Chapter Twenty-Two: The Cuff

Rhea wakes to a silence so heavy it feels physical.

The evening sun slices through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bedroom, warm but unforgiving. 

Her body aches; a deep, throbbing reminder of the kitchen counter and the marks Dominic left on her skin. She is tucked under Egyptian cotton sheets that feel like a shroud. He is gone, but his scent - charcoal, expensive bourbon, and power - lingers on the pillow next to her.

She sits up slowly, her heart skipping a beat as she remembers her burner phone. She practically falls out of bed, crawling toward the nightstand where she’d hidden it in a small gap behind the drawer. Her fingers graze the cold plastic.

Thank God. He doesn't know. He didn’t check her bag earlier.

She hides the phone back in its crevice and stands, wrapping herself in a robe she found in the closet. She needs water. She needs to feel like a human being again.

As she enters the vast, open-plan living area, she stops dead.

The kitchen island where he had broken her that morning is spotless, the marble gleaming as if the violence had never happened. But sitting on the large dining table is a single, velvet-lined box.

Rhea approaches it with the dread of someone walking toward a bomb. She opens it.

Inside lies a heavy, solid gold bracelet. 

It’s thick, polished to a mirror finish, and lacks a traditional clasp. Instead, there is a small, specialized keyhole. Dominic would call it a gift; a piece of fine jewelry. But as Rhea stares at the mechanical lock, she sees it for what it truly is.

A cuff.

Next to it is a note in Dominic’s sharp, elegant handwriting:

Wear this. If I see your wrist bare when I return, I will take it as another resignation. You know the price of the last one.

"You're awake ma’am."

The voice is female, sharp and devoid of emotion. Rhea spins around, clutching the silk robe to her chest.

A woman stands by the elevator bank. She’s dressed in a tactical black suit, her hair pulled into a bun so tight it looks painful. She isn't a maid. 

Her stance is wide, her hands folded professionally in front of her, and there is a noticeable bulge under her jacket: a holster.

"Who are you?" Rhea gasps.

"My name is Sarah," the woman says, stepping forward and bowing. Her eyes are like flint, scanning Rhea for any sign of rebellion. "Mr. Ashcroft has assigned me to your detail. I am the only one with the bypass codes for the elevator and the biometric locks."

Rhea’s stomach drops. "You're a guard."

"Yes ma’am," Sarah replies coolly. "My job is to ensure your safety and your... compliance. Mr. Ashcroft is currently in meetings. I have the key for the bracelet."

Sarah produces a small, silver key from her pocket. She doesn't wait for permission. She walks over, takes Rhea’s trembling wrist, and snaps the gold band into place. The lock clicks with a sound of chilling finality.

It’s heavy: a constant, weighted reminder of who owns her. Rhea looks down at the gold gleaming on her skin. To anyone else, it’s a sign of wealth. To her, it’s a shackle.

"Breakfast is in the kitchen," Sarah says, stepping back. "I'll be in the foyer. Don't try the service stairs ma’am. The alarms are silent, but the response is not."

Rhea stares at her wrist. She realizes then that Dominic didn't just move her into his apartment.

He has officially retired her from the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sarah is a shadow. She doesn’t hover, and she doesn’t speak unless spoken to, but Rhea feels her presence like a cold draft under a door. 

The guard has retreated to the foyer, sitting perfectly upright on a minimalist chair, her eyes fixed on the entrance. She gives Rhea space - a professional courtesy that feels more like the "respect" one shows a high-value prisoner.

Rhea paces the bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs. The gold bracelet - the cuff - feels like a lead weight on her wrist, catching the light every time she moves. She needs to hear Julian’s voice. 

She needs a reminder that she is still Rhea, not just a "ward" in a glass box.

She checks the hallway. Sarah is visible, but her back is turned.

Rhea moves to her bedroom and drops to her knees by the nightstand, her fingers fumbling behind the drawer. She pulls out the burner phone, her breath coming in shallow hitches. She retreats to the walk-in closet, burying herself behind a row of dresses that Dominic bought to replace her old life.

She dials. It rings once. Twice.

"Rhea?" Julian’s voice is frantic. "I’ve been calling you all morning. It goes straight to voicemail. Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Julian," she whispers, tears pricking her eyes. The sound of his name feels like a sin in this house. "I’m... I’m fine. My phone broke. I just had it repaired."

"You sound terrified," Julian says, his voice dropping. 

Rhea squeezes her eyes shut, a sob catching in her throat. "I’m fine Julian"

"I have to go," she whispers, her thumb hovering over the end-call button.

"Rhea, wait—I love you. I really do."

"I love you too," she breathes, and cuts the call just as the closet door glides open.

Rhea shoves the phone deep into the pocket of her robe, her hands shaking so violently she’s sure they’re visible. She stands up, facing Sarah.

The guard stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She doesn't reach for her weapon, and she doesn't demand to see Rhea’s hands. 

She simply looks at the row of dresses, then back at Rhea’s tear-stained face.

"Mr Ashcroft would be here in twenty minutes ma’am," Sarah says quietly. There is a flicker of something in her eyes - not pity, but a grim, silent understanding. "I suggest you wash your face. Mr. Ashcroft likes things to be... orderly."

Rhea stares at her. "Did you hear me?"

Sarah pauses, her gaze dropping to the heavy gold cuff on Rhea's wrist. "I heard nothing but the ventilation system," she says, her voice level and professional. 

"I am here to ensure you stay inside these walls. What you do within them, as long as it does not threaten your safety, is not my concern. For now."

She steps back, clearing the doorway. "But ma’am? Don't be careless. He doesn't just hire guards for the doors. He has ears in the walls."

With a sharp nod, Sarah retreats back to the foyer, leaving Rhea standing in the darkness of the closet. 

Rhea sinks to the floor, her hand over her pocket. She had her moment of peace, her one connection to Julian, but the walls of the cage just felt a little thicker.