Chapter 3: A Cage of Gold

Morning at the Moreau Estate – The Price of Silence

Celeste awoke to the soft glow of morning light streaming through the balcony doors. The silk sheets felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of anxiety that had settled deep in her bones. For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then reality struck like a blade to the chest.

The Moreau Estate. Her wedding. Vincent.

Her stomach twisted.

Slowly, she pushed herself up from the massive bed, glancing around the opulent bedroom. Everything about it was designed for comfort—luxurious, beautiful, yet it felt more like a carefully crafted cage.

A light knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

She hesitated before calling out, "Come in."

The door opened, and a young woman in a black uniform entered, her head bowed respectfully.

"Good morning, Mrs. Moreau," the maid said, keeping her eyes lowered.

Celeste flinched at the title. "Just Celeste."

The maid hesitated but nodded. "I am Elena, your personal attendant. Mr. Moreau has requested that you join him for breakfast in the east dining hall."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Vincent?" she asked, testing his name on her tongue.

Elena nodded.

Celeste swallowed down her unease. It was only breakfast, she told herself. A meal. Nothing more.

But with a man like Vincent Moreau, even the simplest things came with a price.

---

The East Dining Hall – A Predator and His Prey

The east dining hall was silent when Celeste arrived.

A long mahogany table stretched across the room, adorned with fine china and an elaborate spread of food—freshly baked bread, exotic fruits, smoked salmon, and eggs cooked to perfection.

Vincent sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, a cup of black coffee in his hand.

He didn't look up as she entered.

"Sit," he said simply.

Celeste hesitated before taking the seat opposite him.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint clinking of silverware as Vincent cut into his food with practiced ease.

Finally, he glanced at her.

"You didn't sleep well." It wasn't a question.

Celeste stiffened.

"Strange house," she murmured, forcing herself to focus on her plate. "Strange circumstances."

Vincent's lips quirked in amusement. "You'll adjust."

She swallowed down her resentment, instead picking at the fruit on her plate.

A few moments passed before Vincent set his fork down, his gaze piercing.

"You're mine now, Celeste."

Her grip on her fork tightened. "A contract doesn't make me yours."

He smirked. "Doesn't it?"

Her jaw clenched, but she forced herself to remain composed. She had no choice but to endure this—at least for now.

Vincent leaned back, studying her. "You're smart. That will serve you well here. But let me make one thing clear—you can hate me, resist me, challenge me all you want. But you will not defy me."

A chill ran down her spine.

Celeste lifted her chin. "Or what?"

Vincent's smirk faded. His gaze darkened, something dangerous lurking beneath.

"I don't make empty threats," he said quietly.

Celeste forced herself to meet his stare, refusing to be the first to look away.

It was a mistake.

Because in that moment, she realized something terrifying—Vincent Moreau was not a man to be bargained with.

He was a man who took.

And he had already taken her.

---

An Unwanted Gift – Chains in Disguise

After breakfast, Celeste was escorted to a private dressing room on the second floor.

Inside, rows of designer dresses, shoes, and jewelry lined the walls. It was an entire wardrobe—one filled with things Vincent had chosen for her.

The thought made her sick.

Elena stood by the door, hesitant. "Mr. Moreau instructed me to inform you that everything in here is yours."

Celeste exhaled sharply. "I don't want any of it."

The maid hesitated before lowering her gaze. "Refusing him is… unwise."

Celeste clenched her fists.

She hated this. Hated the control Vincent wielded over her, the way he dictated every aspect of her life.

She reached for a silk dress at random, gripping the delicate fabric between her fingers.

It was beautiful. Elegant. But she knew what it was—a leash disguised as a gift.

---

The Warning – A Deal with the Devil

Later that afternoon, Celeste found herself in Vincent's office.

The room was vast, lined with bookshelves, a massive oak desk at its center. Behind it, Vincent sat, reviewing documents, his sharp features illuminated by the afternoon light.

She hated how effortless he looked. How in control he always seemed.

He didn't acknowledge her right away, letting the silence stretch.

Finally, he spoke.

"You're unhappy."

Celeste folded her arms. "What gave it away?"

Vincent smirked but didn't look up. "You'll get used to it."

Her anger flared. "I am not some toy you can dress up and parade around."

His gaze lifted, dangerously cold. "No. You're my wife."

She exhaled sharply. "And what does that mean to you, Vincent? Because so far, all I see is a contract and a prison."

For the first time, his smirk vanished completely.

He stood, walking around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her.

She refused to step back.

Vincent tilted his head. "You don't know what kind of world you've married into, Celeste."

Her heart pounded. "Then enlighten me."

He studied her for a long moment before speaking.

"The Moreau family isn't built on love or kindness. It's built on power. We don't forgive. We don't forget. We don't tolerate weakness."

Celeste swallowed.

Vincent leaned in slightly, his voice low.

"And if you ever try to run from me, Celeste… I will find you."

Her breath hitched.

"I don't belong to you," she whispered, though even she wasn't sure if she believed it anymore.

Vincent smirked. "You will."

And as she stood there, trapped beneath the weight of his gaze, she realized someth

ing terrifying.

She might have signed a contract.

But she had also signed away her soul.

And Vincent Moreau?

He intended to collect every piece of it.

No matter what it took.