Chapter 5 A Golden Cage
"You're awake. Good."
Seraphina jolts upright. Wrong bed again. Wrong room. But this time, light. Real light. Sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Mediterranean beyond them. Blue so bright it hurts to look at.
A woman stands by the door. Fifties maybe. Soft features. Kind eyes. She's holding a tray. Steam rising from what looks like actual coffee. Real food. Not the institutional meals from before.
"Where…" Seraphina's voice cracks. "Where am I?"
"Mr. De Luca's estate." The woman sets the tray on the bedside table. "I'm Elena. I'll be looking after you."
De Luca. The name Margot whispered like a curse. Like a prayer. Seraphina's hands grip the sheets, silk again, but different. Cream colored. Egyptian cotton probably. The kind of luxury that's supposed to make you forget you're trapped.
"Looking after me."
"Yes." Elena moves to the windows. Opens the curtains wider. The view expands. Cliffs. Ocean. Gardens below. It's beautiful. Stunningly, heartbreakingly beautiful. "You slept through the night. That's good. The sedatives Dr. Russo gave you for transport can be…"
"How long?"
"Fifteen hours. Give or take."
Fifteen hours. Unconscious. Moved like cargo. Again. How many times can they do this? How many times can they put her under and wake her up somewhere new until she stops knowing which version of consciousness is real?
"I want to leave."
Elena pauses. Turns from the window. Her expression doesn't change. Still kind. Still gentle. But there's something underneath, recognition maybe. Of having heard this before.
"That's not possible."
"Then I want to see him. De Luca. Whoever…"
"Mr. De Luca will meet with you when he's ready." Elena gestures to the tray. "For now, you should eat. You've lost weight. That's not healthy."
Not healthy. Like that matters. Like her health is the primary concern in this situation, where she's been drugged, transported, and purchased. But Seraphina's stomach is cramping. Empty. When did she last eat? Yesterday? The day before? Time is meaningless.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to keep your strength up."
"For what?"
Elena's mouth tightens. Just slightly. "For surviving."
The honesty lands like a slap. No pretense. No soothing lies about recovery or safety or any of the gaslighting therapy-speak Margot used. Just, this is survival. Figure it out.
"What does he want?" Seraphina's voice is steadier than she feels. "De Luca. What did he buy me for?"
"That's between you and him."
"You work for him."
"I work in his household. There's a difference." Elena picks up a sweater from the chair. Soft cashmere. Gray. "You'll want this. The terrace can be cool in the mornings."
"I don't want his clothes."
"They're your clothes. Everything here is yours now."
"Nothing here is mine. Nothing has been mine since…" Since when? Since her father's study? Since Vivienne and Marcus? Since she was born into a family that could erase her with paperwork and phone calls? "I own nothing."
"That's not entirely true." Elena drapes the sweater over the bed's footboard. "But we can discuss that later. For now…breakfast. Shower. There are clothes in the closet. Pick whatever you like."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll stay in your nightgown. But you'll still be here." Elena moves toward the door. "Mr. De Luca has strict rules, Seraphina. But they're meant to protect you, not…"
"Protect me from what?"
Elena's hand rests on the doorknob. "From the people who wanted to buy you for reasons much worse than his."
The door closes before Seraphina can respond. Soft click. Lock engaging. Of course. Always locked. She's up immediately. Testing the door. Pulling the handle. Nothing. Solid. Expensive wood that doesn't budge.
She crosses to the windows. The view is dizzying. Third floor at least. Maybe fourth. The drop would kill her or break enough bones to make death preferable. She presses her palms against the glass. Cool. Thick. Probably bulletproof. Definitely unopenable. She runs her fingers along the frame. No latch. No mechanism. They're not windows, they're a painting. Scenery. False promise of the outside.
The bathroom is marble and gold. The shower is large enough for four people. Toiletries that probably cost more than her monthly rent used to. She picks up a bottle. Drops it. Watches it bounce. Not glass. Plastic disguised as glass. Everything here is designed to look like luxury while being unbreakable.
The mirror. She approaches it. Stares at herself. Who is this? Gaunt face. Shadows under eyes that weren't there a week ago. Hair that needs washing. She looks like someone who's survived something. Someone who's still surviving.
She slams her palm against the mirror. Pain radiates up her wrist. The mirror doesn't crack. Doesn't even shudder. She hits it again. Again. Until her hand is throbbing and Elena is knocking on the bedroom door.
"Seraphina? Are you alright?"
"The mirror won't break."
Silence. Then: "No. It won't."
"Why?"
"Because Mr. De Luca doesn't want you to hurt yourself."
"What if I want to?"
"Then we'll make sure you can't."
The matter-of-fact delivery. No judgment. No alarm. Just, this is reality. These are the parameters. Deal with it.
Seraphina slides down the bathroom wall. Sits on the cold tile. Expensive tile. Imported probably. How much does it cost to build a prison this beautiful? How much did he pay for the privilege of keeping her in a cage that looks like paradise?
She showers eventually. Because she smells like fear and chemicals and too many days without water. The clothes in the closet fit perfectly. Someone measured her. Studied her. Knew exactly what size she'd need. The thought makes her skin crawl but she dresses anyway. Jeans. T-shirt. Simple. As close to her old life as possible.
When Elena returns, she looks pleased.
"Better?"
"Is that what we're calling this?"
"It's what I'm calling you looking more like yourself." Elena picks up the breakfast tray. The food is untouched. "Not eating is resistance. Resistance makes things harder."
"I've heard that before."
"Then you know I'm right." She heads for the door. "Mr. De Luca will see you this afternoon. Until then, you're welcome to explore the bedroom. The terrace is accessible…"
"Accessible how? The door's locked."
"From the inside, yes. For security. But I'll unlock it."
"Security." Seraphina laughs. "You mean so I can't leave."
"I mean so no one can get in." Elena's voice is patient. Practiced. "You're safe here, Seraphina. Whatever you think is happening…"
"I think I was sold like property. I think I'm being held prisoner in a beautiful room by a man I've never met. I think…"
"...you're alive." Elena cuts her off. Sharp. "Which is more than you'd be if the Antonellis had won that bid. So yes. You're a prisoner. But you're breathing. Try to remember that."
She unlocks the terrace door with a key card. The door swings open. Salt air rushes in. Freedom. False freedom. Seraphina walks onto the terrace. It's huge. Furnished. Plants in expensive pots. But the railing is glass. Reinforced. And beyond it, nothing but cliff and ocean. No stairs. No access to the ground. Just height and water and nowhere to go.
"How long has this room been ready?" The question comes from somewhere distant. Clinical curiosity. "The clothes. The size. Everything is fitting perfectly. How long was he planning this?"
Elena doesn't answer immediately. When she does, her voice is careful.
"Mr. De Luca is very thorough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give."
"Can't or won't?"
"Does it matter?"
Seraphina turns. Studies Elena's face. Look for cracks. For sympathy. For anything that might be leverage. "You seem kind. You seem like someone who wouldn't…"
"I'm a survivor." Elena meets her eyes. "Same as you'll be if you're smart. I've been in Mr. De Luca's household for eight years. I've seen him angry. I've seen him merciful. I've never seen him careless. Whatever he wants from you, he's thought it through."
"And you're okay with this? With him buying people?"
"I'm okay with being alive." Elena moves back toward the door. "With my daughter being alive. With having a safe place to sleep and food to eat and no one…" She stops. Shakes her head. "You don't know what the alternatives look like. Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. But trust me when I say…this is better."
"Better than what?"
"Than where I came from."
The admission hangs. Heavy. Seraphina wants to push. To ask. To understand what kind of hell makes this gilded cage look like a sanctuary. But Elena's already retreating.
"Lunch at one. I'll come get you."
"Will I meet him then?"
"Probably not. He's occupied."
"With what?"
"Business that doesn't concern you."
"I'm his business now. Apparently."
Elena pauses in the doorway. "You're more than that. But you'll have to ask him why."
The door closes. Lock clicks. Seraphina is alone with the ocean and the sun and the understanding that this is her life now. This room. This terrace. This beautiful, terrible prison where even the mirrors refuse to break.
She spends the afternoon testing every boundary. Every door. Every window. Every possible escape route. They're all sealed. All calculated. All designed by someone who thought of everything.
When Elena brings lunch, Seraphina eats. Not because she wants to. Because survival requires fuel and she's starting to understand, really understand, that this isn't temporary. This isn't a mistake that will be corrected. This is her reality until something changes. Until someone decides otherwise.
"Better." Elena sounds approving as she collects the empty plate. "You're learning."
"Learning what?"
"That fighting in the room is pointless. Save your energy for what matters."
"And what matters?"
"Him. When he comes." Elena straightens. "Which will be soon. He likes to give new acquisitions time to settle. To understand their situation. But he doesn't like to wait long."
New acquisitions. Plural. How many women has he done this to? How many rooms like this exist in this compound? How many mirrors won't break?
"What should I…" Seraphina hates the question. Hates how she sounds. Small. Uncertain. "What should I expect?"
"Honesty." Elena's face softens. "Mr. De Luca doesn't lie. He doesn't pretend. That makes him dangerous. But it also makes him... predictable. If you listen carefully."
"And if I don't want to listen?"
"Then you'll learn the hard way." She moves to the door. "Like everyone does eventually."
Evening comes. Then night. Seraphina sits on the bed. Watches sunset paint the ocean gold, then crimson, then black. Stars emerge. More than she's ever seen. Light pollution doesn't reach here. This isolated fortress. This beautiful nowhere.
She's almost asleep when she hears it.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Different from Elena's. Heavier. Measured. The confident stride of someone who owns everything including the space they walk through.
They stop outside her door.
The lock disengages.
Seraphina's on her feet. Heart ham
mering. This is it. Three days of terror condensing into this moment. The door that's been locked from the outside is finally opening and the man who paid millions for her is finally…
The door swings open.