Caged

​I woke up on the freezing bathroom tiles, my body stiff as a board and radiating a dull, throbbing ache. When I finally dragged myself up and leaned against the sink, I saw the dark, plum-colored marks circling my neck. They were a vivid, a brutal proof of last night's nightmare.

​Outside, birdsong drifted faintly through the window. It was a beautiful morning, mocking my life.

​A sharp knock startled me, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through my veins. Did he come?

​"You finally decided to come out. Martha sent me to see if you're still alive or not," Luba said. Her voice, usually sharp as a razor, but for some reason it carried an unexpected weight of sympathy.

​She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over my disheveled state before pausing at the bruises around my throat. She winced, stepping closer to whisper, "Ms. Willow, don't worry. Mr. Harrington already left. For now… you're free."

​I stared at her, my lip trembling. "Mr. Harrington? Free?" The word felt like a joke. "Luba… I don't even know how I offended him. I've never even met that man before last night. Why does he look at me like I'm a monster?"

​"Shhh!" She glanced nervously at the door. "Others might hear. I don't know the whole story, but Martha said the Young Master's first love… her death was connected to you."

​"What?" The word came out in a painful rasp. "You mean—the woman in those photos… she was his love?"

​Luba nodded solemnly. "Yes. Winter Rose. After her death, the young master grew cold, distant from the world. The only thing keeping him alive was his search for her murderer."

​My knees nearly buckled. I gripped the edge of the sink. "But I don't know her! I've never even seen her face until I entered this room! I'm just an ordinary girl. Our worlds were miles apart!"

​How could he blame me for the death of someone I never knew? A sudden pain shot through my throat as I spoke. I clutched at the bruises, gasping for air.

"I'm sorry for how we treated you yesterday," Luba whispered, guilt flickering in her eyes. "But we can't disobey him. We're only following orders."

​"I understand," I whispered hoarsely. My neck throbbed with the beat of my heart.

​"Come with me, Miss. Let me apply some ointment before it worsens."

​I followed her silently, but beneath the pain, a cold resolve was hardening. I wasn't going to be his punching bag for a crime I didn't commit. If this was a war, I needed to learn how to fight back. At least for three years! I have to survive...

---

​

At the dining hall:

​Breakfast was a lavish spread of things I couldn't taste. Martha stood by in silence as I ate with a desperate hunger, my body demanding fuel to keep up with my racing mind. Luba had already tended to my neck and dressed me in clean, simple clothes.

​"I'll go out later," I said, setting down my fork and trying to sound firm.

​"I'm sorry, Ms. Willow," Martha replied. "The Young Master forbade it."

​My eyes snapped to Luba, but she wouldn't look at me.

​"He can't control me!" I stood up. "I'm an adult, not a prisoner! He has no legal right to keep me here!"

​The servants stayed silent, the clock on the wall ticking away the seconds like a countdown.

Finally, Martha spoke. "You are allowed to leave… but only twice a week. And only with his bodyguards."

​My chest tightened. "So I am a prisoner. Just in a bigger cell."

​I stormed back upstairs, the heavy silence of the manor pressing in on me. I retreated to the bedroom, where the photos of Winter Rose stared down.

I sat at the desk and opened my laptop, my fingers flying across the keys. I searched for self-defense, for legal loopholes, for anything that could give me a sliver of power. If I was going to survive three years of this, I needed to be more than a victim.

​The rest of the day I read, I paced, and I finally called the hospital. The nurse's voice was a lifeline: Grandma was stable. Relief washed over me, momentarily drowning the fear. If she was safe, I could endure a thousand August Harringtons.

​But as the sun dipped below the horizon, the shadows in the room grew long and predatory. I caught my reflection in the mirror—the bruising was fading under the ointment, but the fear in my eyes was there.

​"Adjust to prison life, Spring," I whispered bitterly. "It's only day two."

---

​

​Creak.

​The sound of the door opening made my blood turn to ice. August Harrington stepped inside, the aura of the room shifted instantly.

Without a glance he simply tore off his suit jacket and tossed it carelessly onto my lap as if I were a coat rack.

​"Water," he ordered in commanding tone.

​I bit my tongue, the urge to throw the jacket back at him fighting with the instinct to survive. I moved to the side table, filled a glass.

But as soon as I handed him the glass, he hurled it at me. I barely dodged; it shattered inches from my face.

​"Are you insane?" I snapped, the adrenaline finally overriding my fear.

​His eyes blazed with a dark, unholy fire. "Say another word, and I'll break that mouth of yours."

​I let out a bitter laugh. "Wow. How brave. Does terrorizing a girl make you feel like the powerful man everyone says you are?"

​"You—" He stepped toward me, his finger jabbed at my face, trembling with a fury.

​"What? Regretting you didn't finish the job last night?" I challenged, my voice shaking.

​In two strides, he was on me. His weight crashed into me, pinning me onto the bed. His grip sat strong around my wrists, crushing them into the mattress.

​"I'm going to humiliate you today," he snarled, his face inches from mine, his breath smelling of bitter espresso. That is the only language trash like you understands."

​"Why?!" I sobbed, thrashing beneath him, my strength nothing compared to his. "If you hate me so much, just kill me! End this farce!"

​"Because death is a mercy," he hissed, his grip tightening. "And you… you don't deserve mercy. You deserve to feel the walls closing in every single day, just like I do."

​I punched, I kicked, I screamed until my throat hurt. It didn't matter. He pinned me effortlessly, his hand reaching for the buttons of my shirt. I heard the fabric groan and snap, my shirt falling open until only a thin tank top shielded me from his gaze.

​Tears blurred my vision. "Let me go! You monster!"

​He sneered, his eyes raking over me with a disgust. "You've got a body, but I have no interest in disgusting goods like you. You're nothing but a reminder of what I lost."

​My sobs broke through, filling the room. I waited for the next blow, the next humiliation.

​Then— Ring. Ring. Ring.

​The sound of his phone shattered the tension. He looked at me, then at the phone in his pocket. He released my wrists, stood up, and walked onto the balcony without a word.

​I curled into a ball on the bed, clutching the corner of my shirt, my body shaking with fears.

​Minutes later, he returned. The murderous fire in his eyes had dimmed into a cold, smoldering ember. "You're lucky this time."

​He snatched up his jacket, shot me one last look and stormed out. The door slammed shut with a force that rattled the frames on the wall.

---

​August Harrington's POV:

​Every time I look at her, the storm inside me threatens to tear the house down. I tell myself it's justice. I tell myself I'm the hand of fate, punishing the girl who stole my world.

​And yet… as I stood on that balcony, the sound of her broken sobs wouldn't leave my head. It felt like a serrated blade sawing at the back of my mind.

​I grew up with the Harrington motto: Protect the weak, honor the family. My father taught me to respect women, to be the shield, never the sword. But the man staring back at me in the mirror lately... I don't know him. He's a stranger fueled by grief and a hunger for blood.

​I closed my eyes, trying to summon Winter's face to justify the rage. But instead, I saw Spring's eyes—the way they looked right before the glass shattered. There was terror there, yes, but there was also a flicker of something that looked like… innocence.

​The thought repulsed me. I had wanted to humiliate her tonight until she couldn't look at her own reflection. But as I felt her heart racing like a trapped bird beneath my hands, something in me recoiled.

​What kind of man have I become? Is this the legacy Winter would have wanted?

​The call from Fanel had been a lifeline, a reason to stop before I crossed a line I could never come back from. The shame hit me then...

​"Fanel," I said, as I climbed into the back of the car waiting in the driveway.

​"Yes, Boss?"

​"I won't be back to the mansion tonight. Tell Martha."

​"Understood. Anything else?" Fanel's eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. He's been with me long enough to read the cracks in my armor.

​I hesitated, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Have her buy some designer clothes tomorrow. For… her."

​Fanel didn't change his expression, but I saw the slight quirk of his brow.

​Every time I feel a spark of pity, I remember the smell of burning rubber and the sight of Winter's...

​---