Chapter 2: I'm Not Your Prize to Cage!

Alexia sat in the center of the studio on her broken couch, and the once vibrant chaos of her space was gone. Now replaced by half-packed boxes and scattered paintbrushes littered on the floor, with the faint smell of drying paint.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the brush again, dabbed it in crimson and black, and each erratic stroke screamed her frustration and resentment, but no relief followed.

Her phone buzzed; she reached for it and stared at one word… "Accept?"

"Damn it! Damn you, Elliot! Damn it anyway!"

She typed: "I accept. Need 2 hours, packers can come."

She stared at the screen for a long moment. Was she really doing this? But the reality of her situation forced her hand. She pressed send. There was no going back now.

Her phone buzzed again. She read his response: "Thank you, packers arrive in 3 hours."

"Damn you, Elliot! I hate you!"

She wasn't sure what hurt more, accepting the deal or the sting of knowing just how much power she had lost.

"I hate you, Elliot! Breathe… stop."

She closed her eyes, the finality of it sinking in. There was no choice left.

Her gaze fell on the finished canvas in front of her; she named it "HATE."

Now, there was nothing but the slow ticking of time before everything… changed.

Thirty minutes later, Alexia drove up the long, winding driveway until the mansion appeared ahead; its grandeur is impossible to ignore. She'd known it was going to be enormous, but nothing had prepared her for the sheer magnitude of it.

She parked in front of the grand entrance, stepping out of her car with a mix of nausea and awe twisting her stomach.

Her eyes swept over the place, taking in the polished marble columns, manicured hedges, and the fountain that stood like an imposing statue in the center of the drive. It was the type of wealth that wasn't meant to be questioned, only worshiped.

As she walked up the stone steps to the front door, Georgia, the housekeeper, opened the door and greeted her with practiced professional warmth.

"Welcome, Miss Marque," said Georgia. "Mr. Cummings has arranged everything."

"Thank you," Alexia replied, forcing herself to step inside carrying her wet canvas, crossing the threshold of the home she never thought she'd enter.

The interior was just as overwhelming as the exterior. The high ceilings, the crystal chandeliers, the intricate marble floors. Lavish didn't even begin to describe it. Yet, it felt cold, like a showpiece, not a home.

Georgia led her through the house, giving her a tour, but Alexia could barely take it all in. The decor, modern yet antique, screamed opulence. But to Alexia, it was too much. Too perfect. Too polished.

Finally, they reached the wing that had been prepared for her. As Georgia opened the door, Alexia was hit by the full force of the space: the living quarters, 2,000 square feet of tasteful luxury. Every inch of it was designed, from the upholstered furniture to the hand-painted silk curtains that draped over the windows.

The first thing Alexia noticed when she entered her bedroom was the designer clothing hanging in the closets along with displayed designer purses, bags, shoes, and even perfume… all the things she had never had access to, or wanted, until now.

Alexia said nothing in response. It wasn't that she was ungrateful, but the idea of having every detail of her life arranged for her, including what she ate, gnawed at her. It was too much control, too much convenience.

But as her eyes skimmed over everything, she couldn't shake the feeling of being manipulated. The clothes were chosen for her, the perfume selected for her, and the bed linens were what she would have picked herself.

"Your personal housekeeper, Anna, is assigned to help you settle in."

Alexia didn't acknowledge it. Her gaze shifted to the studio door at the far end of the room. She was already dreading the moment she would have to face the art space Elliot had arranged.

Georgia watched her. "Would you like to see your private kitchen?"

"Sure."

It was exactly what she had expected—state-of-the-art appliances. Everything was stocked to perfection. But as Georgia rattled off the details of what was provided, all Alexia could focus on was how detached she felt from the space.

"Dinner is at 7 pm sharp every night; breakfast is served at 7 am."

Alexia barely registered the details, but she did note that the housekeeper, driver, and chef were all at her disposal.

Alexia barely acknowledged her, her eyes now fixed on a door at the far end of the room. The STUDIO.

She didn't wait for Georgia's permission to open it. When the door swung open, she stepped inside, and the sheer size of the space took her breath away. The high ceilings, walls with perfect lighting, and the massive windows overlooking the estate gave her the perfect natural lighting.

"Your studio is 4,000 square feet; it's a true artist's studio."

She set the painting she had completed, still wet, on an easel that was center stage when she entered. It was the only thing that felt like hers. She thought about the name she'd given it… "HATE." The emotion that defined her. The emotion that would define everything moving forward.

Every inch around her is filled with high-end easels, canvases, paintbrushes, and sleek digital workstations. She moved toward the massive shelves lining the walls, filled with perfectly organized supplies.

This was what she'd always wanted: a space free of distractions which she could create.

And yet, there was something unsettling about it. She hated it. She loved it—but she hated it! She stood there, caught between admiration and loathing, a dizzying feeling swelling in her chest.

Georgia's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen before addressing Alexia. "The packers will be here in an hour, Miss Marque."

The movers were professional, but the last part of her old life was slipping away, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She cursed him under her breath. "Damn you, Elliot. I hate you!"

Then came the real surprise: Jonathan, the driver, entered and handed her the keys to a brand-new Mercedes. It was a business perk from Elliot, and it was all in her name—insurance, papers, everything.

Alexia recognized Jonathan's voice. The note. She understood it all now.

Elliot had been manipulating her since the beginning. The suite, the studio, and now a Mercedes. He had to have planned it for at least three months.

Did he cause her to lose the three art exhibitions over the past three months? Is this just another gilded cage?

She cursed him under her breath. "Damn you, Elliot. I hate you!"

She stared at the keys, anger rising in her chest, and on her way out of the studio, she mentioned she'd be back later.

Outside, there sat the Mercedes. She slid in, pushed the engine start button, and drove down the winding driveway.

"Damn you, Elliot! You are going to regret this! You will pay more than you know! I'm not your prize to cage! Breathe… stop... stop now."

She exited the estate.