The Golden Cage

—CARLY—

The lobby of Dorrington Mechanics was all polished concrete, steel beams, and the low hum of ambition. It smelled like coffee, printer toner, and money. It was my second home. The fight with my dad was a tactical fiction; walking away from my company wasn’t an option. This place was in my blood, just like a certain six-foot-two distraction was.

I pushed through the glass doors of my corner office, expecting the serene, empty space I’d left in a manufactured huff yesterday.

My executive chair—the expensive, ergonomic one that cradled my ambitions—was facing the window. It swiveled slowly to face me.

Emilia Stone, Chief Marketing Officer, my best friend, and professional pain in my ass, was lounging in it like a queen on a stolen throne. Her blonde hair was a perfect cascade over one shoulder of her impeccably tailored blazer. Her expression was pure, unadulterated gossip.

“Spill,” she said.

I dropped my bag onto the sofa and walked to a filing cabinet, refusing to give her the satisfaction. “Good morning to you too, Em. I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

She leaned forward, elbows on my desk, green eyes sharp. “Comfort is secondary to intel. So. What. Happened. With Charlie last night? Details. I want coordinates, troop movements, casualty reports.”

I pulled a vendor file I didn’t need and turned, leaning against the cabinet. “Nothing happened. I crashed in his guest room. We had breakfast. The end.”

She snorted. “Bullshit. You moved in with the man you’ve been in love with since, literally, the dawn of time, and ‘nothing happened’? I’ve seen your PowerPoints. You don’t do ‘nothing.’ You do five-phase plans with contingency flowcharts.”

I turned, leaning against the cabinet. “Maybe the plan is just to exist. To be there. Let him get used to me being… everywhere.”

“So it’s a psychological siege.” She nodded, approving. “And the terms of surrender?”

“Two months. Minimum.”

Her eyes widened. “You got two months? How?”

“Told him I’d do the same for him. He couldn’t argue without being a hypocrite.”

A grin split her face. “You evil genius. I love it.” She finally stood up, gesturing for me to take my throne back. “So, what’s phase two? ‘Accidentally’ walk out of the shower while he’s there?”

I sank into my chair, the leather sighing under me. “Phase two is subtlety. It’s making his place smell like my shampoo. It’s knowing where his favorite coffee mug is. It’s being the last person he talks to at night and the first one he sees in the morning. Without him ever noticing the pattern.”

Emilia perched on the edge of my desk, her voice dropping. “And the girls? The usual Friday night parade?”

A cold, calm feeling settled in my chest. “Let’s just say his dating life is about to have a statistically significant streak of bad luck.”

She laughed, a short, bright sound. “You’re scary. You know that, right?” She hopped off the desk, then paused, a new, more serious curiosity lighting her features. “Okay, wait. I have to ask the obvious.”

“Ask,” I said, bracing myself.

“Why the whole secret agent routine?” She spread her hands. “Your dads are literally trying to marry you off to him. The merger is basically a pre-nup with corporate letterhead. Just… wait it out. You’ll be Mrs. Charlie Wayne in a year or two. The deed is done. Isn’t that the goal?”

A sad, knowing smile touched my lips. It was the question I’d been waiting for. “That’s exactly why, Em. That’s the nightmare.”

Her playful smirk vanished. “How is marrying the love of your life a nightmare?”

“Because he wouldn’t be marrying the love of his life,” I said, the words clear and cold in the morning air of my office. “He’d be signing a merger agreement. He’d move me into his penthouse, put a ring on my finger, and then… he’d keep living his life. He’d think I did it for the company, for our fathers. He’d think we had an understanding. And his number one rule with women who ‘understand’?”

Emilia’s face paled as she finished the thought. “No expectations.”

“Exactly.” The image was a familiar ghost, haunting me. “He’d be the perfect, charming, distant husband. He’d still flirt. He might even fuck me until I forget my name, and he’d think it was okay, because Carly gets it. It’s just business.”

The silence in the office was thick. The horror of it dawned on her completely.

“I don’t want to be Mrs. Wayne, the corporate merger,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want to be his wife in a contract he feels trapped in. I want to be the woman he can’t live without. The one who makes him forget he ever had rules.” I looked straight at her, finally voating the core truth that fueled every stolen hoodie and every sabotaged date. “I need him to choose me, not our last names. Otherwise, I get the man and lose him forever in the same ceremony.”

Emilia stared at me for a long moment. No jokes, no quips. Just a profound, gut-deep understanding. She let out a slow, shaky breath.

“Jesus, Carly,” she finally murmured, her voice full of awe and a little fear. “You’re not just breaking his rules. You’re trying to save him from a golden cage no one else even sees.”

She walked back to the desk, not with her usual swagger, but with a new, solemn purpose. She picked up her coffee, her gaze level and serious on mine.

“Alright then,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Screw the merger. Let’s get you the real thing.”

Before she could say another word, a sharp knock sounded at the door. It opened before I could answer, revealing Jude, Emilia’s assistant, looking harried.

“Miss Stone, my apologies for the intrusion,” Jude said, looking genuinely pained. “Mr. Philip and his team are in Conference Room B. They’ve reviewed the preliminary boards and… well, they’re waiting for you to begin. It sounds like it might be a long one.”

Emilia closed her eyes for a brief second, a flash of genuine frustration at the timing. When she opened them, they were all business. “Right. Tell them I’ll be there in two minutes.”

Jude nodded and disappeared.

Emilia turned back to me, the weight of the interrupted moment hanging between us. “Saved by the billion-dollar client,” she said, but her smile was thin. “Look, this could go sideways fast. Drinks. My place. Tonight. We are not done.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. With one last, meaningful look, she was gone, the door sighing shut behind her.

The door clicked shut. Well, no taking it back now. My deepest, dumbest truth was out in the wild, and my best friend was holding the leash.

I faced the window, the city’s chaos looking suddenly manageable. One problem at a time. Right now, the problem was a six-foot-two commitment-phobe who had no idea his peace treaty had just been voided.

Phase One was infiltration.

Phase Two was demolition.

The target: every assumption, every rule, every businesslike boundary Charlie had ever built between us.

The corporate merger could wait. I had a much more important union to broker first.

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To be Continued...