A Golden Cage

The morning sun stung my eyes as it filtered through the heavy silk drapes of my bedroom. 

I lay still against my pillows, listening to the quiet hum of our house, but my mind was miles away, trapped in the encounter three nights ago.

Alex’s parting words still burned in my mind as well. Too naïve. Too insecure. For months, I had allowed my boyfriend to make me feel small, to shrink my personality until I fit neatly into the quiet, sheltered box my father had built for me. 

And then I met Neville.

I buried my face in my hands, my cheeks turning bright red instantly. 

Even after three days, I could still feel the pressure of his hands, the intensity in his brown eyes, and the overwhelming feeling of being wanted by a man who looked at me like I was the only person in the room.

I sat up, running a hand through my long, wavy black hair.

Perhaps I was supposed to feel guilty. I was Jackson Hunt’s daughter, the good girl, the perfect student, the protected prize of one of the city's most powerful billionaires. 

Sneaking out, drinking, and losing myself in a handsome stranger's arms went against every single rule I had lived by for twenty-two years.

But as I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror, seeing the sharp focus in my green eyes, I didn't feel ashamed. I felt alive. For the first time, I felt like a real woman making her own choices.

A heavy knock at my bedroom door shattered my thoughts.

"Veronica?"

My father’s deep voice carried through the thick wood. I tensed up, pulling my robe tightly around my shoulders before crossing the room to open the door.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a tailored suit. At fifty years old, he was still an intimidating man, his broad frame and sharp green eyes so much like my own radiating complete authority.

He gave me a quick look, his brows knitting together in immediate concern.

"You look tired, Veronica," he said, stepping into my room without asking. "Have you been sleeping well these past few nights?"

No, I've been thinking about my one night stand.

"I'm fine, Dad," I lied smoothly, forcing my voice to give nothing away. "Just studying a lot."

He adjusted his cufflinks, glancing out my window. "You need your rest. The world outside these walls is dangerous enough, and you need to keep your focus. You know how easily people can take advantage of you."

In the past, I would have nodded meekly, agreeing to whatever he said. But today, his usual lecture felt less like fatherly care and more like a golden cage locking me in.

"I understand, Dad," I replied quietly.

He turned back to me, studying my face for a long moment. For a second, I panicked, wondering if he could somehow guess what I had done three nights ago.

But then his phone vibrated sharply in his pocket. 

He hesitated for some seconds then he pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his face instantly hardened into a tight expression.

It almost seemed like he didn't want to attend to whatever popped up on his phone.

"I have meetings all day," he began, his tone turning distant as he typed a quick reply. "Make sure you take the driver with you if you're going out. Your mother's people have been spotted in the city again, and I won't have her trying to get to you."

"She hasn't tried to call me, Dad," I said softly.

"And she won't get the chance to," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Go down and eat breakfast. I'll be in my study until late afternoon."

Without waiting for me to answer, he turned and walked out, his shoes clicking against the floor.

I took a slow breath, letting out the air I had been holding. As much as his control suffocated me, I noticed something different about him today.

He was distracted.

Having meetings all day was no new thing for my dad but today was the first time I'd seen him hesitate.

It's no secret, the man is a workaholic so it was unlike him to give up his corporate meetings for anything.

Not even family time.

Something major was happening, but as usual, he was keeping me completely in the dark.

The rest of the day moved slowly. 

I tried to focus on some of my school work, but every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that hotel room feeling Neville’s touch against my skin. 

I kept wondering if I would ever see him again, or if he had already forgotten about me.

By early evening, the house was very quiet. The warm light of the sunset poured into my father’s private study, casting long shadows across his mahogany desk and leather chairs.

I stood near the open doorway, holding a fresh cup of hot coffee I had brought for him. 

He was standing by the large window, a glass of scotch in his hand. He looked tired, the sharp lines of his face looking softer in the evening light.

"Dad?" I whispered, stepping inside.

He turned around and gave me a soft smile.

"Put it on the desk, sweetheart. Thank you."

I placed the cup down and hesitated, watching him. "You've been working so hard lately. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine, Veronica," he said smoothly, walking over to sit on the edge of his big desk. He pointed to the leather armchair across from him. 

"Sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you."

I sat down, pulling my sweater close, my heart beating a little faster. "About what?"

He looked at me in silence for a long moment. 

For the first time in a very long time, he didn't look like a cold billionaire titan, nor did he look like an overbearing guard keeping me locked up. 

He just looked….lonely.

"I know I’ve been very strict with you over the years," Dad began slowly, his voice low. "Ever since your mother and I went our separate ways, my main goal was to protect you from the media, from fake people, and especially from your mother’s lies. I wanted to build a safe world for you."

"I know, Dad," I said, my heart softening.

"I know I haven't been the easiest person to live with," he continued, looking down at his glass. 

"And I know this huge house has felt quiet and lonely for you. It has been lonely for me, too."

I stared at him, completely surprised by his words. He had never admitted to feeling lonely before.

Dad set his glass down on the desk. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his green eyes looking directly into mine with a very serious expression.

"Veronica," he asked casually, his tone calm and gentle, "how would you feel if I were to get remarried?”