Chapter 3: The Gilded Cage Breaks

That night, we went to a private lounge. Everyone there was a familiar face—I’d seen them all back in high school, Lucas’s childhood friends. They barely glanced my way. The place was all dark wood and low lighting, jazz humming in the background. Laughter echoed off the walls, glasses clinked.

I used to try so hard to win their approval, bending over backward to please them. Now, I just sat quietly beside Lucas, not caring about the looks they exchanged. I was tired of playing their games.

I sipped my drink, letting the conversation wash over me. I was done performing for them. The old nerves were gone—replaced by a kind of numbness.

After a while, the real star of the night arrived. The door swung open, and the room shifted. Heads turned, voices hushed. She made an entrance, every eye on her.

A woman in a scarlet designer dress walked in—Madeline Shaw. The one everyone called the future Mrs. Whitaker. People parted for her without a word. She radiated confidence, the kind you’re born into.

She’d gone abroad for college. She barely glanced at me before sliding in beside Lucas. She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, her perfume filling the air.

A guy teased her, “How’d you get even prettier after all that time in Europe?” The group laughed, the tension breaking. Someone raised a glass, and the toasts began.

That broke the ice—everyone started chatting. Stories flew around the table—old pranks, wild summers, names I’d only heard in passing. The room buzzed with energy I couldn’t match.

Madeline smiled, “Oh, come on, don’t flatter me.” Her laugh was bright, practiced. She tossed her hair, eyes sparkling. I watched her, wondering if she ever felt out of place.

Then she turned, playfully asking, “Is it true?” She nudged him with her shoulder, grinning. The question hung in the air, loaded.

I sipped my drink, not looking at Lucas, but I heard him quietly reply, “Yeah.” His voice was flat, unreadable. I tried not to care, but it stung anyway.

When the food came, I kept my head down, eating. I picked at my salad, tuning out the laughter. I felt invisible, and for once, I was grateful.

They reminisced about childhood memories I wasn’t a part of. I used to feel bad that I couldn’t join in, that I didn’t get their inside jokes. Not anymore.

I let their words blur into background noise. It was just habit now. I’d spent years trying to fit in, but I finally realized I never would.

I slipped into autopilot, smiling at nothing, nodding at the right moments. It was a skill—one I’d mastered out of necessity.

Sensing the awkward silence, I looked up, meeting Lucas’s dark eyes. Right now, he was annoyed. I could read it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers drummed on the table.

His jaw was set, lips pressed thin. I wondered if he was mad at them, or at me. I couldn’t tell.

I had no idea why he was upset. The question lingered, unanswered.

I searched his face for answers, but he gave me nothing. How could he expect me to understand, when he never said a word? The frustration simmered under my skin.

Then Madeline piped up, “Oh, what are you all talking about? Don’t you see Lucas’s girlfriend is right here?” She shot me a look, daring me to protest. I just smiled, letting the comment slide off me.

I kept a polite smile, glancing at Madeline’s unapologetic face. I felt nothing—mostly just numb. The old jealousy was gone.

I was no longer Lucas’s girlfriend. I was his canary in a gilded cage. But this canary didn’t have to give her heart.

The realization settled over me, cold and final. My heart was my own, for better or worse. I was there for show, a pretty distraction.

That night, back at the mansion, Lucas had been drinking. He reeked faintly of whiskey. He was especially rough with me, his eyes blazing with anger. I didn’t even know what he was mad about. At first, I tried to keep up, but in the end, I was crying, begging him to stop.

The night blurred—shouting, tears, the taste of whiskey on his lips. I tried to reach him, but he was somewhere else, lost in his own pain. I hated how powerless I felt.

After that, I texted Lucas a few times, but he never replied. I stopped trying. Each message went unanswered, the silence growing heavier.

I focused on filming. Since I was on location, I stayed at a hotel. The hotel was bland and impersonal—beige walls, scratchy sheets, the hum of the ice machine in the hallway. I threw myself into work, letting the long days fill the emptiness.