Chapter 4: The Golden Cage

Billy's pov

The heavy iron gates opened with a low groan, and I pulled the sedan up the winding driveway. I stared out the window, jaw clenched, already regretting this.

​I hated this place. I hated the towering marble pillars, the manicured lawns, and the suffocating silence. I hadn't set foot in this house in over a month, but my mother’s frantic texts—“Just one dinner, Billy. Please. For me”—finally broke me.

​Inside, the dining room felt less like a family home and more like a high-stakes board meeting. My father sat at the head of the long table, staring at a stack of quarterly reports.

​"You're late, William," my father said without looking up. He was the only person on the planet who called me William, using my full legal name like a brand of ownership.

​"Traffic," I lied, pulling out a chair.

​"Billy!" My mother rushed over, throwing her arms around me in a tight, trembling hug. She smelled like expensive jasmine and gin—her usual dinner armor. "I'm so glad you came. Sit, sweetheart. Victoria is already here."

​I looked across the table, catching Victoria’s eye. She offered a polite, practiced smile, sitting perfectly straight. I walked over and placed a dry kiss on her cheek.

​"Hey," I murmured.

​"Hey," she whispered back.

​To our parents, Victoria and I were a multi-million-dollar merger waiting to happen. My mother picked her out to keep my father happy. But in reality? Victoria and I were just two prisoners stuck in the same golden cage. She didn't want to marry me, I didn't want to marry her, and we were both just putting on a performance to keep our families off our backs.

​Dinner was served, and the atmosphere plunged straight into below-zero temperatures.

​"I saw the regional numbers for Vanguard, William," my father said, cutting his steak with precise, aggressive force. "Disappointing. You’re letting the Chicago branch slack."

​"The quarter just started, Dad," I said, keeping my voice flat. "We're up four percent."

​"Four percent is embarrassing for a Logan," he snapped, finally looking up with those cold, lifeless eyes. "If you spent less time idling and more time managing, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

​My mother flinched, quickly setting down her wine glass and reaching across the table to pat my father’s hand. "Arthur, please. He just got here. Billy works so hard—"

​"Quiet, Eleanor," my father cut her off, not even bothering to look at her as he brushed her hand away like an annoying fly. "Adults are speaking."

​My jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in my cheek. I looked at my mom, expecting her to push back, but she just swallowed hard, picked up her glass, and took another long sip. She endured his terrible, degrading attitude every single day, burying her feelings under expensive jewelry and top-shelf liquor.

​"If you're done micromanaging my office, I'm going upstairs," I said, pushing my plate away before dessert was even served.

​"We aren't finished, William!" my father barked behind me.

​I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. I walked straight out of the room and headed up to my old bedroom. It was massive, dark, and filled with expensive furniture—the exact same way I'd left it. I walked past the bed, opened the top drawer of my nightstand, and dug beneath a stack of watch boxes until my hand hit a small, amber bottle.

​I stared at the prescription label, my chest tightening. I’d been off these damn tablets for two years, convinced I was fine. But my recent lab results from Chicago proved otherwise. The numbers were back up, and I didn't have a choice.

​I twisted off the cap, tipped two pills into my palm, and swallowed them dry. My mom couldn't know about this. She was already hanging on by a thread with my dad; finding out my health was failing again would completely break her.

​A quiet knock rattled the door frame. Victoria pushed the door open, holding two thin silver cigars and a lighter.

​"Tough day, huh?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.

​"You have no idea," I muttered, leaning against the window sill.

​She cracked the glass open, lit a cigar, took a drag, and handed it straight to me. I took a slow puff, blowing the smoke out into the cool night air.

​"Your dad was exceptionally charming tonight," Victoria offered dryly.

​"He's a nightmare," I sighed, shaking my head. "I don't know how my mom hasn't run off yet."

​"She loves him in that weird, tragic way," Victoria said quietly, leaning her elbow next to mine. She looked at me with genuinely fond, platonic eyes. "How are you holding up, Billy? Really?"

​I looked at the glowing tip of my cigar, thinking about the secret pills in my stomach, the fake engagement ring on my finger, and the wild blonde employee i hooked up with.

​"I'm fine," I smirked softly, bumping my shoulder against hers. "Just counting down the days until we can stop playing house."

​Victoria chuckled, taking her cigar back as the two of us stood in the dark, totally united in our shared misery.