THE GILDED CAGE

The car ride back home was suffocatingly quiet, each passenger trapped within their own thoughts. Makena sat stiffly in the back seat, her gaze unfocused as the world outside blurred past. Her mind, however, was stuck on Brandon. His confident smile, the way he carried himself with ease, as if the weight of the past no longer clung to him. They had both changed—him into a man that people gravitated toward, no longer the broody boy everyone avoided. But what about her? She had become a ghost of her past self, a mere shadow moving through life, restrained and detached. Would anyone even notice her if not for her family name? Would anyone ever greet her if her parents weren't there to remind them she existed?

The hushed chatter from the front seat snapped her out of her thoughts. Her mother, Njeri, was speaking in a clipped tone, rattling off the details of their evening plans to her father, Melvin.

"Old man Kioko will be joining us for dinner tonight," Njeri announced, her voice laced with both intrigue and annoyance.

"He must want to introduce his grandson to some of the business partners," Melvin responded with a sneer. "Trying to secure a future for the boy, no doubt."

"This old man is ridiculous," Njeri scoffed. "I thought he was above brown-nosing, but it turns out he's just like the rest of them."

Makena remained silent, listening carefully. She knew the history between her family and old man Kioko ran deep, filled with unspoken rivalries and veiled contempt. Unlike her parents, Kioko had never sought validation or alliances. He moved in his own circles, respected yet distant. For him to suddenly resurface, bringing Brandon into their world—it meant something.

"I hear he's made quite the name for himself abroad," Melvin muttered, distrust evident in his tone. "But let's be honest, how much can a half-blood really accomplish?"

Makena clenched her fists. That word—half-blood. Her parents always spat it out like venom when speaking about Brandon's mother. To them, she was a disgrace, an outsider who had tainted the Kioko bloodline by having a child with a foreigner. Even in death, they wouldn't let her rest. What crime had she committed, really? Falling in love? Having a child? Was that enough to warrant a lifetime of hatred?

"At least this one didn't come back with a bastard child," Melvin chuckled cruelly.

"Men are different", Njeri added, her voice sharp. "They're more disciplined, more focused."

Makena swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. Her mother—ever the loyal wife, always eager to impress Melvin—had a habit of tearing down other women. Perhaps it started as a way to earn her husband's approval, but over the years, it had become second nature to her, almost like breathing. Makena wondered, had her mother always been this way? Or had she been molded into this bitter woman through years of seeking validation?

"Never mind all that," Melvin said dismissively. "Focus on dinner. Introduce your daughter to more people."

Your daughter. Not Makena. Not even 'our daughter.' Just another piece on his chessboard, a pawn to be moved at his convenience. She couldn't remember the last time her father had called her by name. When she was younger, he used to call her his beautiful daughter. But those days were gone, faded like a dream she could no longer grasp.

Then, he spoke the words that sent an icy chill down her spine.

"She's nearly twenty-five. We need to marry her off before it's too late."

The casual way he said it, as if he were discussing the weather, made her stomach turn. Makena turned to her brother, who was seated beside her, scrolling through his phone, entirely detached from the conversation. Of course, his marriage wasn't a concern. Even though he was much older than her, he was a man—free to indulge, to drink, to sleep around without consequence. But she? She was just a daughter, a bargaining chip in her father's empire.

She had known for years that her marriage would be arranged. As a child, she had even romanticized the idea—falling in love young, starting a family early, just like her mother. But now, the thought of marriage felt like a death sentence. The men her parents would choose for her were all the same: arrogant, entitled, philandering. If she was lucky, her husband would be like her brother—a careless playboy. If she was unlucky, he would be like her father.

Her father wanted her married off quickly. She knew why. Brandon was back. A variable Melvin couldn't control or threaten away. He wanted her out of the way before she could become a complication.

Makena should have run when she had the chance.

She thought back to the first time Brandon had told her to run. They were fourteen, and she had just been dumped by her first boyfriend. It wasn't love, but rejection still stung. She had told Brandon about it, expecting sympathy, maybe even laughter.

Instead, he had looked at her with anger.

"How can you still be this ignorant?" he had snapped. "It was cute when you were younger, but now you just look like a fool."

She had frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You caused his father's death. The least you could do is feel some kind of remorse. But here you are, romanticizing everything, as usual."

Makena had stiffened. "What? I didn't even know his dad—"

"But your father did." Brandon's voice was sharp, cutting through her naivety like a knife. He had run his hand through his curls in frustration. "Wake up, Makena. You need to run before it's too late. Because sooner or later, that beautiful cage you live in will become suffocating."

Then he had walked away, leaving her to stew in the first cracks of her perfect world.

And now, here she was, suffocating.

Her mother was still speaking, listing names of potential suitors. Makena barely heard her. The car was moving too fast, the air too thick. Her breath came short, and she felt her heart hammering in her chest.

Jump.

The thought came suddenly.

Jump. Now.

Her fingers twitched toward the door handle. It would be easy—one motion, one leap, and she could be free. Best case, she would roll to the side, bruised but alive. Worst case… well, even death seemed like an escape. Not even her father could control her in the afterlife.

JUMP! The voice in her head screamed.

Her hand tightened around the handle.

But she couldn't do it. If she survived, her father would make her life even worse. If she didn't, well… that was too much of a gamble.

Slowly, she let go.

The car turned into the grand driveway of their estate, the towering house looming over them like a silent witness to her fate. As the engine quieted and her parents stepped out, Makena remained in her seat for a moment, staring at the gilded prison she called home.

She had waited too long. The door was locked. The walls were closing in.

And time was running out.