CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2: The Golden Cage

The ceiling was the exact shade of "April Cloud" blue I had picked when I was six. I blinked, my lashes sticky with dried salt. For a heartbeat, the smell of lavender and the soft weight of a goose-down duvet convinced me the wedding, the fire, and the blood were just a fever dream.

Then I moved.

The heavy iron shackles around my ankles snapped against the mahogany bedpost. The cold metal bit into my skin, a jagged reminder of reality. I sat up, the room spinning. It was a perfect replica—the white vanity, the porcelain dolls, the lace curtains. But when I looked at the windows, the sunlight was sliced into strips by reinforced steel bars.

"You're finally awake. I was beginning to think Dante hit you too hard."

A woman sat in the armchair by the corner, peeling an orange with a silver paring knife. She looked like an angel—golden hair, wide blue eyes, and a smile that didn't reach her pupils.

"Who are you?" My voice was a dry rasp.

"Sofia. Dante’s sister." She popped a slice of orange into her mouth, her teeth clicking. She leaned forward, her expression melting into something fake and syrupy. "Oh, you poor thing. Don't look so terrified. I told him this was overkill. You aren't like the others."

I pulled the duvet to my chin. "The others?"

Sofia’s smile widened, revealing a row of perfectly straight, predatory teeth. She gestured casually toward the floorboards. "The three girls who lived in this room before you. The first one tried to jump. The second… well, she wasn't very good at following rules. Dante had to be firm. They didn't last a month." She sighed, a delicate, hollow sound. "I really hope you’re sturdier, Bianca. I hate cleaning out this room. It’s so much work to get the smell of copper out of the carpet."

The door didn't creak; it groaned under the weight of the man who pushed it open.

Dante Vane didn't enter a room; he commanded the air within it. He had discarded his jacket. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and scarred by old violence.

"Out," he said. He didn't look at Sofia.

She stood, dusting pith from her skirt. She leaned over and patted my hand. Her skin was ice-cold. "Eat your breakfast, honey. You’ll need the strength for whatever he has planned."

The door clicked shut behind her. Dante walked toward the bed, his presence pressing down on me until I felt like I was suffocating. He held a tray—steak, eggs, and a glass of dark red juice. He set it on the nightstand and pulled a chair so close our knees touched.

"Eat," he commanded.

"I’m not hungry."

He gripped my jaw, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh under my chin until I was forced to look at him. His eyes were like obsidian, reflecting nothing but my own trembling reflection. "I didn't ask if you were hungry. I told you to eat. I don't buy broken property, and I certainly don't keep property that starves itself."

He picked up a piece of the steak with a fork and held it to my lips. The metallic scent of seared meat filled my nose. I kept my mouth clamped shut.

Dante’s jaw creaked as he ground his teeth. He set the fork down and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of yellowed parchment. He snapped it open in front of my face.

It wasn't ink. The signatures at the bottom were dark, brownish-red. The iron scent hit me instantly.

"Your father's blood," Dante hissed. "He didn't just sell your life. He sold your soul, your womb, and every breath you take until the day you die. This contract says I can do whatever I want with you, Bianca. I can break you. I can use you. I can discard you."

I stared at my father’s jagged scrawl. He had traded me for a clean slate. "He’s my father..."

"He’s a coward who values his skin more than his blood." Dante leaned closer, his heat radiating off him in waves. "And now, you belong to a man who has no use for cowards."

His phone vibrated against his thigh. He pulled it out, his eyes never leaving mine as he answered.

"Speak."

He listened for a moment. A slow, terrifying grin spread across his face—a look of pure, predatory triumph. He ended the call and stood up, looming over me like a god of ruin.

"It seems your dear father is at the private airfield," Dante said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "He’s trying to flee to Switzerland with the rest of the money I gave him."

I felt a spark of hope—if he escaped, maybe he’d come back for me. Maybe he had a plan.

Dante saw the look in my eyes and laughed. It was a jagged, cruel sound. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back so I had to look at him.

"He’s on the tarmac right now, Bianca. My men are waiting in the hangar. So, here’s your first lesson in your new life." He leaned in, his breath hot against my lips. "Should I let him fly away and leave you here to rot, or should I bring him back here so you can watch what happens to people who steal from me?"

He squeezed my throat, not enough to kill, but enough to make the world blur.

"Choose, Little Bird. His life, or your last shred of hope?"