The Cage

Cleopatra’s POV

I was taken to an interrogation room that was colder than it needed to be. I was seated on a metal chair with my wrists resting on the table, staring at Detective Morgan across from me.

The room had no windows or clocks, leaving me with no way to tell how much time had passed. It was deliberately designed to leave me disoriented and frightened, but I refused to give them the satisfaction.

Detective Morgan dropped another folder onto the table between us. "Let's try this again, Miss Sander," he said, leaning over the surface.

"I have already answered your questions," I replied firmly.

"You answered them by claiming you knew nothing."

"Because I actually know nothing."

He opened the folder and pushed several photographs toward me. "These shell companies received huge transfers directly from Walton Global."

I glanced briefly at the documents, refusing to show any panic. "I’ve never heard of any of these companies."

"Your credentials were used to access the accounts," Morgan pressed.

"I didn't access them." I insisted.

"Mr. Cross, your ex-fiancée claims you helped establish them."

I couldn't help but scoff. "Chris is a liar who is trying to save his own skin."

"He is willing to cooperate with the investigation," Morgan said, leaning back in his chair with an irritating air of authority. "He has provided specific details."

"Then go investigate those details and leave me out of it."

"We are," he said, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "You don't seem to understand the seriousness of your situation, Miss Sander. You could face years in prison for this."

My fingers tightened beneath the table as fear finally touched the edges of my composure. I thought about Diana, about Grace, and about my family.

Everything I had built was already gone. My business was destroyed, my reputation was ruined, and my wedding had turned into a national spectacle. Now, I was sitting in a police interrogation room accused of crimes committed by the man who had already stolen my entire future.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I didn't do this."

Morgan studied me closely. "Then tell me who did. Who had access to your computer? Who knew your passwords?"

"I don't know!"

He slammed his palm against the table, making me flinch. "You're making this very difficult for yourself."

I stared directly back at him. "I'm not the one making it difficult. Someone framed me."

Before he could respond, the door suddenly swung open and a man in a dark suit stepped inside.

"Detective Morgan, that’s enough," the man announced calmly, placing a business card on the table while two additional attorneys filed in behind him. "Oliver Lotman. Legal counsel for Walton Global."

And then I saw him. Desmond walked into the room wearing a black suit, his expression was colder than I had ever seen it.

My heart gave an involuntary jump, and I hated myself for reacting to his presence.

Morgan stood up angrily. "This is an ongoing investigation. You cannot interfere."

"I'm not here to interfere," Desmond replied, his gaze shifting directly to me. "I'm here to take responsibility for my employee."

The word employee stung strangely, but before I could process it, Oliver placed another document on the table.

"We have obtained independent server logs from Walton Global’s cybersecurity division," Oliver explained. "Miss Sander’s credentials were duplicated from another terminal. Someone remotely accessed her account while she was away from her desk in the copy room. The evidence against her was fabricated."

I stared at Desmond in disbelief. "Did you know about this?"

Desmond looked directly at me, his gaze softening just a fraction. "I know now."

Something inside me gave way. It wasn't relief, but rather the overwhelming realization that for the first time since my arrest, someone had finally validated what I had been screaming all along: I was innocent.

Morgan’s expression hardened as he reviewed the documents. "This doesn't clear her completely."

"No," Desmond agreed. "But it means you have no legal grounds to continue holding her on the current evidence. Besides, her bail has already been posted."

I turned to Desmond, shocked. "You posted my bail?"

"Yes."

"I didn't ask you to. I don't need you rescuing me."

His jaw tightened slightly. "I know that too."

For some reason, his acknowledgment angered me more than arrogance would have. Once the officer unlocked my handcuffs, I immediately stood up and rubbed the red marks left on my wrists.

Desmond noticed, his eyes darkening with a sudden edge of restraint, but he stayed silent.

We were escorted out of the station. Outside the station, a sea of cameras and reporters waited.

Desmond’s security team quickly surrounded us and guided me toward a black luxury sedan.

I stopped right before getting in, resistant. "I can get home myself."

Desmond opened the rear door, stepping aside. "Get in, Cleopatra."

"I said I can get home."

"And I said get in."

I glared at him. "You really don’t know how to ask nicely, do you?"

Something almost resembling amusement crossed his face. "Not when you're standing outside a police station surrounded by news reporters."

I gritted my teeth and reluctantly climbed inside, with Desmond sliding in right after me. The door closed, shutting out the noise of the crowd, leaving us in silence as the city moved past the tinted windows.

Finally, Desmond broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

I turned toward him, surprised by how strange those words sounded coming from a man like him. "What?"

"I said I'm sorry," he repeated, looking straight into my eyes. "I should have checked the security footage before confronting you, and I should have trusted you. I was wrong."

I looked away, staring out at the passing streetlights. The apology should have made me feel better, but instead, it just reminded me of how deeply he had hurt me.

"You buying my bail doesn't erase what happened, Desmond. And your legal team clearing the evidence doesn't mean I owe you anything."

"I don't expect it to," he said quietly.

I turned back to face him fully. "Then understand this clearly: you bought my freedom tonight, but you did not buy my loyalty."

His eyes locked onto mine with intense focus. "I never wanted to own your loyalty, Cleopatra. I want your trust."

I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Then you're going to have to earn it."

A long silence settled over the car. Desmond leaned back against his seat, studying me with an intensity that made me deeply uncomfortable.

"What?" I asked defensively. "You're staring."

"I'm sorry," he replied, his lips curving slightly. "I'll try to stop."

I looked back out the window, refusing to acknowledge the strange warmth spreading through my chest. He had ruined my wedding, accused me of a crime, and humiliated me, yet he had personally come to free me from jail. I didn't understand him, but what frightened me even more was realizing a part of me actually wanted to.

When the car finally pulled up outside my apartment, I reached for the door handle.

"Cleopatra," he called out. When I paused to look back over my shoulder, he added, "Thank you. For not giving up."

My heart tightened in my chest. I opened the door and stepped onto the pavement, looking back at him one last time. "Don't thank me yet, Mr. Walton. I haven't decided whether I forgive you."

I shut the door behind me and walked toward my building, well aware of his gaze following me through the tinted glass until I disappeared inside. Deep down, I knew this wasn't the end, it was only the beginning.