Chapter 7 The Gilded Cage

• So the deal's done.
• My hand is still buzzing where he touched it. It was cold. Not just winter-cold, but wrong like touching a statue. It just sucked the heat right out of me.
• Joachim Knight didn't just shake my hand, no, that was a branding. A final stamp. As if he was a king signing a death warrant or a life warrant. I'm still not sure which is worse. His grip was just this silent, heavy promise of all the control he had now.
• Then Harris—Detective Harris—shuffled back in and his face looked like he had gone to the locker room to cry.
• He really wanted me to go to jail.
• One minute he's a shark circling me, all smug and predatory and the next, he can barely look Joachim in the eye. He's standing all stiff, trying to look professional. It was actually kind of stunning to see power, real power, just radiating off a guy sitting perfectly still.
• Harris slides some papers across the table. The scrape was so loud in that quiet room. "Sign here," he says, "and here and here." Basically, it's me agreeing the charges are dropped and I won't sue his department for everything.
• I blinked, staring at my own name in the documents typed out next to all these felonies that were bent on making me wear orange.
• They read: Invasion of privacy, Harassment and blah blah blah but now they are all gone. Erased by a man who had such authority that if he decided to send a phone call to the sky, it would start raining in seconds.
• I grabbed the pen, excitement mixed with anxiety made my fingers shake.
• I barely managed a signature. Then—a sharp click. The cold, dead weight around my wrists simply fell away.
• It was the loudest sound of my entire life. Freedom. I guess. They were all red and raw. I couldn't help but glance at his hands. Perfect, of course.
• “Can I go?" My voice sounded like gravel.
• Harris just grunted. Already over it. "Your lawyer's waiting."
• My lawyer. Really? That was a laugh. Joachim Knight wasn't my lawyer. He was my new owner and it sent this shard of actual ice right down my spine.
• My legs felt so jelly- like as I walked out of the station.
• Surreal. I was bracing for just the normal city street. Nope.
• I guess I was wrong. I was blinded immediately as soon as I stepped out of the door. Flashes everywhere. Cameras clicking like a million angry insects. Paparazzi. They were swarming the steps, a total feeding frenzy.
• "Yvette! Were you really arrested?"
• "Is it true about you and Joachim Knight?"
• "Look here, Yvette!"
• “Smile, Yvette Moreno.”
• Smile for what exactly?
• I wanted to tell them all to shut up.
• What an irony, days ago I was the one behind the camera. The hunter. I knew exactly what they wanted—that one shot of me looking broken. Defeated. I could practically feel their lenses zooming in on the tear tracks on my face. And now I'm the prey. Cornered and a total deer in the headlights of the machine I helped build.
• And then, everything just went quiet.
• Then this tank of a car pulled up. A Maybach, all black and so glossy it hurt my eyes. The kind of car that doesn't just drive, it makes the road submit. The back door opened, pushed by some driver who looked more like a Secret Service agent.
• And there he was. Joachim. Just sitting inside, bathed in the car's soft lights. He wasn't even looking at the chaos. He held an expensive sleek, all black phone, scrolling through its screen mindlessly and not even giving a damn to the flock of reporters. He raised his head up gracefully and without saying a word, he tilted his head.
• The command was clear. Get. In.
• What else was I gonna do? Stand there and get eaten alive? I ducked my head and slid in. The heavy, soundproof door shut behind me quietly and I was completely enveloped in this expensive silence.
• He didn't say anything. Just gave me a second to get my heart rate out of the red zone, I guess. I stared out the tinted window, watching the vultures shrink away as we just glided into traffic. I survived. I'm free. I had to keep telling myself that.
• After a long silence, he spoke. "You can go with my driver. Collect what you need." His voice was low and sweet to listen to but I wasn't impressed because he was annoying.
• My forehead creased.
• He said: collect what you need like Manhattan had suddenly had a zombie apocalypse.
• "Collect my things? I'm going home."
• He finally looked up from his phone. Those blue eyes of his locked on me. And they're like a frozen lake where you can't see a thing, but you know it goes deep.
• "You misunderstood," he said. And his tone there was no arguing with it. "My driver is taking you to your old apartment to collect your necessities. You're moving into my penthouse. Tonight."
• The air just went solid. I couldn't breathe. That little bubble of relief I'd felt popped and vanished, replaced by this new, five-star, luxury brand of panic. "What? No. No way. That wasn't in the deal. I'm not your property. I just got out of one jail cell, I'm not trading it for another."
• I think he was almost amused. Just for a second. A tiny flicker flashed across his face. He blinked and spoke slowly like he was explaining to a toddler why their pop is colour yellow. “It is a logistical necessity, Yvette.”
• I blinked.
• "We have to be seen as a couple. The press, everyone is watching, how long do you think before they figure it out?
• A day? Two? The whole thing falls apart." He paused, letting it sink in. "Besides, what happened today proves you're a target. Your safety is now a variable I have to control. You'll be safer with me."
• He made it sound so damn reasonable. But I heard the subtext. You're a liability. You're my problem to manage.
• "No." I said but my voice trembled. “I can definitely take care of myself.”
• “I didn't ask you that.” He sneered.
• I have for years. I am not moving in with you." I continued.
• "Can you?" he asked, and his voice got dangerously soft. "The press who attacked you, they found you easily enough. Now? Now you'll be an even more interesting target for anyone who wants to get to me."
• "This isn't about my safety!" I shot back, anger finally bubbling up. "This is about you wanting me on a leash! In a cage where you can watch me."
• “Who said I want to watch you? Stop feeling important.” He tsked, rolling his eyes
• “I won't go!”
• There was a brief silence as he thought about it or pretended to. “I guess you are not wrong,” he admitted.
• And him just saying it, so honestly, was way colder than any threat. "Your actions reflect on me now. I don't tolerate variables I can't manage. And you, Ms. Moreno, are a variable."
• He was right. Damn it, he was right. I had no money, no one. And now I was the official girlfriend of this guy. I was a walking target.
• But still. I couldn't just roll over. "No," I said again, my jaw tight. "Find another way."
• He held my gaze. I expected him to yell, to threaten me with our deal. He didn't. He just gave the driver this tiny, almost invisible nod. The car just pulled over. And stopped. Just like that.
• Joachim picked up some crazy thin tablet and just started reading. Ignoring me completely like I was a stubborn ghost who he had asked to get on a bus to the afterlife but had refused.
• “Excuse me, what are we doing?”
• I demanded, my voice getting louder. "Why did we stop?"
• He didn't even look up. Just said to the driver, his voice flat. "We'll wait."
• I couldn't believe it. The engine was just a hum. The city was still happening out there, outside our soundproof bubble. But in here? In this leather prison? Time just stopped. I tried the door handle. Locked. Of course it was locked. I could scream, I guess. But who would hear? The man could probably wait forever. For centuries and I would probably turn into a skeleton by then.
• I
• was free for all of five minutes.
• And I had a sinking feeling my new cage was just a whole lot bigger, with a much better view. And the bars were going to be invisible.