Chapter 2: A Gilded Cage

The wedding day began with a cold and quiet feeling. The sky over San Francisco was pale blue and dull, very different from the bright colors Eva remembered from her childhood. She didn’t feel excited or nervous. Instead, there was an empty ache in her chest. This wedding was not about love. It was a deal, a cold and careful joining of two broken lives.

The ceremony was a blur of soft whispers and flashing cameras. It happened in a private, very fancy ballroom in one of Lucian’s hotels. The room was full of flowers, but the beauty felt strange compared to the serious mood. Business leaders in sharp suits, rich socialites covered in diamonds, and reporters with eager eyes filled the space. They whispered quietly, looking closely at Eva and Lucian. Some said it was a smart business move. Others thought it was blackmail, a desperate act by the Langston family. Only Eva and Lucian knew the full, messy truth and even that truth was filled with pain, secrets, and old wounds.

Eva wore a simple but elegant white dress that Lucian’s assistant picked out. It was beautiful but felt like a costume, hiding who she really was. Lucian stood next to her, calm and serious in a black tuxedo. When their hands touched briefly during the ring exchange, his touch was cool and distant. There was no warmth or love, just the formal brush of skin.

They spoke their vows in short, careful voices. The promises were for the people watching, not for each other. When the officiant said they were husband and wife, Lucian did not kiss or hug her. He just nodded politely, as if a heavy duty was now his to bear.

At the reception, Eva moved through the crowd like a shadow. She wore a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Lucian was skilled at being charming and distant at the same time. He easily avoided questions about their fast romance. When he introduced her as “my wife, Eva,” his voice was smooth but showed nothing about the cold gap between them. Eva felt like a decoration, a pretty object in his carefully made world.

The real change came when she moved into Lucian’s penthouse. It wasn’t a home it was a fortress. The place was huge, simple, and shockingly luxurious. Every surface shone, every piece of art was perfectly placed, every window showed a perfect view of the city. But the place was cold and empty inside.

Her bedroom was really a guest room, far from Lucian’s own room down a long, silent hallway. It was beautifully decorated, with a king-sized bed and a balcony looking out over the city lights. But it still felt like a guest room a clear sign of their arrangement. They had no shared closets, no mixing of lives. Just two separate people living under one expensive roof.

Meals were quiet. They ate at a long, shiny dining table. The only sound was silverware clinking. Lucian was polite but distant. He asked about her day, but his questions felt like a formality, not real interest. He neither insulted her nor showed kindness. His calm distance hurt Eva more than harsh words would. It was a constant reminder of how little he cared, and how tall a wall he had built between them.

Eva stared at him across the table, trying to understand the man she once thought she knew. Why did he ask her to marry him? Was it only because of Ari’s custody, as he said? Was it revenge, a slow punishment for a betrayal he thought she made? Or maybe... was there still something between them, a small spark from their past he wouldn’t admit? The uncertainty ate at her, a quiet feeling under her carefully kept calm.

Days passed in a dull routine of polite distance. Eva felt lost. Her career was gone, and her family’s future tied to a man who barely noticed her. She looked for a reason to get up every morning. That reason was Ari.

Ari Thorne, Lucian’s nine-year-old niece, was quiet and shy. She rarely talked, preferring books and puzzles. She was small and seemed to disappear in the big penthouse. At first, she avoided Eva, hiding behind nannies or going to her room, a silent safe place.

But Eva couldn’t ignore the child, even with her own pain. She saw herself in Ari’s quiet seriousness a wish for connection. Eva remembered a file Lucian’s lawyer gave her. It said Ari loved chocolate chip cookies and fairy tales.

One afternoon, Eva went into the large kitchen, where Lucian’s private chef usually worked. She found the ingredients and carefully baked warm, gooey chocolate chip cookies. The smell spread through the penthouse a soft comfort in the cold air. Eva left a plate outside Ari’s door, with a note: “For Ari. Hope you like them.”

That evening, the plate was empty. A small win.

Slowly, Eva started to break down Ari’s walls. She learned the bedtime stories by heart, reading them with feeling, even though Ari just listened quietly, eyes wide. Eva helped with homework, patiently explaining hard math problems. Sometimes her fingers brushed Ari’s small hand while guiding the pencil.

One night, after Ari solved a tough math problem, she looked up and gave a tiny, shy smile. It was quick and almost too small to see, but it was there. Eva’s heart filled with hope.

Another time, Eva asked to braid Ari’s long, dark hair. Ari hesitated, then said yes. As Eva’s fingers worked through the soft hair, a calm silence grew between them. It was a small, private moment a bridge forming between two lonely hearts.

Through Ari, Eva remembered why she once loved Lucian. He cared fiercely for the girl, very different from how cold he was to Eva. Though he was stern and distant most times, Lucian softened around Ari. His voice lost its sharpness. His eyes became gentle. He listened carefully in a way he never did with Eva. Watching them together stirred something deep in Eva a wish for what could have been if things hadn’t fallen apart. It was a painful, sweet memory a glimpse of the man she loved, now hidden behind pain and doubt.

The gilded cage held not just a prisoner, but also a fragile, flickering hope.