Inside the cage

Damien had not planned to come home early. The day had been heavy with long meetings and short tempers, and the voices of men in suits still rang in his head. He wanted silence, and more than that, he wanted a meal that didn’t come out of a carton. He hated the dull taste of food that carried no warmth, no effort, no heart.

As he came close to the door, he heard two voices and paused to listen.

“Pass me the vegetables,” Ella said, pointing to the end of the table.

Elara stirred a pot of hot gravy and steam warmed her face. A strand of hair touched her cheek. She brushed it back with her wrist and fetched the chopped vegetables.

“Here,” she said, placing them beside Ella.

They stood side by side in the bright kitchen. Pots bubbled. Metal touched wood. The room smelled of herbs and roast chicken.

“You’re good with spices,” Ella said as she stirred.

“I learned at the convent,” Elara said.

“At the convent?” Ella asked.

“Yes. Every Saturday after mass. The sisters taught cooking. They said it kept us focused.”

Ella smiled a little. “Well, this will taste amazing.”

Elara bent to check the chicken in the oven. Heat rushed over her face. Her dress rode up a little as she reached in. She did not notice.

Someone else did.

When Damien pushed open the side entrance of the mansion, he was not expecting to see her.”

He stopped.

“The smell of roasted chicken and garlic floated through the air. Soft voices came from the kitchen. He didn’t step inside right away. He stayed in the shadows, letting the smell of the food reach him first.”

Then he saw her.

Elara.

Bent over the oven, apron tied around her waist, her dress pulled slightly higher as she leaned forward. She didn’t know anyone was watching. She hummed quietly, a small tune, her voice so soft it blended with the hiss of the pan. She moved with no thought that someone might see her. She looked untouched, unguarded, unaware.

Damien’s jaw locked as his eyes stayed on her. There was nothing loud about her, yet she drew him in with every small movement. That was more dangerous than any bold woman. She carried innocence like a weapon she didn’t know she had.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His shoes struck the tiles. The sound made both women turn.

Elara jumped, almost spilling the spoon she held. Her cheeks burned red. Ella, standing near the counter, quickly dipped her head in respect.

“Mr. Kael,” Ella greeted softly.

Elara swallowed hard. “I… Damien.” Her voice shook with surprise.

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes stayed on her face, her flushed skin, the loose strands of hair stuck to her damp temples. He noticed the way her apron clung to her frame, the way her hands were dusted in flour. She looked nothing like the well-dressed women who usually filled his house. And yet, she was far more dangerous than them.

Ella tried to break the silence. “We didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“I live here,” he replied, his voice was even, though his gaze didn’t leave Elara. Then, slowly, he asked, “You cooked?”

Elara nodded. Her fingers curled against her apron as though she didn’t know what to do with them. “I helped. The gravy. The potatoes. The chicken.”

Damien walked forward, each step slow, steady, deliberate. He reached the stove without asking, he dipped a finger into the sauce. He brought it to his lips and tasted it, never looking away from her.

Elara’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might leave her chest.

He licked the sauce from his fingertip and let the silence stretch. Then, low and quiet, he said, “Not bad.”

Her knees trembled.

Ella cleared her throat and spoke. “Dinner will be ready in a moment, sir.”

But Damien had already decided. He would eat. And she would sit.

~~~~A few minutes later, the dining table was set. Ella brought out the food with quick, nervous steps, then excused herself, claiming laundry needed her attention. Elara knew better. Ella didn’t want to be caught in the middle of whatever was happening between her and Damien.

Now it was just the two of them.

Damien did not sit at the head of the long table as he always did. Tonight, he sat closer, near her. His presence filled the space so easily that Elara felt the room shrink.

She lowered herself into the chair he pointed to, her hands folded in her lap, her body stiff. She kept her eyes down as he began to cut into the roasted chicken, tasted the potatoes, and sipped the red wine.

The clink of silverware was the only sound for a while.

Then his voice broke through. “This is very good.”

Her head lifted in surprise. “Thank you.”

“You’ve cooked before?” he asked.

“At the convent,” she replied softly. “Every Saturday after morning service.”

He gave a slow nod, his eyes still watching her. “They taught you how to cook. But not how to dress.”

Elara froze, her gaze dropping to her apron. Confusion and shame mixed in her chest. “I… I didn’t mean—”

“I didn’t say I minded,” he cut in.

Silence pressed down between them. She looked at her hands, her pulse beating fast in her neck.

Then his words came sharp and low. “Do you know what you do to a man, Elara?”

Her head snapped up. Her lips parted, but no word came out. Her eyes held fear, but beneath it something else flickered. A question. A slow burn she didn’t yet understand.

“I’m just here to help,” she whispered.

Damien leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine lazily. His gaze stayed locked on her, steady and unyielding. “Yes. But help becomes a distraction when a maid bends over in my kitchen like that.”

Her face turned red. She shook her head quickly. “I wasn’t trying to distract you.”

His voice dropped lower. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He rose from his seat, the chair legs scraping against the floor. He moved behind her, each step heavy and sure. Elara sat stiffly, her body refusing to move, her breath caught in her throat.

He stopped close. She felt the warmth of his presence, the weight of his shadow. Then his breath brushed her ear as he leaned down.

“Don’t wear that apron again,” he murmured. “Unless you want me to bend you over that kitchen carbonate you love so much.”

The words fell like fire across her skin.

And then he was gone.

He left the room with the same slow control he had walked in with.

Elara sat frozen in her chair. Her body trembled. Her breath became short. Every inch of her felt awake, alive, shaken. She pressed her hands to her lap, trying to still the storm inside her chest, but it was no use.

The kitchen. The table. The air. Everything still has his voice.

And for the first time, Elara understood—she wasn’t just working in a house. She was standing inside a cage.