Twenty-Six: The Gilded Cage

Twenty-Six: The Gilded Cage

Cecilia POV

My eyelids fluttered open to a world that didn't make sense.

The ceiling above me stretched like an endless void, all sleek lines and recessed lights casting a soft, golden haze. Where the hell was I? My head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing behind my eyes, and my body felt heavy, like I'd been dragged through a nightmare and left to rot.

The air was cool, scented with something dark and intoxicating. Wood smoke, leather, and a raw, masculine edge that tugged at the edges of my memory. Familiar, but wrong. This wasn't my room. No pastel walls, no stack of textbooks on the nightstand. Just this massive bed swallowing me whole, sheets like silk against my skin.

Skin. Wait—

I shifted, and the fabric whispered over me, too loose, too big. Panic clawed up my throat as I glanced down. An oversized black T-shirt draped my frame, the collar slipping off one shoulder, the hem barely skimming my thighs. Underneath? Nothing but my panties. The thin cotton clinging damply where sweat or something worse had soaked through.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Who had undressed me? When? Why?

The last thing I remembered was pain. Searing jolts ripping through me, voices demanding answers I didn't have, and then... darkness. A scream tore from my lips, sharp and feral, echoing off the high walls.

The door burst open, and there he was. Zacian. Storming in like a force of nature.

Shirtless, his broad chest gleamed under the low light, muscles rippling with every urgent step, a gun gripped in his right hand, barrel pointed low but ready, his jaw set in lethal focus. Those piercing eyes locked on me, scanning for threats before softening just a fraction.

God, he was built like sin. Shoulders wide enough to block out the world, abs carved from stone, and that V dipping into his jeans making my stomach flip despite the terror. Sleeves of intricate tattoos coiled up his arms, dark ink twisting like shadows over his biceps. Over his heart, a fierce lion roared in etched fury, rising and falling with his breath.

I froze, scream dying in my throat. Him. Dad’s best friend. The gala, the one whose touch had lingered in my dreams like a forbidden promise. But here, now, half-naked and armed, he looked every inch the predator.

Heat flooded my cheeks as I yanked the duvet up, clutching it to my chest like a shield, the T-shirt riding higher on my thighs. My nipples pebbled against the soft cotton, traitorous and aching, from the chill or his presence. I didn't want to examine it too closely.

"Cecilia," he said, voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. He didn't holster the gun immediately. He stood there, chest heaving slightly from the run, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on me. They weren't soft. They were cold, assessing, calculating.

"You're safe," he said, the words lacking any warmth. "Sit tight."

"You," I gasped, voice hoarse from screaming. "What the—get out! I don't... this isn't..."

My free hand fumbled for the edge of the bed, but the vulnerability hit hard. Me, exposed in his clothes, in his bed, while he stood there like a god carved from stone.

He stepped closer, finally holstering the weapon, but his posture remained rigid. "Stop screaming. You're in my penthouse. The doors are reinforced. No one gets in unless I say so."

Memories crashed over me then. The warehouse, the damp smell of rot, the clamps biting into my skin. And then... him. Bursting through the doors like a demon, gunfire erupting, his hands cutting the ties that bound me, holding me against his chest as the world bled out. He had saved me. He had killed for me.

"I don't understand," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. "Those men... they electrocuted me. Where are they? Where's my dad?"

Zacian’s expression didn't flicker. He walked to the foot of the bed, looking down at me with an impersonal detachment that chilled me more than the warehouse had.

"Your father's debts got you grabbed, Cecilia. Piper and Alex. They run the loan sharks and the street gangs on the east side. Dirty money, dirty hands. They thought using you would squeeze him. They were wrong."

"My dad doesn't borrow from loan sharks," I said, the denial tasting like ash in my mouth. I didn’t understand. Why would Zacian say such things?  "He's a businessman. He invests. He doesn't deal with... gangs."

Zacian stared at me, his expression unyielding. "You think you know him, Cecilia? You see the suits, the galas, the charity checks. You don't see the desperation. The bad bets. The people he owes when the investments dry up."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone, tossing it onto the nightstand. It clattered against the marble.

"That's a burner. Don't bother trying to call out. The lines are monitored. You don't call anyone. You don't text anyone. You don't leave."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, his voice hard, uncompromising. "You stay here. You eat here. You sleep here. Until I decide it's safe for you to walk out that door."

"This is kidnapping," I hissed, clutching the blanket tighter. "You can't just keep me here! You're no better than the animals who grabbed me."

"I can, and I am." He turned toward the door, his back a map of muscle and ink. "Get up. You need to eat. Then I'll show you the layout so you don’t go looking for exits that don't exist."

"I'm not hungry," I shot back, my chin trembling despite my best effort to look brave.

He paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder. The lion tattoo on his chest seemed to snarl in the low light.

"You'll eat, Cecilia. Or I'll force feed you. Your choice."

He left the door open, a silent command to follow.

I sat there for a moment, trembling with a mix of rage and terror. This wasn't the charming savior from my fantasies. The charming man from the gala. The distant man I’d grown up having a crush on. This was a jailor. A terrifying, powerful man who held my life in his hands.

But my stomach growled, betraying me, and the ache in my muscles was undeniable. Slowly, I slid off the bed, the oversized shirt swishing around my thighs. I padded barefoot into the hallway, the marble cool under my feet.

As I walked, I found myself a little overwhelmed. The penthouse was massive. Far larger than anything I’d ever seen, or the one my father owned. To my left, a massive living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Vegas strip. To my right, a hallway that seemed to stretch forever.

Damn. When Treyvan said billionaire I had always thought he was exaggerating. But I could get lost in here, so I guess not. Treyvan. The memory made my heart clench, and I suppressed the pain that threatened to surface as I remembered his absence. As much as I wanted to find him, know he was safe, I had my own problems to tackle right now. Ones that would stop me from doing anything, based on the conversation we just had.

 I found him in the kitchen. He was pulling eggs from the fridge, his movements efficient, devoid of the lazy grace I expected. He looked like a man on a mission, not a host.

"Sit," he commanded, jerking his chin toward a stool at the island. I jumped, startled.  When had he turned to face me? I hesitated, then climbed onto the high stool, the cool leather biting into my thighs. I felt ridiculous in his shirt, exposed and small.

He cooked in silence. No jokes. No flirting. Just the crack of eggs and the sizzle of bacon. It was suffocating. I watched the muscles in his back shift as he moved, the tattoos telling stories I couldn't read. He was dangerous. I knew that now. Just like my brother and father had warned me. The gun in his waistband wasn't an accessory. It was a tool.

He slid a plate in front of me. Eggs, bacon, toast. Simple, but smelling better than anything had a right to.

"Eat," he said, leaning against the counter across from me, arms crossed over his chest. I glared at him, eyeing him before looking down at the plate. I let out a breath.

Reluctantly, I picked up a piece of bacon, taking a small bite. The salt exploded on my tongue, and I realized how starving I was. How long had they been torturing me? My stomach needed this. I took another bite, then a bite of eggs.

"So…um…where's my room?" I asked between mouthfuls, needing to break the silence. It was awkward and tense. And I didn’t like how he was staring at me, like I was a piece of meat or something. "You said... the bed."

"You're in my master suite," he said, his eyes scanning the room, checking the perimeter. "For now. It has the best security. You'll stay there."

What? His suite? He wanted me to stay in his room? With him? Oh no. Hell no. I had never slept with a man. I wasn’t starting now, and had no plans for any serious relationships in my near future. Especially not right now. Even if Zacian was sexy as hell and tempting.

"I'm not sleeping with you," I said quickly, my face heating up.

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips, but it was gone instantly. "Don't flatter yourself. I'll take the couch. The bed is big enough for you to stay on your side. Unless you'd prefer the floor?"

I glared at him. Wow. I never knew he was an asshole. Maybe there was a reason he was distant growing up. "The bed is fine."

"Good. When you're done, I'll show you the rest." He pushed off the counter. "You need to know where you can go, and where you can't."

I scoffed, glaring at my plate and grumbled under my breath. If he heard my quiet curses, he didn’t say anything. I finished the food, wiping my mouth with a napkin he’d set out. He waited for me, patient but imposing.

"Come on."

He didn’t even give me a chance to speak or clean up. Rude. We walked out of the kitchen. He pointed to the left. "Living area, dining, bar. You can go there. The windows are bulletproof glass. You can look, but you can't open them."

I raised a brow at him.

"I’m 19. I don't drink," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "And I don't need a bar to feel better. I need to go home."

"Home isn't an option right now," he said, his voice flat. "And you don't have to drink to use the room. It's just a space. Get used to it."

Agh! He was infuriating. I folded my arms as we moved down the hallway. I didn’t like how exposed I felt in his shirt. How he kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye and following the lines of my body.

"Library," he said, gesturing to a room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. "Read whatever you want. It might keep you from climbing the walls."

That caught my attention. I paused to peek in, but he didn’t wait for me. I would have to explore later. I hurried my steps to catch up. Next, a heavy door with a keypad. "My office. Off limits. You don't come in here. You don't knock. You don't touch the door. Understand?"

I scoffed, but nodded, my throat dry. "Okay." I resisted the urge to call him a prick.

"Gym," he said, pointing to another door. "Use it. You look like you need to strengthen your core. It might help you next time you get grabbed."

The barb hit home, and I flinched. It was quite bold of him to assume I would get abducted again. But the truth of his words also stung. I had been helpless. Completely at their mercy. "I didn't ask for this," I snapped.

"No," he said, his voice dropping, dark and serious. "You didn't. But you're in it now. And the only way you survive is if you listen to me."

He stopped walking and turned to face me, his gaze heavy as it dragged down from my eyes to my bare legs, then back up to the oversized shirt I wore. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as he looked at me like he was assessing the value of a prize he’d just won. It wasn't a leer, but it was worse. Calculated, possessive. He took a slow step closer, invading my space, forcing me to crane my neck to hold his stare. The air between us crackled, and for a heartbeat, the dominance radiating off him made my knees weak.

"Understand?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.

I fought against my rising pulse, biting my lip. I saw his eyes follow the movement and quickly stopped. “Yes,” I relented finally.

Satisfied, he stepped back, breaking the heavy tension between us as if it had never existed. He gestured for me to walk ahead, and we continued down the hall. We reached the end of the hall. Double doors stood open, revealing the room I’d woken up in.

"Master suite," he said. "Bathroom's through there. Shower, whatever you need. Clothes are in the closet. Ryker dropped some things off."

He stopped in the doorway, turning to face me. He was so close I could smell him—soap and gun oil and something inherently male. I grit my teeth. I wasn’t a child, but he was treating me like one. I didn’t ask to be here, but yet here I was.

"Rules, Cecilia. One: You don't leave the penthouse. Two: You don't use the phone unless I say so. Three: You do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. Are we clear?"

He was talking about me like I was a dog that needed to be trained, not a human being. Panic flared, hot and sharp, but beneath it, a spark of defiance ignited. I was Dominic Henderson's daughter, not some helpless victim to be locked away and forgotten.

"And if I refuse?" I shot back, lifting my chin despite the tremor in my hands.

"Then you get punished. Break my rules, I chain you to the bed."

My eyes widened, fear spiking again, and my stomach dropped. Chain me to the bed? The words echoed in my head, violent and archaic. He wasn't joking. The look in his eyes promised it.

"You wouldn't." I challenged.

"Try me," he said, his voice dead calm.

I grit my teeth, but said nothing. Somehow I knew he was serious. He stepped back, letting me pass into the bedroom.

"Get cleaned up. I'll be in the living area. Don't make me come find you."

He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the doorway of the gilded cage, my heart hammering against my ribs. The charming man from the gala was gone. In his place was a monster who held my leash, and I didn’t have the first clue of how to escape this. How had I gone from abducted to…whatever this was? My life was spiraling out of control and I didn’t know how to stop it. Worse, why did part of me feel safer with the monster than I had in my own home?