Chapter 6

I woke up the next morning with a jolt, my hand instinctively flying to my bruised cheek before the reality of where I was settled back into my mind. I was no longer in the damp, moldy cellar beneath the Montgomery estate. I was in the Vance mansion.

A faint knock echoed against the heavy mahogany doors before they swung open.

Mrs. Gable entered, pushing a gleaming silver trolley filled with all kinds of food. Golden-brown pastries, poached eggs, fresh berries, smoked salmon, and a ceramic pot of steaming coffee filled the air with a rich, dizzying aroma.

"Good morning, Mrs. Vance," Mrs. Gable said crisply, setting a pristine white napkin across my lap as I sat up in the vast velvet bed. "Mr. Vance instructed that you are to finish your breakfast before leaving this room."

I stared at the spread, my stomach twisting into a tight, aching knot. The food smelled heavenly, but looking at such abundance made me nauseous.

For eighteen years, my meals had consisted of dry, old bread, cold soup, or whatever scraps I could scavenge after my parents and Evelyn finished dining. My body had learned to treat food as a rare, dangerous thing; swallowing more than a few bites at a time made my stomach reject it violently.

I picked up a fork, managed half a spoonful of eggs, and had to set it down, my hands trembling.

"I... I'm sorry," I murmured, staring at the untouched feast. "I can't eat this."

Mrs. Gable watched me, her sharp blue eyes lingering on the way my collarbone pressed sharply against my skin. The strictness in her posture softened slightly, replaced by a quiet, observant sorrow.

"Your body isn't used to it," Mrs. Gable noted quietly, taking the plate away and replacing it with a small bowl of simple soup. "Try this instead. Small steps, child."

"Thank you," I whispered, sipping the warm soup slowly. It stayed down. I looked up at the housekeeper as she straightened the linens. "How is... how is Gabriel this morning?"

Mrs. Gable paused, her hands resting on the edge of the trolley. "Mr. Vance has not slept. He spent the entire night in his office reviewing financial records and security logs." She hesitated, then added in a lower tone, "He rarely sleeps when his mind is unsettled, Mrs. Vance. Be mindful today."

Before I could ask what had unsettled him, the heavy doors opened again. Luke, Gabriel’s towering chief guard, stood in the threshold, his posture rigid and his arms folded across his chest.

"Mrs. Vance," Luke said, his voice deep and emotionless. "The boss wants you in his study. Now."

I swallowed hard, the warmth of the soup turning to ice in my throat. I quickly dressed in a simple, high-collared navy dress Mrs. Gable had placed in the wardrobe, ensuring the long sleeves covered the faint rope marks on my wrists.

Luke escorted me down the long, silent corridors of the West Wing. The mansion felt even larger in the daylight, but no less forbidding. Every corner seemed equipped with sleek, black security lenses, watching my every step.

Luke stopped before two massive oak doors and knocked once before pushing them open. "She's here, Boss."

The study was a huge two-story library lined with thousands of leather-covered books, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the waves crashing below, and a massive mahogany desk at the center.

Sitting behind the desk was Gabriel.

Any trace of the vulnerable man who had bled on the marble floor last night was entirely gone. His storm-grey eyes were as impenetrable as a steel wall. The fortress was rebuilt, higher and colder than before.

He didn't look up immediately. He continued writing on a document with his gold fountain pen, the sharp *scratch-scratch* of the nib against paper the only sound in the vast room.

"Leave us, Luke," Gabriel commanded, his voice cold, raspy, and absolute.

Luke bowed his head and stepped back, pulling the heavy doors shut.

Gabriel capped his pen with a sharp snap and slowly leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. His piercing gaze locked onto me, scanning my dark dress, my pale face, and the lingering shadow of the bruise on my cheek.

"You didn't eat," Gabriel stated bluntly. It wasn't a question.

"I tried," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady as I stood in the middle of the room. "I'm not used to large meals."

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't pursue the topic. He rested his elbows on the desk, intertwining his long fingers.

"Let's get straight to business, Clara," he said, his tone businesslike and devoid of warmth. "Yesterday was a spectacle. My board of directors is panicking, the media is demanding answers about why I married an unknown Montgomery twin, and your father has already called four times demanding a meeting to renegotiate his debt."

"Did you speak to him?" I asked, a sudden spark of panic striking my chest.

"I don't speak to insects," Gabriel replied smoothly. "Your father's company will be liquidated by the end of the month. He is ruined. And because he is ruined, he is desperate."

Gabriel slid a sleek black folder across the polished desk toward me.

"Which brings us to your options," Gabriel continued, his grey eyes pinning me to the spot. "I am giving you a choice. Option one: You remain here as my wife in name only. You will have unlimited access to wealth, luxury, security, and medical care. You will want for nothing. In exchange, you stay out of my way, play the dutiful Mrs. Vance when public appearances are required, and never question my business. You will live a comfortable life in a golden cage."

I stared at the folder. "And option two?"

"Option two," Gabriel said, leaning forward, "I annul this marriage today. I give you a quiet settlement and send you on your way. But the moment you walk out those gates without the protection of the Vance name, Richard Montgomery will find you. He blames you for the loss of his empire. He will hunt you down, and without my guards, no one will stop him from finishing what he started in that basement."

The air in the room grew heavy. A choice between two cages: one with a father who wanted me dead, and one with a tyrant who viewed me as a contract.

"So I am either your prisoner or his victim," I said softly.

"You are a survivor," Gabriel corrected coldly. "Choose which terms you prefer to survive under."

I looked at him—at the sharp, unyielding lines of his face, the dark intensity in his eyes, and the sheer power he radiated despite the wheelchair hidden behind his desk. He expected me to cringe. He expected me to take the easy path, to bow my head and hide in luxury forever like a broken bird.

I took a step forward, closing the distance between us until I was standing right at the edge of his desk.

"I choose to stay," I said clearly.

A flicker of something dark and satisfied crossed Gabriel’s features, but before he could speak, I continued.

"Under one condition."

Gabriel froze. His dark eyebrows pulled together, a dangerous edge sharpening his gaze. "Condition? You are in no position to negotiate terms, Clara."

"I am not asking for more money, and I am not asking for freedom," I said, leaning over the desk slightly, refusing to break his lethal stare. "If I stay here doing nothing, sitting in luxury while servants wait on me, I will lose my mind. I spent eighteen years trapped in a basement being treated as useless trash. I won't live like a ghost in your house."

Gabriel stared at me, his storm-grey eyes dangerously calm. "What do you want?"

"I want to work," I demanded, my voice ringing clear against the high mahogany walls. "Give me a job. Let me earn my keep. I don't care if it's organizing your archives, managing your schedules, or working in your office. I will be your wife on paper, but I will not be your pet."

Silence stretched between us, thick and taut as a bowstring. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like thunder. Gabriel’s eyes locked onto mine, searching for weakness, looking for fear or hesitation.

He found none.

Slowly, the tension in Gabriel’s shoulders shifted. A low, dark rumble built in his chest, and a slow, dangerous smile curved the edge of his lips.

"Work?" Gabriel rasped, his voice smooth as dark silk. "You want to work for a monster?"

"I've worked for worse," I replied without missing a beat.

Gabriel tapped his long fingers against the leather arm of his chair, evaluating me as if I were important business deal.

"Starting tomorrow at six in the morning, you report to my private study," Gabriel said, his tone sharp as a blade. "You will sort through decades of uncatalogued corporate intelligence, translate foreign ledgers, and manage my confidential records. The workload is brutal, the hours are long, and I do not tolerate mistakes. If you fail, I throw you out."

"I won't fail," I said, a rare, fierce spark igniting in my chest.

"We shall see, Mrs. Vance," Gabriel murmured, leaning back into his fortress once more, though his eyes never left mine. "We shall see."