Three weeks into my marriage, I woke to find my bedroom door locked.
Not locked from the outside—that would have been too obvious for Adrian's refined tastes. Instead, the electronic keypad beside the handle blinked red, denying my exit with silent efficiency. I pressed my thumb to the scanner, tried the backup code, even knocked softly.
Nothing.
"Good morning, Mrs. Thorne." Adrian's voice came through the intercom I hadn't noticed before, smooth and cultured as always. "I hope you slept well."
I spun toward the sound, my silk nightgown swirling around my legs. The speaker was barely visible, embedded in the crown molding near the window. How long had it been there? How long had he been listening to me sleep, to my nightmares about Alaric?
"Why is my door locked?" I kept my voice steady, though my heart hammered against my ribs.
"Dr. Hayes recommended complete rest after yesterday's episode." His tone carried that particular note of patient concern that made my skin crawl. "Your fainting spell worried me, darling."
Yesterday's episode. The memory flooded back—sitting across from Adrian at dinner while he described the new security measures he'd implemented "for my protection." The room had started spinning, and the next thing I knew I was waking up on the couch with Dr. Hayes checking my pulse.
"I'm fine now," I said. "I'd like to go downstairs."
"Soon. Let's see how you feel after breakfast."
The intercom clicked off, leaving me alone with the distant sound of ocean waves. Through the window, I could see the estate's grounds stretching to the horizon—manicured gardens, the stables where Alaric had taught me to ride, the path that led to our secret place among the elderberry bushes.
All of it might as well have been on the moon.
A soft knock interrupted my brooding. "Mrs. Thorne?" Lydia's voice was muffled through the heavy oak door. "I have your breakfast."
The lock disengaged with a soft click, and Lydia entered carrying a silver tray. Her gray eyes were carefully neutral, but I caught the flash of something—sympathy? warning?—before she looked away.
"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, setting the tray on the small table by the window. The spread was elaborate: fresh fruit arranged like art, pastries that belonged in a Parisian bakery, coffee that smelled like heaven.
"Like a prisoner," I said bluntly.
Lydia's hands stilled over the coffee service. "Mr. Adrian is concerned about your health. The adjustment to married life can be… challenging."
"Is that what we're calling it?" I moved to stand beside her, lowering my voice. "Lydia, you've known this family for thirty years. Has Adrian always been this controlling?"
The older woman's face went carefully blank. "I should return to my duties."
"Please." I caught her arm gently. "I need someone to talk to."
For a moment, I thought she might actually answer. Her eyes softened, and she opened her mouth as if to speak. Then her gaze flicked to something over my shoulder, and her expression shuttered.
"Your husband cares deeply for you," she said, her voice slightly too loud. "Perhaps you should eat something."
I turned to follow her gaze and felt my stomach drop. There, in the corner, was a small camera. Sleek, expensive, nearly invisible unless you knew what to look for. The red light pulsed steadily, a mechanical heartbeat keeping time with my rising panic.
How many were there? How long had they been watching me?
Lydia left without another word, the door locking automatically behind her. I stood frozen, acutely aware of being observed, catalogued, studied like a specimen. Then I walked to the breakfast table and began to eat, chewing mechanically while my mind raced.
The coffee was perfect—exactly the right temperature, the right blend of cream and sugar. Adrian had been watching me long enough to know my preferences with disturbing accuracy.
An hour later, the door unlocked again. Adrian entered without knocking, immaculate in a charcoal suit. His silver eyes swept over me approvingly, taking in my obedient consumption of breakfast, my neat appearance, my position by the window like a good wife waiting for her husband's attention.
"Better?" he asked, moving to stand behind my chair. His hands settled on my shoulders, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. "You have color in your cheeks again."
I forced myself not to flinch. "I'd like to go for a walk. Fresh air might help."
"Of course." His hands tightened slightly. "Thomas will escort you. Just a quick turn around the rose garden."
The rose garden. A carefully contained circuit that would keep me within sight of the house, away from the stables, away from the cliff path, away from any route that might lead to freedom.
"What about the beach?" I asked. "Alaric and I used to walk there."
Adrian's reflection in the window went very still. "The cliffs are dangerous this time of year. Storm erosion has made the paths unstable."
It was a lie. I'd grown up on these cliffs, knew every path. But I nodded anyway, playing the compliant wife while inside I screamed.
"Perhaps this afternoon we could drive into town," I suggested. "I'd like to see my father."
"He's in meetings all week. Something about the new contract terms." Adrian's voice was casual, but there was steel underneath. "Best not to disturb him when he's working so hard to rebuild."
Another cage, invisible but absolute. My father's financial dependence on Thorne Industries meant any visit would go through Adrian first. Any phone call would be monitored. Any attempt to reach out would be noted, analyzed, potentially stopped.
"You're trembling," Adrian observed, his hands moving to massage my shoulders with practiced skill. "Still nervous?"
The touch should have been comforting. Instead, it sent unwelcome heat spiraling through my body, my traitorous nerves responding to the familiar pressure and warmth. It was wrong—everything about my physical reaction to him was wrong—but I couldn't seem to stop it.
"I'm fine," I managed.
"Are you?" He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. "Your pulse is racing."
One hand slid down to rest against my throat, his fingers finding the rapid flutter of my heartbeat with unerring accuracy. The contact sent electricity shooting through my nervous system, and I hated myself for the way my body leaned into his touch before my mind could stop it.
"Stress," I said quickly, pulling away. "From yesterday."
Adrian's smile was sharp as a blade. "Of course. How thoughtless of me to worry."
He moved to the window, his silhouette outlined against the morning light. From this angle, with his profile softened by the golden glow, he looked exactly like Alaric. The resemblance was so perfect it made my chest ache with longing and loss.
"I've arranged for Dr. Hayes to visit this afternoon," Adrian said without turning around. "Just to make sure you're recovering properly."
"That's not necessary—"
"I insist." He faced me again, and the illusion shattered. His eyes were too cold, too calculating. "Your health is my primary concern, Calla. Everything I do is to protect you."
The words sent ice through my veins. Protect me from what? Freedom? Independence?
"I should get dressed," I said, standing on unsteady legs.
"Of course. I'll have Lydia bring up some options." His gaze swept over my silk nightgown with disturbing intensity. "Something appropriate for a quiet day at home."
Not my clothes. Options he'd approve. Another small freedom trimmed away like a gardener pruning a rosebush, shaping it into something more decorative and manageable.
After he left, I walked to the window and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. Somewhere beyond the manicured grounds and security gates was a world where I'd once been free to make my own choices, to love who I wanted, to go where I pleased without an escort and a predetermined route.
That world felt like something I'd dreamed rather than lived.
But as I watched the waves crash against the cliffs where Alaric and I had once pledged our love, I made a promise to myself. I would find a way out of this beautiful prison. I would remember who I was before Adrian began remaking me in his image.
Even if it killed me.
The intercom crackled to life again, making me jump.
"Darling," Adrian's voice filled the room, smooth and affectionate. "I forgot to mention—I've cancelled your phone service. Too many spam calls were disturbing your rest."
The line went dead, leaving me staring at my reflection in the window—a woman I barely recognized, trapped in a tower of glass and gold and lies.