Chapter 3 – Welcome to the Cage
The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the private level of the Voss Penthouse.
Elara stepped out slowly, her heels clicking against the marble as she took in her new prison.
It was breathtaking.
All glass and sharp lines, the space looked more like a luxury museum than a home. Expansive windows displayed the entire Manhattan skyline like a painted masterpiece. The air smelled faintly of bergamot and steel.
Damian stood near the window, a glass of scotch in hand, the city's lights reflecting off his suit like fire. He didn't turn when she entered.
"I signed the contract," she said, dropping her bag beside the door.
"I know." His voice was cool, unreadable.
"I assume that means I live here now."
"You assume correctly."
"Then where's my room?"
He finally turned.
Damian's eyes raked over her—not lustfully, but like a man studying a blueprint. Her black jeans and oversized coat were a far cry from the bridal gown he'd first seen her in.
"Follow me."
He led her down a wide hallway, past minimalist décor and muted lighting. Everything screamed control. Precision. Discipline.
When he opened the door to her new bedroom, she stopped short.
It wasn't just big—it was designer perfection. Plush king-sized bed. Walk-in closet. An en suite bathroom larger than her old apartment. Creams and golds, with soft lighting that somehow didn't feel sterile.
"This will be your space," Damian said. "You're free to decorate as you wish. I've hired a personal assistant and a stylist for you. They'll arrive in the morning."
"Efficient," she said.
"I don't like delays."
She turned to face him. "You really think this will fool people?"
He crossed his arms. "It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be believable."
"And what about the press? My ex? My family?"
"They won't be a problem. You're under a new narrative now."
She blinked. "And what narrative is that?"
He took a step closer. "That you were swept off your feet by a billionaire and married him in secret. A whirlwind romance. That you left your cheating fiancé for something more."
"A better man?" she asked, bitter.
"No," Damian said. "Just a more powerful one."
Her breath caught. He didn't flinch or smile—he meant it.
"And what's the real story?" she whispered.
He tilted his head. "That's the part only you and I will know."
Dinner was served in the sleek, open-concept kitchen—by a silent chef who vanished before Elara could even thank her. Roasted lamb, grilled vegetables, wine she couldn't pronounce. She picked at the food, appetite missing.
Damian sat across from her, perfectly composed, swirling his wine like a ritual.
"You're quiet," he said.
"Trying to figure you out," she admitted.
"Don't waste your time. You'll just get frustrated."
She leaned forward. "You seem… practiced. Like you've done this before."
"I haven't. But I do know how to play a role."
"Is that what this is to you? A role?"
He didn't answer immediately
"I was raised in a world where emotion was weakness," he said finally. "Business is war. Love is leverage. Trust is currency. So yes—this is a role. One I need to win."
"And what happens when the curtain falls?"
He looked up, eyes gleaming.
"Then I walk off stage. And you do too—with your empire."
She stared at him for a long moment. "You're not going to try to seduce me?"
He smirked. "Would you like me to?"
"No."
"Then I won't."
"Just like that?"
"I told you, Elara—I don't need you to want me. I need you to work with me."
She didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted. Her ex had manipulated her with fake romance. This man? He didn't even pretend.
"How did someone like you end up needing a wife for credibility?" she asked.
Damian's face darkened slightly.
"Because someone tried to take everything from me once," he said softly. "And now, I don't give the world any openings."
Elara didn't ask more. She recognized that edge. She had it too—born the moment her sister betrayed her and her world collapsed.
Maybe that was what this whole arrangement really was.
Two broken people, standing side by side, pretending not to bleed.
Later that night, Elara stood on the balcony, staring out at the city lights. Wind tangled her hair, and the cold bit at her skin. But she didn't move.
Behind her, Damian stepped out silently, holding a dark coat. He draped it over her shoulders without a word.
She stiffened, surprised by the gesture.
"I'm not made of glass," she said.
"No," he agreed. "You're made of fire. But even fire can freeze if left alone too long."
She turned to look at him.
For the first time, his expression wasn't hard. It wasn't soft either—just… open.
"Why do I get the feeling you're not as cold as you pretend to be?" she asked.
"Because you're not as trusting as you look."
They stared at each other, an invisible thread tugging between them.
"I don't know what this is going to become," she admitted.
"Neither do I," he said. "But we agreed on one thing—this is a transaction. If it ever turns into something else… we renegotiate."
"And what if feelings get involved?"
Damian's jaw tightened.
"Then we end it. Quickly."
Elara nodded. But her chest ached, and she didn't know why.
Maybe because somewhere, deep down, she feared she might be the one who breaks the rule first.