Chapter Five

Trapped in Luxury

The silk sheets were soft.

Too soft.

Like everything else in Julian Thorne’s penthouse, they were expensive enough to feel like a trap.

I lay there in silence, sunlight pouring across my skin like guilt. The night before replayed in my mind on a brutal loop—his hands, his mouth, the way I’d surrendered, again.

No one chains you when the cage is made of gold.

I slipped out of bed before Julian woke up, wrapping his silk robe around my frame. I padded barefoot across the penthouse, past glass walls and polished marble. The city was alive outside, but in here—stillness. Wealth. Power. A suffocating kind of silence.

I found my phone tucked inside a drawer.

Dead.

Of course it was.

Everything I had before Julian—gone. My apartment? Bought by him. My new job offer? “Revoked due to internal restructuring.” Translation: Julian got there first.

I was being smothered by roses, and every petal was laced with poison.

My hand shook as I poured a cup of coffee.

“Sleep well?” His voice, low and casual, slid behind me like a shadow.

I didn’t turn around. “Why did you sabotage my job?”

Julian moved to the bar, poured himself something far stronger. “It wasn’t the right place for you.”

“You mean the only place that wasn’t owned by you?”

He sipped his drink. “Semantics.”

“Stop controlling everything,” I snapped.

He met my gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Camille, you signed a contract.”

“That didn’t mean you could buy my building, blacklist me, and isolate me from everyone.”

Julian walked toward me, slow and deliberate. “I protect what’s mine.”

“I’m not a possession!”

His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “No. But you’re the only part of my life I can’t risk losing.”

I stepped back.

Because that scared me more than if he’d admitted he wanted to ruin me.

Later that day, I slipped out while he was in a meeting.

One of the staff—Maria, a housekeeper with kind eyes—had tipped me off that Julian was out. It was a small act of rebellion. And maybe… a clue that not everyone under his thumb wanted to be there.

I wandered through the streets of Manhattan like I’d just escaped a castle dungeon. The world outside hadn’t changed—but I had. Every smile felt suspicious. Every corner, watched.

I ducked into a quiet café, needing space, noise, freedom. That’s when I saw her.

She was sitting alone in the corner, stirring her tea like it had personally betrayed her.

Tall. Elegant. Haunted.

Our eyes met for a moment, and something passed between us. Recognition? No—it was deeper than that.

I approached cautiously. “Sorry, do I know you?”

The woman tilted her head. “No. But I know you.”

A chill ran down my spine.

She motioned to the seat across from her. “You’re Camille. The new one.”

My throat tightened. “New what?”

She smiled. Not kindly.

“The new obsession.”

I didn’t sit. “Who are you?”

“Danika. I was where you are. Three years ago.” Her eyes were sharp, cold. “Julian plucked me out of obscurity. Turned me into his doll. Designer clothes. Secret trips. Lavish dinners. But it always starts the same… and ends even worse.”

“What happened?”

She leaned forward. “What do you think happened?”

My pulse thudded.

“He got bored?”

She laughed. A bitter sound. “Worse. He became possessive. Then paranoid. Then… terrifying.”

My mouth went dry. “But you’re here now.”

“Barely,” Danika said. “I left New York. Changed my name. Started over. But something pulled me back. Or maybe…” She looked me dead in the eyes. “…someone.”

“What do you want from me?”

She stood, gathering her coat. “Nothing. Just remember—when he says you’re different, he means you’ll be destroyed differently.”

She walked away before I could say another word.

By the time I returned to the penthouse, I felt like my lungs had caved in. I paced the living room, trying to make sense of everything. The control. The sabotage. The other woman.

I went to the guest wing, hoping to find Maria. But her room was empty.

Just like that—gone.

It was too quiet.

I returned to my bedroom, hoping for time alone.

That’s when I saw it.

An envelope.

Unmarked. Resting perfectly on my pillow.

I glanced toward the hallway.

No one.

I picked it up slowly. My fingers trembled as I slid the paper out.

It was a photograph.

Of me.

Taken that morning.

Wearing Julian’s robe. Hair tangled. Looking out the window.

Taken from inside the apartment.

My heart pounded.

Then I saw the message scribbled on the back in thick red ink:

You’re next.

Camille realizes someone is watching her from inside the apartment—and they’re threatening her life.