Chapter 5: The Bride in the Golden Cage

I didn’t sleep.

How could I?

After signing that contract, everything about my world shifted. I was no longer just Celeste Madrigal—I was the future Mrs. Villaraza.

My last name would be tied to the man I feared… and, disturbingly, the man who haunted my thoughts.

The morning sun peeked through the lace curtains as if mocking me for surviving another night in this golden prison. The bed was far too soft, too large. It felt like I was sinking in a dream I didn’t want to be in.

A knock at the door pulled me from my spiral.

Before I could speak, the door opened and a woman stepped in, not the maid from before—this one was different.

She was tall, graceful, dressed in a sleek black pantsuit. Her hair was pulled back into a perfect bun and her eyes were sharp.

"Good morning, Miss Madrigal—rather, soon-to-be Mrs. Villaraza,” she said, her voice clipped but professional. “I’m Althea, the family’s chief coordinator. I’m in charge of your wedding preparations.”

Wedding.

The word hit me like a slap.

I sat up slowly. “What preparations?”

“We have six days until the public ceremony,” she replied, checking something on her digital tablet. “Your dress fitting begins at nine, followed by hair and makeup trials, and a lunch meeting with the designer of your bridal line.”

“I don’t want a dress,” I muttered. “I don’t want a ceremony. I don’t want any of this.”

She didn’t even blink.

“And yet it’s happening,” she said plainly.

I clenched the sheets in my fists. “Do I at least get a say in anything?”

“You may choose your shoes,” she said, before gesturing toward the open dressing room. “Mr. Villaraza insists you look like a queen.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I’d rather look like a corpse.”

She finally looked up from her tablet and locked eyes with me.

“Then you’d best fake a smile. Because the world will be watching… and Mr. Villaraza does not tolerate embarrassment.”

---

By noon, I had been poked, measured, and drowned in diamonds and silks. The designer, a French man with a superiority complex, kept clapping his hands and calling me divine while pinning expensive lace to my shoulder.

All I could do was stand still, like a mannequin.

The room was filled with white gowns. Gowns I used to dream of when I was a child. I once imagined wearing a dress like this for love—not leverage.

“Don’t you want to try this one?” the stylist chirped. “The beadwork alone is worth—”

“I don’t care,” I snapped. “Pick whatever makes me look rich enough to be bought.”

There was silence for a moment.

Then I heard the heavy doors open behind me.

Every person in the room stood straighter.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who had arrived.

“Everyone out,” Dominic said calmly.

They scurried like mice. In less than ten seconds, the room was empty—just me, still standing in the fitting mirror, and him.

He walked toward me slowly, his eyes raking over the gown I wore. It was half-pinned, unfinished, revealing my collarbone and bare shoulders.

“Stunning,” he murmured.

I stepped back. “Don’t.”

“I said I wouldn’t touch you until you asked me to,” he reminded.

“Then stay across the room.”

He didn’t listen. Of course, he didn’t.

“You think I want this?” I whispered, tears threatening to fall again. “You think I enjoy being paraded around like your prize?”

His jaw tightened.

“I never said this would be easy.”

“Then why do it?” I snapped. “Why force me into this… circus?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he walked to the corner table and poured himself a glass of wine.

“You want the truth?” he asked without looking at me.

“Yes.”

He took a slow sip.

“Because marrying you ruins your father.”

I blinked. “What?”

Dominic turned around, his eyes darker than usual.

“Eduardo Madrigal spent his life climbing over people like me. People who weren’t born into money. He humiliated my family. Blackmailed my father. Stole contracts. And when my mother died, he laughed.”

He placed the glass down and walked back toward me, stopping inches away.

“And now,” he said softly, “I’m taking the one thing he never wanted to give me—his daughter.”

My throat dried.

“So I’m a trophy?” I spat.

“No.” He paused. “You’re my revenge.”

And for the first time, he looked… conflicted.

“I didn’t plan on feeling anything,” he admitted. “But then I saw you again. And you weren’t just Madrigal’s daughter. You were… something else.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I said nothing.

He reached out—so slow I could have stepped away—but I didn’t.

His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from my face.

“I never wanted this life,” he whispered. “But if I must live it, I want you in it.”

I should’ve slapped him.

I should’ve screamed.

But instead, I froze.

And for the briefest moment, I let him touch me.

---

That night, I lay on the massive bed in Dominic’s room—our room now.

He had left hours ago after saying he had a business meeting.

But I couldn’t sleep.

I kept staring at the empty side of the bed, thinking about what he said.

You were something else.

What did that even mean?

Was he really just using me for revenge? Or was there something darker behind his obsession?

I hated the way he made me feel.

Like I mattered.

Like I wasn’t just another broken thing to him.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

“Come in,” I said quietly.

To my surprise, it wasn’t a servant. It was him.

Dominic stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair falling across his forehead.

He looked tired.

Human.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head. “You?”

“Same.”

He walked in slowly and sat on the edge of the bed—but not close.

There was silence.

Then, softly, he said, “You signed the contract. I owe you something in return.”

I looked at him, confused. “What?”

He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to me.

I hesitated—then took it.

It was a USB drive.

“What’s this?”

“Proof,” he said. “Of your father's crimes. His gambling. His offshore accounts. His betrayal.”

My breath caught.

“You deserve to know the truth,” Dominic said. “Not just what I say. But what really happened.”

My fingers curled around the USB tightly.

“Why give this to me?”

“Because you’re my wife now,” he said. “And I don’t want your loyalty. I want your clarity.”

He stood and turned toward the door.

But before he could leave, I asked, “Why me, Dominic?”

He paused.

Then, in a voice so soft it barely reached me, he said—

“Because you were the only good thing I ever saw in that rotten family.”

And then he was gone.