CHAPTER 4: The Golden Cage and Red Vows

(Helen’s POV)

The ride to my new prison was a desert of silence. Damian Vance didn't look at me a single time as the armored car cut through the dark, freezing streets of downtown Chicago. He remained in the backseat, typing on his phone, his expression as rigid as a tombstone. I curled up against the door, the champagne taking its toll in a slight dizziness that only worsened my nausea.

When the vehicle finally pulled over, we weren't at a suburban mansion, but rather in front of one of the most imposing skyscrapers in the city center. We rode the private elevator straight to the penthouse. The moment the doors slid open, I was met with an empire of minimalist luxury, glass, and dark marble. Uniformed staff stood waiting in a line, their heads bowed low. No one dared look Damian in the eye.

"This is your new home," his deep voice cut through the silence, cold and devoid of any warmth. "My staff will provide whatever you want. If you need anything, ask them. Never come to disturb me."

I blinked, caught off guard by his detachment. He walked down the wide hallway and threw open a door, revealing a massive bedroom with a king-size bed and floor-to-ceiling windows displaying the glittering lights of Chicago.

"This is your room. Where you will sleep and handle your affairs. Your father mentioned to me that you wanted to go to college," Damian continued, evaluating me with those sharp, cutting blue eyes. "If you wish to pursue your studies online, the setup is at your disposal. I will pay for it. I am your husband, and I will provide for you. I just don't know if you actually read the marriage contract before signing it."

"No," I replied, my voice dry as I swallowed hard. "I never read the contract."

A dark, subtle smirk played on his lips. A short, humorless chuckle.

"That's a shame."

"And you?" The question escaped my lips before I could control my rebellious tongue. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"I travel frequently and suffer from chronic insomnia. I spend most of my time in my office and my private quarters," he took a step forward, his massive shadow swallowing me whole. "But on occasion, I will sleep here. With you. Come with me."

He turned his back, and I followed him out of pure survival instinct. Damian walked to the very end of the hallway and pushed open a heavy, solid wood door. The moment I took my first step into that room, the air left my lungs completely.

It was a red room.

The space oozed opulence and pain. It didn't look like a normal bedroom, but rather a high-end, profoundly luxurious torture chamber. The walls were upholstered in dark leather, polished steel chains hung from the ceiling, and high-end restraints, floggers, and designer paddles were displayed on suede mounts. Drawers were packed with high-tech toys and fetishes I didn't even know the purpose of.

I took an immediate step back, panic paralyzing my chest. I thought he was going to rip my teeth out, that he was going to beat me to death. I was going to die inside this room.

Before I could run, Damian’s massive hand flattened against my back, stopping my retreat with the solid finality of a concrete wall.

"No need to be afraid. Not yet," he whispered against the nape of my neck, the heat of his breath making me shiver. "You know damn well you aren't Genna. But there are three absolute rules in this house, Helen."

"What are they?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"First: you obey me. Second: you do absolutely nothing unless I have commanded you to do it. And third... you are mine. Exclusively mine. My property to use and to discharge all my daily frustration and stress upon. That is your primary function from this day forward."

The whispers of the redheaded mistress in the restroom flashed through my mind, along with the years of host training and intimacy classes my sister had received her entire life.

"Genna had training for this..." I stammered, tears of humiliation threatening to fall. "I don't know anything. I don't know what to do."

"It doesn't matter." Damian gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at his sculpted, cruel face. "I will teach you everything myself. I will mold your body to my desires. But if you misbehave, I will hurt you. To begin with... take off the dress."

I stared at him, my eyes wide. The wedding dress was suffocatingly tight, painfully compressing my full curves.

"No... please, not now," I begged, taking a step back.

Damian didn't hesitate. He advanced like a predator. His hands clamped onto the neckline of the expensive fabric, and with a single, brutal, violent jerk, he ripped the wedding dress from top to bottom. The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the red room.

I let out a shriek of pure shock, scrambling to cover my body.

"Shut up!" he snarled, his voice like thunder as he caught both of my wrists in a single hand, pinning them above my head against the metal post of the room's structure. "I didn't give you permission to scream yet."