Chapter 5: The Cage

Calla stood frozen in the study long after Killian’s footsteps had disappeared down the hall.

You belong to me now.

The words echoed relentlessly in her mind, anger and panic colliding like a storm inside her chest.

He had no right. No one did. Did they never learn? Who did he think he was, claiming ownership over her like a prize?

Her eyes dropped to the folder still lying open on the polished desk, its contents a mystery she wasn’t ready to face yet. She took a slow, measured step back.

The house, which had felt like a palace when she arrived, now felt more like a gilded cage—beautiful on the outside, but cold and suffocating within.

The bastard. To hell with his so-called protection.

Her bare feet barely made a sound on the cold marble floor as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Her heart thundered painfully in her ears, loud enough to drown out every other sound.

She didn’t know the layout of this sprawling mansion, but she would find the exit. She had to.

The first door she opened revealed a plush lounge, empty except for the soft hum of a distant television.

The second was a bathroom, sterile and cold, its mirror fogged with condensation.

The third door was locked tight, no sign of what lay beyond.

The fourth door swung open, and a man stepped out.

Not Killian.

He looked like one of Killian’s thugs, dressed in black with a stern face and a small earpiece in his ear.

He was speaking quietly into a headset when he noticed her.

“Miss Calla,” he said smoothly, “Are you lost?”

“I’m looking for the exit,” she said evenly, keeping her voice steady.

He didn’t move, his gaze unreadable. “Mr. Black asked us to ensure you’re safe. You’re not to leave just yet.”

Her jaw clenched, sharp and unforgiving. “Safe, or imprisoned?”

“Please return to your room,” he replied calmly. “Breakfast will be brought up shortly.”

Calla stepped closer, her stance challenging. “If I try to leave, will you physically stop me?”

The man hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes.”

Her fury bubbled beneath her skin like molten lava, but she swallowed it down, turned sharply, and walked back the way she came.

She shut the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard.

She had escaped once before.

She could do it again.

But not now.

Not without a plan.

If Killian thought she would be his puppet, he was sorely mistaken.

Calla was never going to break again.

Not for Damien.

Not for Selene.

And definitely not for Killian Black.

*

*

*

Killian’s fists clenched tightly around the rim of the bathroom sink.

Steam curled around him, fogging the mirror, but he didn’t see his reflection.

He only saw her, the way she had looked at him: defiant, furious.

I don’t belong to you or anyone else.

He hadn’t expected gratitude. But he hadn’t expected that fire either.

Turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water over his face, trying to wash away the frustration pulsing beneath his skin.

He needed her to destroy the one obstacle standing in his path: Damien.

But she was proving to be more of a handful than he’d anticipated.

He liked his women gentle and submissive, not willful and hot-tempered.

And that made something dark and hungry twist inside his chest.

Killian had built empires by breaking men far more dangerous than Calla.

Yet somehow, she had begun to get under his skin.

Thoughts of her teased him, igniting something he couldn’t quite control.

He wanted her.

He wanted to feel her beneath him, to taste the fire that burned behind those fierce eyes.

He dried his hands, slid on his watch, and stepped out.

As he walked down the hall, his men gave him respectful nods.

One stepped forward. “Sir, she tried to leave.”

Killian didn’t stop walking. “And?”

“She’s back in the room.”

Killian nodded once. “Good. Let her simmer. I will be there.”

****

He stopped outside her door.

For a moment, he considered knocking.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped inside to find her gazing out the window, lost in thought.

She was breathtaking, he’d give her that.

Killian smirked, the edge of his lips curling. “You know, most women would be grateful for the kind of protection I’m offering.”

Calla didn’t flinch. She turned slowly, meeting his gaze with a wicked smile. “Is that so? Maybe you’re confusing protection with possession.”

He moved closer, voice low and teasing. “Is there a difference?”

Her eyes sparkled with defiance. “Yeah. One lets me breathe. The other... feels like a cage.”

Killian’s grin deepened, a flicker of amusement lighting his dark eyes. “Cages can be cozy. And I do like the way you fight... fierce, stubborn. You keep things interesting.”

Calla crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Careful, Killian. I might start thinking you enjoy chasing something you can’t have.”

He took another step, closing the distance between them, his breath warm against her skin. “Maybe I do. But trust me, darling, you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

Her smirk turned into a sly smile. “Untouchable? I’m just getting started.”

He let out a low chuckle, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear—a bold, intimate gesture that sent a jolt through both of them.

“You’ve got fire, Calla. I like that.”

“And I’m not here to be tamed,” she whispered back.

Killian’s tone dropped even lower, thick with promise and challenge. “We’ll see about that.”

Then, stepping back, he asked, voice sharp as a knife, “Tell me why Damien had you locked up. I’ve read the records, but I don’t trust those. I want to hear it from you.”

Calla didn’t turn away from the window.

Her fingers clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

“Because I found out something I wasn’t supposed to know.”

Killian took a step closer.

“What?”

She finally turned to him, eyes sharp like twin blades.

“Something worth killing for.”