Chapter 4: Gilded Cage, Bloodied Hands

The Whitmore estate was as grand as ever.

Built on the bones of people like me. White columns, sprawling lawns, fountains that never ran dry. It was beautiful and suffocating all at once—a monument to power, built on the bones of people like me.

Sebastian locked me in the guest house, forbidding anyone except two maids to see me—no one, not even Nora.

Reporting every move to Sebastian. The guest house was beautiful, but it felt like a prison. The windows were barred, the doors locked from the outside. The maids watched me like hawks, reporting every move to Sebastian.

He was determined to teach me a lesson.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction. He wanted me to break, to surrender. But I held onto my anger, my stubbornness, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

In even worse conditions. He’d locked me up before, in even worse conditions.

If I’d ever see the sun again. There were times when I’d gone days without food, without light. Times when I’d wondered if I’d ever see the sun again.

No freedom. Never seeing daylight. I was kept in a gilded cage, like a songbird—no freedom, never seeing daylight.

Never allowed to fly. The irony wasn’t lost on me. The Whitmores loved their birds—kept in ornate cages, fed the finest seeds, but never allowed to fly.

He called me Lena. Sebastian even gave me a new name: Lena.

It was safer that way. He said it suited me better, that it was easier to remember. I hated it, but I answered to it anyway. It was safer that way.

Just another tamed, ordinary woman in Sebastian’s household. It wasn’t until I became pregnant with Nora that I moved into the guest house, becoming just another tamed, ordinary woman in Sebastian’s household.

But the walls only closed in tighter. Pregnancy changed everything. Suddenly, I was valuable—too valuable to risk. I was given better food, softer sheets, but the walls only closed in tighter.

Every morning, I showed deference to the fiancée, saw Nora—who’d been placed under her care—once every three days, and served Sebastian in his bed without protest. I lived like this for six years.

But underneath it all, I was screaming. The routine became a prison of its own. Every day was the same—smiles, bows, polite conversation. But underneath it all, I was screaming.

Only when I taught Nora to read, telling her about things from another time and place, did I feel like I still existed.

It was the only thing that kept me sane. Those moments were my lifeline. I’d whisper stories about the stars, about cities she’d never see, about the freedom she deserved. It was the only thing that kept me sane.

Even that had been stripped away. But now, even that fragile sense of self had been stripped away.

Not even Nora. I felt like a shadow, a ghost haunting the halls of the Whitmore estate. No one saw me, not really. Not even Nora.

I listened. Hoping for some news. The maids chatted and laughed in the hallway.

Some sign that the world was still turning. Their voices drifted through the walls, sharp and careless. I listened, hoping for some scrap of news, some sign that the world was still turning.

“She’s really lucky.” “If it were a mistress from another house who tried to run, she’d be dead by now... The lady of the house is really lucky.”

Just a different kind of prisoner. Their words stung. I wasn’t lucky. I was just a different kind of prisoner.

I wasn’t someone’s property. It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t someone’s property to be manipulated at will.

They’d already made up their minds. I wanted to scream it at them, to make them understand. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. They’d already made up their minds.

Blurred in the reflection of the vanity mirror. Sunlight spilled over the pearl-draped curtains and the fancy jewelry boxes in the room, then blurred in the reflection of the vanity mirror.

But it was all a lie. Everything looked beautiful on the surface—soft, glowing, perfect. But it was all a lie.

I only felt colder and colder. I curled up on the bed in a daze. Though it was spring, I only felt colder and colder.

Nothing could chase away the chill. I wrapped myself in the thickest blanket I could find, but nothing could chase away the chill that had settled in my bones.

At night, the lights were out.

Waiting for something to change. The darkness was absolute, pressing in from all sides. I counted the seconds, waiting for morning, for something to change.

Rough, desperate kisses. Someone tore at my clothes, pressing down with rough, desperate kisses.

I woke with a start. Struggled. I woke with a start and struggled frantically.

“Still not awake after all these days?” Sebastian gripped my chin, his breath hot, his voice rough. “Lena, I’ve been patient. But you’re still ungrateful.”

He was stronger. Always stronger. His hands were everywhere, his weight crushing me. I fought back, but it was useless. He was stronger. Always stronger.

Before I could answer, he spoke again, softer: “Today is her birthday. Don’t make me angry.”

I bit my lip. Refusing to cry. The words were a threat, a reminder of how little control I had. I bit my lip. Refusing to cry.

I’d turned Sebastian away. I remembered: last year, on the fiancée’s birthday, I’d also turned Sebastian away.

He never forgot a slight. Never forgave a wound. It had been a small victory, but it cost me dearly. He never forgot a slight. Never forgave a wound.

Polite but distant. To outsiders, they were childhood sweethearts, polite but distant.

No one saw the truth. The tabloids loved their story—two beautiful people, destined for each other. No one saw the truth.

He came to vent his frustration on me. But in reality, the fiancée still longed for her old love—the heir—and was always cold to Sebastian. Every time she rejected him, he came to vent his frustration on me.

I was always the one who paid the price. I was the scapegoat, the outlet for all his anger and disappointment. It didn’t matter what I did—I was always the one who paid the price.

With me caught in the middle as collateral damage. A melodramatic farce of a younger brother taking his brother’s fiancée, with me caught in the middle as collateral damage.

No say in the game. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic. I was just the pawn, moved from square to square with no say in the game.

His lips at my collarbone. Sebastian was already aroused, his lips at my collarbone.

Counting the cracks. Anything to take my mind off what was happening. I closed my eyes, trying to disappear. I focused on the ceiling, counting the cracks, anything to take my mind off what was happening.

Calmer than ever. But I felt calmer than ever.

If this was the end, so be it. A strange sense of peace settled over me. I was done fighting, done pretending. If this was the end, so be it.

I grabbed his hair, my voice soft. “Sebastian, you really are pathetic. You try every way to force things, but you can’t hold anything. The one you love despises you. I hate you. You should have drowned in that river.”

I wanted him to hurt. To feel something—anything. The words spilled out, sharp and true. I didn’t care what happened next. I wanted him to hurt. To feel something—anything.

None of this would have happened. Then none of this would have happened.

But it was too late for regrets. If only I’d walked away. If only I’d let him die. But it was too late for regrets.

It’s not too late to die now.

But it gave me strength. The thought was cold comfort, but it gave me strength.

I pulled a long hairpin from under my pillow and, with all my hatred, stabbed it into Sebastian’s neck. Without hesitation.

I thought I was free. The motion was quick, desperate. Blood welled up, bright and shocking. For a moment, I thought I’d done it—I thought I was free.

He clamped his hand around my throat. Blood spurted as Sebastian flung my hand away and clamped his hand around my throat.

But it was no use. His grip was vice-like, crushing the air from my lungs. I clawed at his hand, kicking, fighting, but it was no use.

“Trying to kill me?” His voice was icy. His grip tightened until I could barely make a sound.

I’d never seen him like this before. His eyes were wild, feral. I’d never seen him like this before.

“Do you really think if I die, you’ll be free?”

But I couldn’t. The words echoed in my head, bouncing off the walls of my skull. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t.

Struggling for air. I opened my mouth, struggling for air.

The world growing smaller and smaller. My vision blurred. I could feel myself slipping away, the world growing smaller and smaller.

“Heh... heh...”

But it was all I had left. The sound was pathetic, barely more than a whisper. But it was all I had left.

My vision was fading.

Is this what dying feels like? The edges of the room went dark. I wondered if this was what dying felt like.

Was I going to die?

Not like this. I didn’t want to. Not yet. Not like this.

I still hadn’t found Michael.

Not now. His face flashed before my eyes—smiling, teasing, alive. I couldn’t leave him behind. Not now.

I still wanted to bring him home. Even if he was worse off than me, nothing but bones left after being chewed up by this world, I still wanted to bring him home.

No matter what. I’d promised. And I kept my promises, no matter what.

It was irrational. I shouldn’t have made it.

And I’d do it again. But I did. And I’d do it again.

Planned my next escape. I should have pretended to obey, gained Sebastian’s trust, and planned my next escape.

But I was done playing it safe. It would have been smarter, safer. But I was done playing it safe.

Clinging to faint hope. Playing the puppet. Pleasing the one holding the strings. But tonight, I suddenly didn’t want to go on like I had these past years, clinging to faint hope, working so hard to play the puppet and please the one holding the strings.

It was sickening.

Even if it killed me. I was tired of pretending, tired of surviving. I wanted to live, even if it killed me.

Finally let go. In the last second before I lost consciousness, the hand on my throat finally let go.

My vision swimming. I collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air. My chest heaved, my vision swimming.

My eyes misty with tears. I gasped for air, my eyes misty with tears.

I’d lost enough already. I wiped them away, refusing to let him see me cry. I’d lost enough already.