Chapter 2: The Bird in the Golden Cage

That night, Celeste sat in the black limousine, gliding smoothly through the city streets. The flickering streetlights outside cast shifting shadows across her pale face and empty eyes.

Just an hour ago, she had been desperately searching for a way to escape Alistair Vaughn's grasp. But now, she was on her way to his home. Or rather, the gilded cage he had prepared for her.

"You don't need to bring anything," Alistair had said before they left. "Everything you need is already at my place."

Celeste didn't respond. She only lowered her head, swallowing the mix of anger and fear tightening in her chest.

The car finally came to a stop in front of a towering skyscraper, standing imposingly in the heart of the city. The door opened, and a broad-shouldered man in a black suit greeted her.

"Welcome, Miss Celeste," he said with a respectful bow before stepping aside to let her in.

As soon as her heels touched the marble floor of the lobby, she was enveloped by an overwhelming display of luxury. High ceilings adorned with grand crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed walls, and the soft scent of white roses drifting through the air.

This wasn't just a home. It was a palace.

Alistair walked beside her, unhurried, as if savoring this moment—the moment Celeste finally stepped into his world.

They entered a private elevator that led straight to the top floor. When the doors slid open, Celeste felt her breath catch.

The penthouse was breathtaking. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcasing the city bathed in moonlight, a vast open space with modern decor, dressed in black, gold, and gray—just like the man who owned it.

At the center of the room, a long dining table was perfectly set. Candles flickered softly, red wine poured into crystal glasses.

Like a carefully laid trap.

Alistair removed his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair before turning to Celeste.

"Sit," he commanded, his tone gentle but absolute.

Celeste remained standing. She looked at him, searching his sharp gaze for an answer.

"What do you want from me?" she finally asked, her voice laced with tension.

Alistair smirked. He stepped closer, so close that Celeste could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"It's simple," he whispered, his fingers lifting to trace the delicate curve of her chin. "I want you here. With me. Every night. Every morning. Every moment."

Celeste's pulse quickened. She wanted to step back, but Alistair had already caged her in with his piercing stare.

"And if I refuse?" her voice was barely audible.

Alistair's smirk deepened, but his eyes remained dark.

"You won't, Celeste," he murmured, his fingers trailing along her jaw. "Because I've made sure you have no other choice."

Celeste held her breath as Alistair stepped even closer. Every movement he made was controlled, deliberate—like a man accustomed to conquering whatever he desired, including her.

"I don't belong to you," Celeste whispered, though her voice was weak.

Alistair tilted his head, his expression unwavering. "Not yet."

His hand lifted, brushing away a stray strand of hair from her cheek before his fingers trailed downward, grazing her neck in a touch that was almost intimidating.

"Everyone has a price, Celeste," he murmured. "And I'm willing to pay the highest for you."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. "I'm not for sale."

Alistair's smile faded. "Don't misunderstand. I'm not buying your body." He paused, his gaze locking onto hers. "I'm buying your life. Your time. Your freedom."

Celeste bit her lip, trying to suppress the fear creeping through her veins.

"I'll leave," she said, her voice trembling as she avoided his piercing stare. "I won't stay here."

Alistair chuckled softly—not a warm laugh, but one laced with satisfaction.

"Go ahead and try," he challenged.

As if to prove him wrong, Celeste spun around and marched toward the door. Her hands trembled as she grasped the handle and pulled.

Locked.

Her breath hitched. Slowly, she turned back to find Alistair still standing in place, watching her with a victorious glint in his eyes.

"I won't lock you up," he said smoothly. "But don't think for a second that you can leave without my permission."

A cold chill crept up Celeste's spine. She wasn't just trapped in this penthouse—she was trapped in his grasp.

"I gave you a choice, Celeste," Alistair continued, his voice softer now. "And you chose to be here with me."

Her eyes burned with defiance. "I never chose this!"

Alistair's lips curled into a faint smile. "You chose to save your father."

Celeste's world stopped.

"I could've destroyed his business in seconds," Alistair said, his tone casual. "But I didn't—because I'd much rather have you here."

Her body felt weak.

So this was it. This was why Alistair was so certain she wouldn't leave.

Not just because he wanted her. But because he knew she would never let her family fall.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her breath came in uneven gasps.

Alistair stepped closer, lowering his face until there was barely any space left between them.

"Accept it, Celeste," he whispered. "From now on, you belong to me."

Celeste wanted to scream, wanted to fight back. But all she could do was stand there, sinking deeper into the web Alistair had so carefully spun around her.

And for the first time, she realized… there was no way out.

Celeste tried to steady her breathing, but her chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. Every word that left Alistair's mouth pulled her deeper into fear.

She wanted to fight, to resist, but how? Every escape route had been sealed by this man, and now he stood before her, waiting for her reaction with eyes full of possession.

"I'm not yours," Celeste repeated, her voice trembling as she clung to the last remnants of her pride.

Alistair tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining calm, but there was something dangerous in his gaze. "You keep saying that," he murmured, as if studying her. "Yet, strangely, you're still here."

Celeste bit her lip, feeling the heat rise behind her eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, barely audible. "Why me?"

Alistair gave a small smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Because you caught my attention, Celeste." He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. "And I don't like it when something I want tries to run from me."

Celeste took a step back, but her spine met the cold surface of the wall. Her breath hitched.

Alistair leaned in, one hand lifting to rest against the wall beside her head. Now, she was completely trapped.

"I can make your life easier," he continued in a low, hypnotic voice. "Or I can make it harder. The choice is yours, Celeste."

Celeste met his gaze, defiance flickering in her eyes. "You want me to submit to you? Like someone you can control?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow, as if amused by her small display of defiance. "I want you to accept it," he whispered, his fingers trailing along the curve of her jaw, making her body tense. "I want you to understand that fate has brought you to me."

Celeste held her breath, but her body reacted in ways she didn't want it to. Alistair was too close, his voice too deep, and his presence too overwhelming.

"I will never be yours," she said, forcing her voice to stay firm.

Alistair only smirked before lowering his head even closer to her ear.

"We'll see about that, Celeste."

His voice crashed into her mind like a dangerous spell.

Celeste shut her eyes for a moment, struggling to calm her racing heart. One thing was certain—she had just stepped into this man's game.

And she had no idea how to win.