Chapter 7: The Cage

Aria’s POV

The elevator descended slowly, each floor feeling like a countdown to freedom. I watched the numbers decrease…25, 24, 23…my two suitcases standing beside me like silent allies.

When the doors opened to the parking garage, I stepped out and headed toward my car. 

I was about to walk in when I heard the sound of a tyre screech. Headlights flooded the garage, blinding me.

I knew that car was Jason’s car.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”

He parked directly behind my car, blocking me in. 

The door opened and he stepped out, still wearing his suit from the restaurant, the red mark from my slap visible on his cheek even in the dim lighting.

“Going somewhere?” His voice echoed across the concrete.

I tightened my grip on my suitcase handles. “Get out of my way.”

“Our way.” He walked toward me slowly, deliberately. “This is our building, our parking garage, our marriage. Or did you forget?”

“Move your car, Jason.”

“No.” He stopped a few feet away. “You’re not leaving.”

“Watch me.”

I tried to move past him, dragging my suitcases. His hand shot out and grabbed the handle of the nearest one.

“Let go!” I yanked back, but his grip was iron.

“You’re coming back upstairs.” His voice was calm, which made it worse. “We’re going to talk about this like adults.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” I pulled harder on the suitcase. “I’m done, Jason. I’m leaving. You can’t stop me.”

“Can’t I?” He wrenched the suitcase from my hands with one sharp pull. It clattered to the ground between us.

Something inside me snapped.

I launched myself at him, fists pounding against his chest. “Give it back! Give it back, you bastard!”

He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, absorbing my blows like they were nothing. Like I was nothing.

“Are you finished?” he asked flatly.

“I hate you!” My voice cracked. “I hate you so much!”

“Good. Hate me all you want.” He grabbed my other suitcase. “You’re still not leaving.”

“You can’t do this!” I tried to grab it back, but he held it out of reach. “You can’t keep me here!”

“Yes, I can.” He started walking toward the elevator, both my suitcases in his hands. 

“Three years, Aria. We signed a contract. You don’t get to break it because you threw a tantrum in a restaurant.”

I ran after him and grabbed his arm. “Jason, please…”

He shrugged me off and kept walking.

“Stop! Stop it!” I grabbed his jacket, tried to pull him back. “What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?”

He turned so fast I stumbled backwards. His face was cold, and hard. How did I ever fall in love with this kind of person? I really attract the worst people.

“You want to know why?” He set the suitcases down. 

“Because you signed a prenup. Because you agreed to three years. Because I own you for eight more months, and I won't let go of what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours! I was never yours!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He stepped closer, backing me against a concrete pillar. 

“You became mine the day you signed those papers. You took my name, my money, my protection. And now you think you can just walk away because I hurt your feelings?”

“You cheated on me!” The words tore out of me.

“Prove it.” His smile was cruel. “Go ahead, Aria. Take those photos to a lawyer. See what happens when I counter with evidence of your assault tonight. See how fast a judge sides with the unstable wife who attacked her husband in public.”

My breath came in short gasps. “You’re insane.”

He picked up the suitcases again. “Now we’re going upstairs, and you’re going to unpack these. Tomorrow, you’ll apologise to Violet for your behaviour. And then we’re going to finish out these eight months as if nothing happened.”

“Or what?” The words came out weak, desperate. “What are you going to do, Jason? Lock me in the penthouse?”

He paused, looked back at me with something calculating in his eyes.

“No. I’m going to make one phone call.” He pulled out his phone. 

“To St. Catherine’s Orphanage. You know, the one you’ve been secretly donating to for the past year? Twenty thousand dollars so far. Very generous.”

My blood ran cold. “How did you…”

“I monitor all your accounts, remember?” He scrolled through his phone casually. 

“You thought you were so clever, using your old Quinn account. The one I supposedly didn’t know about. But Aria, I’ve known about that account since month three of our marriage. I know about every transaction. Every donation. Every coffee you buy with those funds you think are hidden.”

I felt sick. “You’ve been spying on me.”

He looked up from his phone. “St. Catherine’s is a wonderful organization. It would be a shame if they suddenly lost their biggest donor. Or worse…if an anonymous tip reached the IRS about financial irregularities in their books.”

“They haven’t done anything wrong…”

“Haven’t they? I’m sure if someone looked hard enough, they’d find something. Improper documentation. Misallocated funds. These small charities are always sloppy with paperwork.” 

His smile widened. “And once the IRS starts investigating, the donations dry up. The reputation tanks. They’d probably have to close within six months.”

“You wouldn’t.” But I knew he would. I could see it in his eyes.

“Try me.” He put his phone away. “Stay for eight months, play the good wife, and St. Catherine’s keeps helping all those children you care so much about. Leave now, and I will make one call tomorrow morning. Your choice.”

I stared at him, this monster wearing my husband’s face. “Why?” My voice broke. 

“Why are you doing this? Why do you hate me so much?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive.

“You want to know why?” He picked up both suitcases and started toward the elevator. 

“Blame yourself for being stupid.”

I gasped not expecting his words.

“I didn’t force you to marry me, Aria. You walked down that aisle with stars in your eyes, thinking this was some fairy tale.”

 He pressed the elevator button. “You were so blinded by the money, the lifestyle, the name. You never asked what I wanted. Never questioned why a man like me would marry a woman like you.”

“A woman like me,” I repeated numbly.

“I told you what this marriage was,” he continued. 

“I told you in every possible way except the words themselves. But you didn’t want to see it. You wanted the fantasy. And now you’re angry at me because reality doesn’t match your delusions?”

“I loved you,” I whispered.

“That’s not my problem.” His finger hovered over the button to hold the elevator. 

“Now get in, or I’m making that call tonight instead of tomorrow.”

I looked at my suitcases in his hands. Then at the exit, just thirty feet away. Freedom was so close.

But so were fifty orphans who depended on St. Catherine’s.

“That’s what I thought.” He pressed the button to hold the door open. “Get in, Aria. We’re going home.”

I walked into the elevator on shaking legs.

The doors closed, trapping us in that small space as we ascended back to the penthouse. Back to my cage.