Golden Cage

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Amato?”

Alessandro’s voice sliced through the tense silence, sharp and laced with mockery. His piercing blue eyes bore into mine—cold, unforgiving, as though daring me to lie to him.

“I hope we live a happily married life,” he added, his tone dripping with sarcasm, each word poisoned with disdain.

Before I could react, his fingers closed around my hand in a deceptively gentle gesture that quickly turned into a punishing grip. Pain lanced through my wrist, sharp and hot.

Fear crawled up my spine. This wasn’t just a warning. It was a promise.

“You could end the marriage now while you still have the chance,” he said, voice cold and precise, each syllable like glass. “And don’t worry—you won’t be responsible for any damages. I’ll make sure of that.”

His words weren’t an offer. They were a challenge.

He wanted me to run.

He expected me to crumble.

He wanted this to end before it even began.

My heart pounded in my chest, but my voice refused to leave my throat.

Was this my way out? Or was it just another carefully laid trap—one that would make me look weak, selfish, disobedient?

The voice inside me screamed: Do you think if I had a choice, I would’ve married you?

But I said nothing. I couldn’t afford to.

His grip tightened, his thumb pressing into the bone of my wrist. I winced and tried to pull away, but his fingers remained like a shackle—firm, unforgiving.

This wasn’t a marriage. This was a cage made of diamonds and blood.

I barely had time to catch my breath when I heard the measured click of heels against marble.

And there she was.

My mother. The architect of my misery. Dressed in elegance, wearing a smile that could charm devils, she approached like royalty—poised, rehearsed, dangerous.

“Congratulations, my beautiful daughter,” she said, loud enough for nearby guests to hear.

Then she leaned in, and her breath was warm against my ear.

“Remember, you’re doing this for your father. I want you to live rich, Antonia,” she whispered. “Rich, even if it means sacrificing your freedom. Don’t ever suffer like I did in your father’s arms.”

Her voice was syrupy sweet. But the words? Poison.

I stared at her as she pulled away, smiled one last time, then vanished into the crowd like a ghost.

And just like that, I was reminded:

My life had never truly belonged to me.

When it was time to leave, I turned one final glance at the lavish hall—the silk, the candles, the faces masked with lies.

“Bye,” I whispered.

Not to the people.

Not even to my past.

But to the version of me that once believed dreams came true.

Inside the sleek, black BMW, I sat beside Alessandro, the silence between us so heavy it nearly suffocated me. His gaze remained fixed out the window, jaw clenched so tightly I could see the tension straining his neck.

He didn’t speak to me. Not even a glance. I might as well have been invisible.

Still, a small flicker of hope sparked in my chest. I can’t wait to see my new home, I whispered to myself.

Maybe, just maybe, something better waited at the end of this cold road.

“Mr. Aldo,” Alessandro said sharply, “take us away from here. This is the last place I want to be.”

The driver nodded without a word.

He was a man of composure—tall, clean-shaven, dressed with precision. His eyes flicked to me once in the mirror, unreadable.

“This is my secretary, Aldo Edoardo,” Alessandro muttered. “You’ll be seeing him around often. So, get used to it.”

Our house, he had said earlier. Not our home. The difference wasn't subtle.

I looked at Aldo properly for the first time. His brown hair was neatly combed, his suit crisp, and his posture confident without being overbearing. He had the kind of presence that drew comfort rather than fear.

He glanced at me again, this time offering a small, warm smile. “Mrs. Antonia Amato,” he said gently. “Welcome to the family. You look… astonishing today.”

His voice held kindness. Sincerity.

The contrast between him and Alessandro hit me like a wave.

“Thank you,” I replied, managing a small, grateful smile. “That’s… the nicest thing I’ve heard today.”

Aldo’s brow creased slightly. “That can’t be true,” he said softly, eyes flicking to Alessandro with quiet concern.

I laughed, but it was hollow. “You’d be surprised,” I murmured.

We drove in silence for a while. The city gave way to the countryside, the sky blushing into twilight.

Still, Alessandro didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me.

He hadn’t even told me where we were going.

The silence stretched until the car finally slowed at a pair of tall, iron gates. Beyond them stood a grand estate—elegant, secluded, cold.

My stomach twisted.

We were entering a mansion…

But it felt like walking into a prison.

The gates groaned open, and the car rolled through, crunching gravel beneath the tires.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being led into something I couldn’t escape from.

And then—just before we reached the front door—my phone buzzed in my purse.

Unknown number. One new message.

I hesitated, then unlocked the screen.

The message was short. Just six words.

“He knows you’re not Beatrice.”