Todos los capítulos de The Gilded Cage: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

The drive from the Vancewick global headquarters to the sprawling Vancewick estate felt less like a transit and more like being driven toward an execution site. Silas had delegated the task of transporting his newly acquired fiancée to a faceless retainer a security detail in a perfectly tailored dark suit who looked like he hadn't blinked since 1995. The vehicle itself was an act of aggression: a black Rolls-Royce Ghost, silent, impossibly smooth on the city highways, and lined with dark, cold, hand-stitched leather that smelled faintly of sterile air and the ghost of power.Elara sat alone, pressed into the deep corner of the back seat. Her pale rose silk dress, which had felt like heavy paper at the party, now felt like a second, clammy skin. She was physically exhausted, drained not by the length of the evening, but by the relentless effort required to maintain a perfect, non-committal facial expression while her entire world was dismantled piece by piece. She kept her spine rigid

Elara did not walk back to the master suite; she fled. The shock of Silas’s possessive claim beneath the table, combined with Lady Eleanor’s cruel scrutiny, had left her shaking with repressed fury. She flew up the cold marble stairs, pulling the tight clasp from her hair as she went, the heavy copper strands tumbling loose around her shoulders.She dismissed the nervous maid, Lily, with a curt nod at the door and slammed the entrance shut. The first thing she did was tear the expensive dress off her body, the silk hissing as it fell in a heap of defiant green onto the polished wood floor. She was breathing heavily, drained, and felt the shame of being marked for possession like a physical weight.She was still in her silk slip, pacing the vast sleeping area, when she heard the sound she dreaded most.It was not a knock. It was the distinct, deliberate click of the electronic smart-lock on the adjoining door, the door that led directly from Silas’s private study into their bedroom. It

The moment Elara realized she had to wear an evening gown chosen by Silas, her stomach twisted. She wasn't fighting Lady Eleanor's subtle cruelty anymore; she was fighting Silas's control on a grand stage. After her successful camouflage of the hickey, the mark beneath her collar now a cool, dry patch of carefully blended Venetian Red pigment, she felt a fragile sense of victory. She had hidden his shame.The dress Silas’s assistant delivered was a stark, almost architectural creation in midnight-black silk, cut to emphasize the severe line of her body and the height of her neck. It was beautiful, ruthlessly expensive, and entirely impersonal. It made her look like a dangerous statue. She wore the gown without resistance, pairing it with her heavy, silver cuff, a silent declaration that the metal was her choice, not his.Silas met her in the main hall. He was breathtakingly, brutally perfect in a custom charcoal suit, his slate eyes reflecting the cold overhead lights. He didn't compl

The temperature inside the master suite felt arctic, matching the cold, trembling fury that gripped Elara. She had scrubbed her mouth repeatedly with a rough cotton towel, desperate to erase the raw, metallic memory of Silas's brutal, possessive kiss. The sting on her neck was a dull, burning reminder of the hickey he'd left, a physical manifestation of her hatred. She paced the bedroom, the adrenaline from the dinner draining away, leaving behind a cold, calculating resolve. She was not a prisoner in a medieval tower; she was trapped in a highly secured, modern corporate fortress, and she needed to treat it like a security puzzle. She was an artist who saw patterns and weaknesses in structure; she needed to find the flaw in the Vancewick defenses.The wedding was weeks away. She couldn't wait. Every day Silas asserted his ownership, the stronger the chains became. She had to establish a lifeline, a secret thread connecting her to the outside world, before the marriage made her disa

The smart-lock on the study door clicked a second time, a low, authoritative sound that announced Silas was entering the room, not just the suite. Elara’s mind screamed. She had mere seconds.She snatched the leather-bound journal shut, the intricate combination wheels clicking slightly as the clasp engaged. There was no time to hide it in the cabinet; he would see the open door. Instead, driven by pure instinct, she shoved the journal deep beneath the heaviest, most ornate throw pillow on the bed, the same pretentious, silk-tasseled pillow she had violently stripped from the bed. She flattened the pillow with a trembling hand, then shot off the bed.She did not reach the window. She was still halfway across the rug when the bedroom door swept open.Silas walked in. He stopped three feet inside the threshold, his immense frame blocking the light from the sitting room. He was still in his white Charvet shirt, his forearms exposed, but his expression was utterly contained, the mask of t