A CAGE CALLED MARRIAGE

That night, I slept in the guest room—on the bare floor. There was no bed, no duvet, nothing to keep out the freezing cold. The floor was painfully hard, but I endured it; after all, I’d once lived on the streets, sleeping in abandoned buildings with nothing but my own strength to keep me warm. Still, I couldn’t understand what Ethan and his family hoped to achieve by treating me so cruelly.

Lost in my thoughts, the sound of moans drifted from Ethan’s room. The woman he brought home screamed loudly, “Harder, baby. I’m all yours.” Whether she did it to spite me or not, the message was clear—and it stung. I pressed my hands tightly over my ears and forced myself to sleep, trying to shut out both the noise and the pain.

The next morning, while I was cleaning the sitting room, a knock sounded at the door. It was a mailman. He handed me a letter—carelessly, almost dismissively—as if I were nothing more than a servant. Maybe he assumed I was, judging by the way I was dressed.

I wanted to open it immediately, curiosity burning inside me, but I didn’t dare. It wasn’t my place. I had to wait for Ethan’s parents to come downstairs since it was their house.

I prepared breakfast and cleaned every corner until the place sparkled. Later, when it was time for dinner, the entire family gathered—Ethan’s parents, his siblings, and of course Ethan… along with his mistress.

“What is she doing at the dining table? She’s not part of this family,” I asked Ethan, demanding an explanation.

Ethan didn’t even look at me. He pulled out a chair for her instead, pretending he hadn’t heard a word I said. His parents exchanged glances but said nothing, their silence louder than any insult.

His mistress smirked at me, settling into the chair like she belonged there more than I ever would. I felt heat rise in my chest, anger and humiliation mixing until it became almost unbearable.

“Ethan,” I called again, my voice tighter this time. “I asked you a question.”

He finally turned to me, his expression cold and bored. “Don’t raise your voice at the table,” he said calmly, as if I were the one causing a scene. “She’s my Fiance. She sits wherever I want her to sit.”

Fiance? That word stabbed deeper than I expected.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “And what about me?” I asked softly. “Am I not supposed to be your wife”

He didn’t respond. He just stared at me, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his right cheek. Then, without shame or hesitation, he pulled his mistress close and kissed her—right there, in front of his entire family… and me.

“I wasn’t the one who forced us into this marriage, Naya,” he said coldly. “I don’t love you. I will never love you. You know that. So stop trying.”

“Keep trying,” his sister Elizabeth muttered under her breath, mocking me with a smirk of her own.

I nearly snapped. I was exhausted—emotionally, mentally, completely. For a fleeting moment, death felt like a kinder option. Maybe joining my parents in the afterlife would be easier than living through this nightmare.

Slowly, painfully, I realized I was beginning to hate Ethan. This wasn’t the boy I used to admire growing up. That Ethan was long gone, replaced by someone cruel, bitter, and heartless.

I stayed quiet, holding back the tears burning behind my eyes. Then I continued serving the food, only to notice there was no seat set for me at the table. I didn’t argue. In fact, avoiding them felt like the safest thing I could do.

Before slipping away to my room, I placed the letter—the one the mailman had delivered earlier—on the dining table where they all would see it. I hadn’t checked who it was from, and honestly, I didn’t care.

Then I left them to their dinner, disappearing silently from the doorway.

After some minute I heard screams of excitement. But I wasn't able to hear exactly what thier joy was about. I felt curious, but then again I thought it didn't concern me.

In this house, the guest room is the only place where I feel safe—the only corner where I can break down and cry, asking myself what sin I committed to deserve this kind of punishment. No family. No friends. No love. I can’t even shift, and I’m twenty-five. It’s humiliating… embarrassing in ways I can’t even put into words.

Two weeks into my marriage with Ethan, I still had no idea where I stood in this house. He brought different women home whenever he felt like it, and his parents watched in silence. If they didn’t complain, who was I to speak up?

One bright morning, while I was cleaning, Ethan walked up to me. He just stood there, staring—so long that I started to wonder what exactly he was doing.

“Good morning,” I greeted, but he said nothing.

“Is everything okay?” I asked again, the silence stretching, making me uneasy.

“What’s your shoe size?” he finally asked.

“What?!” I blurted out, completely shocked.

Where was that coming from? For a second, it felt like I was dreaming.

“Are you deaf?” he snapped, his voice sharp and cruel.

I flinched and trembled. Well that sounds more like him.

“I don’t know,” I replied quietly. “I’ve never owned a pair before.”

“That’s sad,” Elizabeth cut in. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll handle her clothes myself.”

“What are you two talking about? What’s happening?” I asked, completely confused. Their sudden kindness felt strange—unnatural.

“You’re so dumb,” Ethan muttered before walking away, leaving me alone with his younger sister.

I hated Elizabeth with every piece of myself. From her long, beautiful black hair to her big innocent eyes and baby-soft face. She looked angelic, but the devil lived inside her. And despite being younger than me, she never hesitated to talk down to me—because she could shift and I couldn’t. Every chance she got, she reminded me that I was cursed. She gave me every reason to despise her.

“Come with me,” she ordered.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward me. “I deserve to know what’s going on,” I demanded.

The moment the words left my mouth, she slapped me—hard.

“Don’t you ever put those filthy hands on me again,” she hissed.