The Gilded Cage
Lina
For someone who’s been raised by absent parents and never really had much growing up, this mansion makes me feel very out of place.
The room I’ve been staying in for the past few days feels like something out of a fairy tale, but with the added twist of bloodthirsty murderers lurking outside.
It’s too grand, too pristine, with its high ceilings and ornate furniture, all gilded edges and plush upholstery. The bed alone is larger than my entire living room back home, its frame carved with intricate designs I wouldn’t have believed people still made by hand.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my legs dangling over the side as my gaze drifts around the space. Everything about this room is the opposite of what I’m used to.
Back in my tiny bachelor pad, the walls were scuffed and the furniture mismatched. My kitchen was little more than a corner with a sink and a stove, and the bathroom doubled as storage for my art supplies.
But this?
This is a fucking castle, a glorified cage where every detail whispers of wealth and power. Even the curtains—heavy velvet that pools onto the floor—feel excessive, like they belong in a museum.
The air smells faintly of lavender and something else I can’t place, something sharp and unfamiliar. It’s almost like they’re trying to cover up something.
I get up and walk to the window, pulling back the drapes to look outside. The view is breathtaking—a garden stretching as far as I can see, bordered by high walls and dense trees.
Of course, you can’t miss the numerous men patrolling the borders with the symbol of the Dragona gang worn proudly on their jackets.
Beyond that, the faint outline of the city shimmers in the distance. It seems so close yet so far, reminding me of a very different life I had just a few days ago.
Back then, I thought things were difficult, that I had struggles that I can’t overcome. But now, I’d do anything to have the privilege of feeling like that again.
As my eyes roam around the room, something catches my eye on the coffee table. Something new.
I find a collection of neatly folded dresses, shoes, and other necessities arranged on a chair and table.
Someone was in the room when I was asleep.
The idea of that makes me feel uneasy, that someone—anyone—can just walk in while I’m here and do what they want.
But then, an odd sense of relief washes over me as I realize someone did walk in while I was here, and I’m okay. I’m safe, and unharmed.
I exhale a deep breath and walk up to the table. But, my breath catches when I see a note on top of all the clothes, written in bold, slanted handwriting.
Let me know if you need anything more.
– Hunter.
I set the note aside and start picking up each piece of clothing one by one. The dresses are beautiful, far too elegant for someone like me. The fabrics are rich and soft beneath my fingers, a mixture of silk, chiffon, and velvet.
There’s makeup, too, perfectly arranged in a sleek case, along with a few bottles of perfume that smell like they cost more than my rent.
It’s thoughtful, I suppose, but it doesn’t sit right with me. It seems more like a try-hard apology for kidnapping me and shooting a bullet at my arm.
Then again, I don’t think any gangster apologizes for doing what these three did. I mean, that day in the cafe was probably a normal Tuesday for them.
But this isn’t normal. None of this is normal.
Nonetheless, curiosity gets the better of me and I rummage through the products, each one from a luxury brand I never dreamed of owning things from.
Where the hell do they get all the money for this shit?
But that’s a question I’d rather not have the answer to.
The image of Callum with blood smeared all over his fists. They’re gangsters, they probably have a hundred different illegal means to make money.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. There’s no denying the gesture is kind, but it feels wrong, like accepting it means giving up the part of me that is trying very hard to fight against these men and whatever they’re trying to do to me.
I glance at the door, then at the window. The garden beyond looks so peaceful, almost inviting.
But it’s not peaceful. It’s an open trap.
My survival instincts suddenly kick in, pushing past the pain in my arm. I’ve been here for days now, long enough to understand that this place—this mansion, this life—isn’t for me.
I need to get out of here.
Ignoring the throbbing in my arm, I grab a pair of joggers from the collection Hunter left and slip them on. I also put on some casual jeans and a T-shirt paired with a jacket.
I tie up my hair and splash some cold water on my face to wake myself up. I also swallow a couple of painkillers to keep the pain in my arm at bay. I can’t let the weakness take over, otherwise I have no chance of getting out.
My heart pounds as I glance around the room one last time, my gaze lingering on the bed, the dresses, the note.
No, I can’t stay! No matter how nicely they may be treating me, I can’t let it distract me from the fact that they’re literal murderers.
The hallway outside is quiet, the soft glow of wall sconces casting long shadows along the floor. My steps are tentative, my breaths shallow as I make my way toward the staircase.
There is bound to be security around. I’ve secretly been mapping this mansion for days for potential routes out. I’m on the lookout for James, Hunter and Callum mainly, but their lackeys aren’t any better. If they find me, they’ll drag me straight back to them in a heartbeat.
The mansion feels too big, too empty, and every creak of the floorboards beneath me sounds deafening. I pass closed doors, each one a mystery I have no desire to solve, and force myself to focus on the exit which is on both ends of the house.
What is important is which of these exits is least secured.
When I reach the top of the stairs, my heart sinks. Two guards stand near the front door, their expressions impassive but alert.
Damn it.
I retreat quietly, my mind racing. There has to be another way out. A back door, maybe, or a window low enough to climb through.
The pain in my arm is a constant reminder of my limitations despite the painkiller I took, but I push it aside. I can’t let it stop me.
I make my way through the hallways, searching for another exit. My pulse is erratic, my movements clumsy as I navigate the maze-like corridors.
At one point, I think I hear footsteps behind me, and I press myself against the wall, holding my breath until the sound fades.
Finally, I find what I’m looking for—a door at the back of the mansion, partially obscured by a heavy curtain. It’s smaller than the main entrance and less grand, and my heart leaps at the sight of it.
I reach for the handle, but before I can twist it, a voice stops me cold.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I whirl around, my injured arm cradled against my chest.
It’s Hunter. Of course, it’s Hunter.
Tall, handsome Hunter. The dim lighting casts shadows on his face, highlighting his sharp jawline, his broad shoulders creating an air of dominance about him that is intimidating and sexy, all at the same time.
He’s wearing a fitted, black shirt and all I can see is the silhouette of his muscles peeking through.
If he wasn’t my literal kidnapper, God I’d jump on this man willingly.
He stands a few feet away, his steel-blue eyes locked on mine. There’s no anger in his expression, just something sharper, something unreadable.
“I…” My voice falters, and I hate how small it sounds. “I needed some air.”
Hunter steps closer, his gaze unwavering. “You were trying to leave.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know what to say. In fact, I can barely hear my thoughts over the sound of my pounding heart in my ears.
“You can’t,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Let me go. I need to go back, please,” I cry out, my voice trembling.
“You can’t,” he replies, his expression softening just slightly. “We hurt you. I hurt you. And until you’re healed you have to stay under our protection. Besides, the streets clearly aren’t safe for you, so it’ll only do you good to stay here… Trust me.”
Trust? He wants me to trust the person who kidnapped me?
I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head, silencing me.
“Your arm is still hurt, you’re clearly in pain and you need to be taken care of,” he says, his voice low. “Besides, are you forgetting I saved your life? Did you a favor? This is all to help and protect you, Lina.”
My name falls off his lips, and the sound is sweet, too sweet.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. “But, I can’t stay here forever.”
“You won’t,” he says, his tone gentler now. “But right now, staying here is the only way I can protect you, okay?”
“Why do you care about protecting me?” I retort, the words spoken with more vigor than I intended.
“Because I care. That’s all you need to know.”
His eyes meet mine, and his gaze weighs down on me like a ton of bricks. There’s a kind of softness in the way he looks at me, but also this primal need—a need for… me? For me to stay here where he can have access to me?
His words hang between us, heavy and suffocating. I don’t want to believe him, but deep down, I know he means what he’s saying.
“Come on,” he says after a moment, gesturing for me to follow. “Let’s get you back to your room. I would rather not have to explain this to James or Callum.”
Reluctantly, I nod, my feet dragging as I trail behind him. The door looms behind me, a promise of freedom that I still cannot reach.
When we reach my room, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob. “If you need something, just ask,” he says, his voice quiet.
I don’t respond. Instead, I step inside, and as I walk up to the bed, I hear another set of footsteps follow.
“Why don’t you just tie a leash around her instead of pulling her around like your pet dog?” Callum calls out to Hunter from afar.