fact that you belong to him, Ria. I am all you have left.”

The drive back is silent, the tension in the car thick enough to choke on. But the moment we walk into the mansion, the atmosphere shifts from tense to lethal. An elderly man is sitting in the living room, his cane resting against his knee. Katya is standing right beside him, her arms crossed, looking smug.

“Dad,” Simo says, his voice losing some of its usual edge.

This is Silas Vane. I’ve heard the name in hushed, fearful tones my entire life, but I’ve never seen the man behind the legend. Silas looks at me with eyes that are even colder than his son’s. He looks pissed.

“Who is she, Simo?” Silas asks, his voice like gravel.

Simo starts to explain, stepping forward to bridge the gap. “She is Ria Ambrose. I’ve taken her in—”

“I don’t care what you’ve taken in,” Silas barks, shutting him out instantly. He stands up, leaning heavily on his cane as he points it toward me. He shuns Simo’s attempt to speak, his face twisted in a sneer. “Hand her over to her father’s enemies immediately. We don’t harbor the blood of an Ambrose. Get her out of this house.”