Chapter Eleven-The Cage

I opened my eyes slowly. The first sensation was not pain, but a profound disorientation. I was wrapped in something impossibly soft, something that smelled faintly of expensive lavender and clean cotton. The last thing I remembered was the cold, harsh pavement of Lot 27, the icy grip of the gate, and the overwhelming desire for the world to simply stop spinning.

I cracked my eyes open. Instead of the buzzing fluorescent bulb of a cell or the cracked plaster of my apartment ceiling, I was greeted by a canopy of silk and gold thread. I shot upright, the blanket pooling around my waist. The movement sent a fresh wave of nausea through my head, but the fear was stronger.

I wasn't in a prison cell. I was in a palace bedroom. The room was massive, decorated in muted tones of cream and dark wood. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooked a sprawling, perfectly manicured garden bathed in the soft glow of hidden uplights. The silence was absolute, a wealthy, suffocating silence.

I looked down. The stained black dress was gone. I was wearing a ridiculously soft, oversized white cotton shirt that smelled freshly laundered. My amethyst necklace, however, was missing.

“He gassed me, then he undressed me, then he gave me a palace” The reality of my situation hit me with the force of a physical blow. I had returned to my enemy's house seeking shelter, and he had granted it, turning my desperation into his ultimate tool of control. This wasn't hospitality. It was a gilded cage.

My fever was gone, replaced by a hollow ache of exhaustion. I stumbled out of the bed, the silk duvet rustling loudly. My focus landed on a small, worn leather bag sitting neatly on a side table carved from black obsidian.That's my bag.

The time on the bedside clock was 7:00 AM.

The image of my ruined apartment flashed in my head. The shattered TV, the dislocated door. It hadn't been a random thief, it's a calculated destruction and I'm very sure if I was home, I would have been hurt.

I clenched my fists. I had to assume Khaid was the one who had sent his men to demolish my life, knowing I would run out of options. The thought fueled a fresh surge of cold fury, displacing the weakness.

I walked to the wardrobe. Inside, hanging neatly, was a selection of simple, high-end clothes, white linen trousers, a crisp blouse, and a plain dress. On a shelf lay a new, small notebook and a pen.

As I emerged from the walk-in closet, dressed and ready, the door to the room opened quietly. A woman entered—tall, thin, with skin the color of strong tea and eyes that missed nothing. This had to be Agnes. She carried a tray laden with food that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice quiet and utterly devoid of emotion. “You're awake. How are you feeling?”

“I feel better. Thank you” I responded. “Did you perhaps see my amethyst necklace?” I demanded, skipping the pleasantries.

Agnes paused, her gaze meeting mine. She was calm, non-judgmental, but firm. “Everything you arrived with was cataloged and stored. The necklace is safe.” She placed the tray on a small table. “Eat, Miss Bluey. You were dangerously close to collapse last night.”

“Why am I here?’ I whispered, my eyes darting toward the heavy, locked door.

“You came to the gate, Miss Bluey. Don't you remember?” Agnes asked. Her voice is a blur of concern. Her hands fold neatly behind her back.

“I do. I just was not expecting this much hospitality” I muttered. “I need to leave now” I stood up from the bed”

Agnes didn't flinch. She just sighed, a gentle release of air. “The dynamics of this household are not for argument, Miss. They are for compliance. You have to meet with the boss soon. The food will give you the strength you need to manage that meeting. I suggest you eat.” She intoned and left.

I looked at the perfectly arranged fruit and the steaming tea. This was a twisted form of care that was infinitely more terrifying than simple rage. I sat down and pulled the tray closer to myself. “If my enemy prepares a table filled with sumptuous meals, who am I to say no?”

★

The Underground Cell- Isolation Suite

“Let's pay MTP’s future heiress a visit” Khaid smirked.

Khaid reached this chamber via a private, unmarked elevator hidden behind a rotating section of his library shelves. The space, which Khaid internally referred to as the ‘Isolation Suite,’ was located three floors beneath the main compound, accessible only by a single biometric scan that recognized Khaid's genetic signature. Kael, who was behind Khaid, moved forward and removed a book from one of the shelves. The shelves slither slowly out of place to reveal a dark-coloured elevator entrance. He made way for his boss who placed his thumb on the biometric scan. The elevator door opened and they both entered.

The elevator ride was silent, swift, and dark, designed to eliminate any external spatial awareness. When the doors opened, they didn't reveal a hallway, but a single, short corridor made of polished black composite that absorbed all light and sound.

The corridor was acoustically sealed, meaning no sound from the outside world or any cries from within could penetrate the thick walls. The only noise was the low, steady hiss of the forced-air filtration system, which made the air taste metallic and cold.

The corridor ended at a wall of seamless, reinforced smart-glass. This glass formed one side of a circular, underground room which is the cell itself.

Khaid stood on the control side of the glass, a position of absolute surveillance and safety. Khaid was standing in a small, wedge-shaped compartment equipped with touch-sensitive panels, allowing him to adjust light, temperature, and even atmospheric pressure on the other side. A small, built-in speaker allowed his voice to project clearly into the cell without any chance of Elvira hearing external sounds or seeing the source of his voice. He stood on a dark, sound-dampening tile, his reflection barely visible in the glass.

The cell where Elvira sat was a perfect circle, about fifteen feet in diameter. It had no sharp corners, preventing any hiding spots or potential weapons. The walls were a smooth, pale gray metal, and the floor was made of the same material, giving the room a seamless, almost liquid appearance. The chamber was illuminated by soft, diffuse white light from concealed strips high on the ceiling. There were no visible fixtures to break or grab. The only object was a low, molded bench bolted to the floor, where Elvira was now sitting, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring defiantly at the reflective glass wall.

Elvira's hands were visible, and the distinctive necklace MetroPaul had mentioned. A chunky, antique-looking silver key on a heavy chain was prominent against the pale gray of the uniform she had been forced to wear.

Khaid placed a hand on the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface for a moment. He was safe, detached, and fully in control of the captive girl's environment

“Still shouting, little bird?” Khaid's voice resonated, distorted slightly by the speaker to sound deeper, more menacing, yet still perfectly calm.

Elvira lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, but the terror was fiercely masked by a hostile glare. “My name is Elvira,” she bit out. “And you are a coward. If you want the consignment, talk to my father. Not a captive girl.”

“Ah, the feisty one. I was told you were special,” Khaid mused, activating a microphone setting that amplified the sterile hiss of the air filtration, creating a subtle disorienting pressure change.

He turned to Kael who was standing on guard outside the compartment. “Why is her face battered? I thought I told you not to touch her”

“I didn't boss. It was your sister”

“Anna?” Khaid quizzed and turned to look at the bloody face of Elvira. “Interesting. Talk about women supporting women” He chuckled humourlessly.

Then he turned to the girl’s direction. “I have my consignment back, Elvira. And I have the necklace, the thing he screamed about. The one he cherishes more than he cherishes you.”

He brought the actual, antique key necklace Kael stripped from her and held it up to the glass.

Elvira stared, her composure cracking. “That's not. . .”

“This is the real one” He corrected, enjoying the look of pure terror that finally wiped the defiance from her face. “The one you wear is a cheap decoy. Now, tell me, Elvira. Why is this little piece of metal worth more to Metropaul than his own daughter?”