002

THE CAGE LOCKS

~MAYA'S POV~

The snow didn't just fall; it came down hard.

From the window of the guest bedroom, I saw the white snow cover the mountain, hiding the trees, the road, and everything outside. It looked pretty but fierce.

Everything was completely white.

I leaned my head against the cold window, looking at the driveway below. The big black SUV that brought us here was running, its red lights glowing in the snowstorm.

"That's weird," I whispered to myself.

The housekeeper, a kind woman named Mrs. Sandy, who had greeted us with hot cocoa just an hour ago, was hurrying out the front door. She had her coat buttoned up to her chin, clutching a bag like her life depended on it.

Then, he walked out.

Silas.

He wasn't wearing a coat and stood outside in the heavy snow with just a dark sweater on. The snowflakes melted on his warm shoulders as he walked to the driver's side of the car.

I watched closely as he took a big, thick envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the driver. The driver nodded a bit too eagerly, almost like he was relieved or being obedient.

Mrs. Sandy quickly got into the back seat, and the car door shut with a muffled sound. Silas said something to the driver, tapped the top of the car twice, and stepped back.

Then the SUV drove off, the tires making a crunching sound on the gravel before disappearing into the snow.

He had sent them away.

I felt a chill that wasn't just because of the cold window.

The news said the storm would last for days, and the roads would be too dangerous to drive on soon.

Any sensible person would have told everyone to stay put and wait it out. But Silas King wasn't being sensible; he was being strategic.

He stood there for a moment in the empty driveway, staring at the tire tracks. Then, slowly, he tilted his head back. He looked up at the house.

He looked directly at my window.

I gasped and jerked the curtain shut, stumbling back. My heart hammered against my ribs like a fist. He couldn't have seen me. It was dark; I was three stories up. But I felt it. I felt his stare like a heavy weight pushing on my chest.

He didn't just want a quiet Christmas.

He wanted the cage to be empty.

***********************

"Maya, stop staring at the wall and help me zip this."

Chloe's voice snapped me back to the present. I turned to see my best friend standing in front of the full-length mirror, struggling with a sequined mini-dress that looked more appropriate for a Vegas club than a family dinner.

"We're just eating in the dining room, Chlo," I said, my voice sounding shaky even to my own ears. "Do you really need the sequins?"

"Dad likes propriety," she said, finally giving up and tossing the dress on the bed. "He hates sweatpants at the table. He says it shows a 'lack of discipline.'" She mimicked his deep baritone poorly, giggling. "Besides, there's nobody else here. We might as well look hot for ourselves."

She grabbed a red silk dress next. "Here. You wear this one."

I recoiled. "Absolutely not. That has no back."

"You're such a prude," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Wear the funeral dress."

I reached for the dress I had packed—a high-necked, long-sleeved black knit. It was modest. Safe. It covered me from my collarbone to my knees. It was armor.

But as I pulled it on, I realized my mistake.

The knit fabric was clingy. It hugged my chest, snatched at my waist, and traced the curve of my hips with unforgiving details. It covered my skin, yes, but it highlighted my shape in a way that felt dangerous.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My dark hair fell in waves around my shoulders, contrasting sharply with the pale skin of my face. I looked terrified. I looked like a Victorian governess about to be eaten by the master of the house.

"See?" Chloe chirped, applying a layer of lip gloss. "You have the curves I would kill for, and you hide them in wool. It's a tragedy, Maya."

"Let's just go eat," I muttered, smoothing the fabric down nervously. "I'm starving."

That was a lie. My stomach was twisting so violently I felt nauseous. But the alternative.....staying in this room and waiting for Silas to come find me....was worse.

************************************

The dining room was very dark.

The lights above were low, so only the big wooden table was lit up by some tall candles. The fire in the fireplace was bright and made the walls look like they were moving with orange light.

Silas sat at the head of the table.

He had changed. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt now, the top button undone, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, corded forearms covered in dark hair. A Rolex glinted in the candlelight.

"You're late," he said. He didn't look up from the wine he was pouring.

"Only five minutes, Daddy," Chloe said, breezing past him to take the seat on his right.

I hesitated. The table was long, easily seating twelve. Chloe sat to his right. That meant I should sit to his left, right next to him.

No. Absolutely not.

I grabbed the chair directly across from him instead. Far enough away to breathe. Close enough that I couldn't be accused of hiding.

Silas's hand paused mid-pour. He looked up.

His blue eyes locked onto mine across the expanse of polished wood. The candlelight reflected in them, making them look like flames trapped in ice.

He didn't say anything. He just looked at me. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of a chess player who had just realized his opponent's strategy.

"Smart girl," he murmured.

I didn't know if that was a compliment or a threat.

He finished pouring the wine. He reached across the table, his arm stretching toward me. I watched, frozen, as he set the glass down directly in front of me. The dark liquid swirled, looking too much like blood.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Eat," he commanded, sitting back in his chair. He picked up his knife and fork, attacking his steak with surgical precision.

Chloe was already shoveling bread into her mouth, scrolling through her phone with her free hand. "Dad, when is the wifi coming back? I'm literally dying here."

"When the storm passes," Silas said calmly. "You'll survive."

"Barely," she groaned.

I picked at my food, hyper-aware of every movement Silas made. He cut his steak. He took a sip of wine. He chewed slowly, deliberately.

And every few seconds, his eyes flicked up to mine.

"So, Maya," Silas began, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "How is school? Chloe tells me your grades are excellent."

"They're fine," I murmured, staring at my plate. The steak was rare. Too rare. "I made Dean's List."

"She's a nerd," Chloe added, mouth full of bread. "She spends all her time in the library. She doesn't even date."

"Is that so?" Silas set down his knife with a precise clink. His gaze pinned me across the table. "No boyfriend? A pretty girl like you?"

I gripped my fork. "I don't have time. Between classes and my job at the diner..."

"Ah, yes. The diner." Silas took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving mine. "And how are your finances? Is your mother still... struggling?"

My face burned. Shame, hot and prickly, crawled up my neck. He knew. He knew my mom had a gambling problem. He knew I was barely scraping together tuition. He was peeling back my layers in front of his daughter, exposing my poverty while we sat in his multi-million dollar fortress.

"We're managing," I said tightly.

"There's no shame in asking for help, Maya." His voice dropped low, intimate despite the distance between us. "I have a lot of... resources. I could make your life very easy. All you would have to do is ask."

The word hung in the air, thick with double meaning.

"I don't want your money," I snapped.

Chloe stopped chewing. "Whoa. Chill, Maya. He's just being nice."

Silas didn't look offended. He looked amused. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Independent. I like that. But everyone has a price."

I reached for my napkin, my hands shaking. I needed to do something, anything, to break the intensity of his stare.

I grabbed my glass of wine and took a large gulp.

That's when I felt it.

Something brushed against my ankle. I froze, the wine turning to acid in my throat. It happened again. A deliberate pressure against the side of my foot. Warm. Solid.

I looked up sharply.

Silas was cutting his steak, his expression perfectly neutral. He was leaning back in his chair, relaxed, engaged in conversation with Chloe about her ski plans for tomorrow.

But under the table, his leg had stretched out. His foot was pressed against mine.

"Dad, are you even listening?" Chloe complained.

"Of course," Silas said smoothly. "You want to try the Blue Run first. Excellent choice."

Under the table, his foot moved. He slid it forward, trapping my ankle between both of his feet.

I gasped softly, disguising it as a cough. He didn't look at me. He just took another bite of steak, chewing slowly, while his feet held mine captive.

I tried to pull my foot back.

He tightened his grip, his ankles locking around mine like a vice. The pressure was firm. Possessive. A quiet command: 'Don't you dare move.'

"Maya?" Chloe's voice cut through my panic. "You okay? You look weird."

"I'm fine," I squeaked. "Just... the wine. Went down wrong."

"Drink some water," Silas suggested. His voice was calm, helpful, fatherly. But his eyes... his eyes were locked on mine, dark and hungry.

I reached for my water glass with a trembling hand. Under the table, his foot began to move. Slowly. His shoe rubbed against the inside of my ankle, a rhythmic caress that sent sparks shooting up my leg.

He was petting me. Under the dining table. While his daughter sat three feet away, oblivious.

"So, what do you think, Maya?" Chloe asked.

I blinked. "What?"

"About going into town tomorrow if the roads clear? You weren't listening!"

"I... I don't know," I stammered. "Maybe."

"You should eat more," Silas said, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the table. "You need your strength." His foot slid higher. Past my ankle. His shin pressed against my calf, pushing my legs apart slightly under the table.

My breath hitched.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Chloe looked concerned now. "You're all flushed."

"It's the fire," I blurted. "Too hot."

"I like the heat," Silas murmured, his eyes boring into mine. "Don't you, Maya?"

I couldn't answer. His leg was pressed against mine now, his knee pushing between my thighs under the cover of the long tablecloth. The pressure was maddening. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to make me ache.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper.

"Eat your dinner, Maya," Silas commanded softly. "All of it."

I picked up my fork. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold it.

BOOM.

A crack of thunder shook the entire lodge.

The lights blinked once. Twice.

Then, everything went black.

Chloe screamed. "Oh my God, I can't see anything!"

"Stay calm," Silas's voice came from the darkness. "It's just the generator kicking in. Nobody move." But I did move. I jerked my foot back, scrambling to free myself from his trap.

I heard his chair scrape. He was standing. I heard footsteps.

Then, a hand clamped around my wrist in the darkness. I gasped. Silas had moved around the table in the pitch black, silent as a ghost. He found me. He yanked me up from my chair, pulling me against his body. His other arm wrapped around my waist, crushing me to his chest.

"The staff is gone, Maya," he whispered directly into my ear, his voice a low growl. "The roads are closed. The lights are out."

His hand tightened on my hip, fingers digging in, claiming me in the dark.

"Now," he breathed, his lips brushing my earlobe, sending a jolt straight to my core, "now we really are alone."

The lights flickered back on.

Silas was already across the room, standing by the fireplace, his back to us, as if he'd been there the whole time.

"See?" he said casually. "Generator works perfectly."

Chloe was clutching her phone. "Jesus, that scared me. I'm going to go find more candles. Just in case."

She hurried out of the dining room, leaving me standing there, trembling, with the ghost of his touch still burning on my skin.

Silas turned slowly. He looked at me across the room.

He smiled.