the golden cage

Chapter 4: The Golden Cage

The older man—who introduced himself as Charles, the head butler—led me up the grand staircase. My wet shoes squeaked against the marble with every step. I was painfully aware of the water dripping from my clothes onto their expensive floor.

"Your room has been waiting for you, Miss Rose," Charles said softly.

My room. I didn't have a room here. I'd never been here before.

We walked down a long hallway lined with paintings and photographs. I caught glimpses of faces—my brothers at different ages, a beautiful woman who must have been my mother, and several of a little girl with curly dark hair.

Me.

Charles stopped in front of a white door with gold trim. He turned the handle and pushed it open.

I stepped inside and froze.

The room was massive. Easily three times the size of the bedroom I'd had at the Quinn house. The walls were painted a soft lavender. There was a canopy bed with white curtains, shelves filled with toys and books, a window seat overlooking the gardens, and a door that probably led to a bathroom.

But that wasn't what made me freeze.

Everything in this room was for a two-year-old.

There were stuffed animals arranged on the bed. Building blocks stacked in the corner. Picture books on the lowest shelf. A small table with crayons and coloring books. Baby dolls in a toy box.

"We kept it exactly as it was," Charles said quietly. "Your father couldn't bear to change anything. He said when you came home, you should have your room waiting for you."

My throat tightened.

I walked further inside, my hands trembling. I picked up one of the stuffed animals—a brown teddy bear with a red ribbon around its neck. It was worn, like it had been held a lot.

"That was your favorite," Charles said. "You took it everywhere. You called it Mr. Buttons."

I turned the bear over in my hands. I didn't remember it. I didn't remember any of this.

But they had kept it. For thirteen years, they had kept this room frozen in time, waiting for me to come back.

My knees gave out. I sank onto the floor, clutching the bear to my chest, and the tears came again. I had cried more today than I had in three years.

Charles quietly excused himself, closing the door behind him.

I sat there on the floor of a room that was mine but wasn't, holding a bear I didn't remember, in a house full of people who were my family but felt like strangers.

A knock on the door made me look up.

Maria stepped inside. She had changed out of her earlier outfit into something more casual but still designer. Everything about her screamed money and class.

She looked around the room with a small smile. "They really did keep everything, didn't they? Father's been coming in here every week for thirteen years. Sometimes he just sits in here for hours."

I wiped my face and stood up, still holding the bear.

"I know this must be overwhelming," Maria said, walking closer. "Going from... well, wherever you were, to all this. It's a lot to take in."

"Yeah," I managed. "It is."

"I want to help you adjust," she said, her smile widening. "We're sisters now, right? We should stick together."

Something about the way she said it felt off, but I was too exhausted to figure out what.

"Thank you," I said.

Maria's eyes drifted down to my clothes. The clothes I had been wearing when I left the Quinn house. Cheap jeans. A plain shirt. A jacket from a discount store. All of it still damp from the rain.

"You know," Maria said slowly, "we should probably get you some new clothes. Those are... well, they're not really appropriate for the Albert estate."

My face flushed.

"I'm not trying to be mean," Maria added quickly. "It's just that the staff might talk. You know how it is."

I didn't know how it was. But I nodded anyway.

"And we'll need to work on your posture," Maria continued, circling around me. "And the way you walk. And how you speak. High society has certain expectations, and if you don't meet them, people will judge you. Judge all of us, really."

Each word felt like a small cut.

"I can teach you," Maria offered. "It'll be our little project. By the time the gala comes around, no one will even know you grew up... wherever you grew up."

A maid walked past the open door, glanced in, and I saw her eyes flick over my clothes with the same judgment Maria had.

"Maybe you should change," Maria suggested. "I'm sure we can find something in one of the guest rooms that'll fit you. For now."

She left, and I stood there feeling smaller than I had felt even at the Quinn house.

At least there, I had known I didn't belong. Here, I was supposed to belong, but I still felt like an outsider.

Dinner was in a formal dining room that could probably seat thirty people. The table was so long I could barely see the other end. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Servers in uniform brought out course after course of food I didn't recognize.

I sat between Ryan and my father. Alex was across from me. James sat further down. And at the other end of the table sat two people I hadn't met yet.

One was Maria. The other was a woman in her late forties, beautiful in a cold, polished way. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her dress looked like it cost more than a car. Her eyes were sharp as they studied me.

"Rose," my father said, "this is my wife, Elena. And you've already met her daughter, Maria."

Wife. Not my mother. His wife.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, Rose," Elena said. Her voice was smooth. Cultured. "We've heard so much about you over the years. Your father never stopped searching."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"You must be exhausted," Elena continued. "Such an ordeal, I'm sure. Going from your previous life to all of this. It must be quite the adjustment."

There was something in the way she said "previous life" that made my skin prickle.

"She's doing great," Ryan said quickly. "Rose is tough."

Elena smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sure she is."

Maria picked at her food, glancing at me every few seconds.

"Rose," Alex said, setting down his fork. "We've decided to hold a gala next week. It'll be the perfect opportunity to introduce you to society. Let everyone know that Rose Albert is home."

Maria's fork clattered against her plate.

"A gala?" Maria's voice was tight. "Next week?"

"Yes," Alex said, not looking at her. "Is that a problem?"

"No," Maria said quickly. "Of course not. I just thought we might wait a bit longer. Give Rose more time to... adjust."

"There's no reason to wait," James said. "The sooner we make the announcement, the better. Otherwise, rumors will start, and we'd rather control the narrative."

Elena reached over and patted Maria's hand. "It's fine, darling. It'll be a lovely event. For the whole family."

But Maria's jaw was clenched, and I saw her knuckles turn white as she gripped her napkin.

After dinner, Ryan found me in the hallway. I had been trying to find my way back to my room but got lost somewhere on the second floor.

"Hey," he said. "Want to see something?"

I followed him to a room that turned out to be some kind of private theater. There was a massive screen, comfortable couches, and shelves lined with what looked like thousands of movies.

"Sit," Ryan said, grabbing a remote.

I sat on one of the couches, sinking into the soft cushions.

The screen turned on, and a video started playing.

It was a home video. The quality was a bit grainy, but I could see it clearly. A large backyard. A birthday party. Balloons and streamers everywhere.

And a little girl running around in a pink dress.

Me.

I leaned forward, my heart pounding.

The video showed me laughing, chasing bubbles, being picked up by a woman—my mother. She was beautiful. She was smiling. She looked so happy.

Then my father appeared on screen, younger, his hair not yet gray. He scooped me up and spun me around, and I squealed with delight.

My brothers were there too. Alex looked like he was about fourteen, standing off to the side but smiling as he watched me. James was around twelve, reading a book but glancing up every few seconds. And Ryan, maybe ten, was chasing me around trying to pop the bubbles before I could catch them.

"That was your second birthday," Ryan said quietly. "Two months before Mom died. Four months before you were taken."

I couldn't speak. I just watched.

The video cut to another clip. Me opening presents. Me covered in cake. Me falling asleep in my mother's arms while she sang softly.

And then it cut to black.

I broke.

The sobs came so hard I couldn't breathe. My whole body shook. I buried my face in my hands, and I cried for the family I didn't remember. For the mother I never got to know. For the life that was stolen from me.

Ryan sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. He didn't say anything. He just sat there while I fell apart.

Later that night, James came to my room. I had finally changed out of my wet clothes into a robe someone had left for me. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

"Rose," James said, "I have something for you."

He set a folder down on the bed next to me.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Legal documents," he said. "Restoring your identity. Your birth certificate, social security card, everything you'll need. As of right now, you are legally Rose Marie Albert again."

I opened the folder and stared at the papers inside. My name. My real name.

"There's also this," James said, pulling out another set of papers. "Information about your trust fund. It was set up by our mother before she died. It's been collecting interest for thirteen years."

"How much?" I whispered.

"Five hundred million dollars."

The room spun.

"What?"

"You're a very wealthy woman, Rose," James said. "The money is yours. You can access it whenever you want. Though I'd recommend waiting until we get you set up with a financial advisor."

Five hundred million dollars.

I had gone from having nothing—literally nothing—to being worth half a billion dollars in a single day.

"I know it's a lot to process," James said. "Take your time. But I wanted you to know that you're not dependent on anyone. You have your own resources. Your own power."

He left the folder on the bed and walked out.

I stared at the papers until the words blurred together.

My old phone buzzed.

I had left it on the nightstand, and I had forgotten about it. I picked it up and saw fifteen missed calls.

All from Desmond.

My stomach turned. I deleted the notifications and set the phone back down.

It buzzed again. Another call from Desmond.

Then a text.

Desmond: I know where you are.

Desmond: You can't hide from me.

Desmond: We need to talk.

My hands shook as I stared at the messages.

The door opened, and Ryan walked in. He saw my face and immediately crossed the room.

"What's wrong?"

I handed him the phone.

His expression darkened as he read the messages. "How long has this been going on?"

"He started calling right after I left."

Ryan's jaw clenched. "James!" he shouted.

James appeared in the doorway a minute later. Ryan showed him the phone.

"Get a restraining order," Ryan said. "Tonight. I don't care what you have to do. Get it done."

"Consider it done," James said, taking the phone. "I'll handle it personally."

He left, and Ryan sat down next to me.

"You're safe here," he said. "I promise. No one is going to hurt you again."

I wanted to believe him.

Down the hall, in Elena's private sitting room, Maria paced back and forth while her mother sat calmly on the couch, sipping wine.

"This is a disaster," Maria hissed. "A complete disaster. She shows up out of nowhere, and suddenly she's getting everything. The gala, the trust fund, all of Father's attention—"

"Calm down," Elena said smoothly.

"Calm down? Mother, she's going to take everything that was supposed to be mine!"

"Not if she leaves."

Maria stopped pacing. "What?"

Elena set down her wine glass and looked at her daughter. "Rose has been gone for thirteen years. She doesn't know this family. She doesn't know this life. She's uncomfortable. Out of place. Overwhelmed."

"So?"

"So," Elena continued, "we make her more uncomfortable. More out of place. More overwhelmed. Until she decides on her own that she doesn't belong here. That she'd be happier somewhere else. Somewhere far away."

Maria's eyes narrowed. "You want to drive her out."

"I want to help her realize the truth," Elena corrected. "This world isn't for her. She'll be miserable here. We'd be doing her a favor."

"And if she doesn't leave?"

Elena's smile was cold. "Then we'll have to be more persuasive."

I couldn't sleep.

The bed was too soft. The room was too big. The silence was too loud.

I had spent three years sleeping on a mattress that was too thin, in a room that was too small, with the constant noise of the Quinn family around me.

This was the opposite of everything I had known.

I got out of bed and walked to the closet. It was huge—bigger than my old bedroom. There were already clothes hanging inside, things that must have been bought for me.

I sat down on the floor in the corner of the closet and pulled my knees to my chest.

The floor was hard. The space was tight.

It felt more like home than the bed did.

I closed my eyes and finally felt myself start to relax.

I didn't hear the door to my room open. I didn't hear the footsteps.

But I felt the presence.

I opened my eyes and saw my father standing in the doorway of the closet, looking down at me.

"Rose," he said softly.

I expected him to tell me to get up. To ask what I was doing. To think I was crazy.

But he didn't.

He walked into the closet and sat down on the floor next to me. His expensive suit wrinkled as he leaned back against the wall.

We sat there in silence.

He didn't ask why I was on the floor. He didn't try to fix it. He just sat with me.

And somehow, that meant more than anything else he could have done.

We stayed there together until I finally fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up in my bed. Someone must have carried me there.

I got up, washed my face, and changed into one of the outfits that had been left in the closet—a simple dress that fit perfectly.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called.

Charles entered, carrying a silver tray.

"Good morning, Miss Rose," he said. "This just arrived for you."

He set the tray down on the desk.

On it was a black envelope.

My heart skipped.

"There was no return address," Charles said. "No indication of who sent it. Should I inform security?"

"No," I said quickly. "It's fine. Thank you, Charles."

He hesitated, then nodded and left.

I walked over to the desk and stared at the envelope. It was made of expensive paper, sealed with black wax.

I broke the seal and opened it.

Inside was a single black rose.

Real. Fresh. The thorns still sharp.

And underneath it, a note written in elegant handwriting:

Welcome home, little Albert.

No signature. No name.

I picked up the rose, my hands shaking.

Someone knew I was here.

Someone was watching.

And I had no idea who.