Chapter 2 A Cage Of Gold

The car rolled to a stop in front of something that could only be described as a fortress.

Liana had seen mansions on TV, but this was beyond anything she could've imagined - black iron gates taller than most buildings, security cameras tucked under marble gargoyles, and walls so high they seemed to touch the sky. The estate behind them was cold, modern, and heartless, like its owner.

She didn't say a word as they passed through the gates, but she gripped her dress tightly, knuckles turning white. Whatever was coming, she had to survive it.

The car door opened. Damian stepped out first, then turned and offered a hand.

She stared at it like it was a knife.

"I can walk," she said.

"Then walk," he replied flatly, lowering his hand.

Liana slid out, her bare feet touching the gravel. She winced, but didn't complain. She wouldn't let him see her weakness. Not again.

Two men in black suits stood at the door. One of them - a younger man with sharp eyes and a scar along his neck - gave her a brief glance before nodding at Damian.

"Everything's ready, sir."

"Good," Damian said. Then, to her: "Follow me."

He didn't wait for her to obey. He turned and walked through the door like a man who had never once needed to look back. Liana hesitated, just for a moment, but followed. She didn't have a choice.

Inside, the mansion was made of shadow and silence. High ceilings, dark wood floors, walls lined with cold artwork. Not a picture of family in sight. It felt more like a museum for broken things than a home.

She was led up a winding staircase and down a long hall. He opened a door to the left and stepped aside.

"This is your room," he said simply.

She walked in slowly. To her surprise, the space was... beautiful. Warm cream walls. A soft four-poster bed. A wardrobe full of clothes. A bookshelf lined with classics. Even a window overlooking the garden, though it had bars barely visible from the inside.

It was a cage. A beautiful, well-kept, golden cage.

She turned on him. "What do you want from me, really?"

"I already told you," Damian said. "Revenge."

"I don't even know you."

"But you'll remember. Soon." His voice dropped. "And until then, I'll make sure you never forget me."

He turned and walked out.

The door didn't slam.

It locked.

---

Liana sat on the bed for what felt like hours.

She tried to think, to piece it together.

Damian Blackthorn. A name wrapped in whispers. And now... her captor?

Revenge for something her family did?

It made no sense.

She had grown up poor, struggling to survive with a mother who bounced from man to man. Her mother had died when Liana was fourteen. Since then, she'd scraped her way through school, college, and three part-time jobs.

There was nothing special about her.

Nothing worth five million dollars.

Unless...

Unless her past held secrets even she didn't know.

A quiet knock interrupted her thoughts. She flinched.

A woman entered - maybe in her forties, dressed in a simple gray uniform. She carried a tray of food and set it on the desk.

"I'm Eva," the woman said gently. "You'll eat, shower, rest. He expects you to be ready tomorrow."

"Ready for what?"

Eva didn't answer.

She gave a tight nod, then left, locking the door behind her.

Liana stared at the tray. Steamed rice, chicken, a soft slice of cake. Too much food for someone who had been treated like property.

She didn't trust it.

But her stomach growled loudly.

She ate anyway.

That night, she stood at the window, her forehead pressed against the cold glass. Somewhere beyond these walls, the world moved on - parties, laughter, normal things.

But she was no longer part of that world.

She was a prisoner.

Not just in a room.

But in a story she didn't remember writing.

---

Downstairs, Damian poured himself a drink and watched the security screen showing her room.

He didn't smile.

He didn't blink.

"She doesn't remember," he said aloud.

The scarred man behind him nodded. "Should we proceed anyway?"

"Yes," Damian said coldly. "We don't need her memory. Just her blood."