Chapter 6: Whispers of Rebellion

A Morning in a Cage

Celeste woke to the scent of expensive leather and faint cologne, the subtle reminders of her captivity. The large bed, covered in silk sheets, felt suffocating rather than luxurious. The sunlight filtering through the curtains did nothing to warm her—it only illuminated the golden cage Vincent had built around her.

She sat up slowly, her muscles aching from tension rather than rest.

Memories of last night clawed at her.

The ballroom, the whispered threats, the unspoken war brewing beneath the polished surface.

And Vincent.

His cold warning still echoed in her mind.

"Tomorrow, I'll show you exactly what it means to be mine."

A shiver crawled down her spine.

Her husband was a man who thrived on control. He didn't just own weapons, businesses, or people—he owned the fear that came with his name.

Celeste had never been a woman who submitted easily. But how much longer could she push him before he decided to break her completely?

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

"Come in."

The door opened, and Elena, her personal maid, stepped inside.

Unlike the others in Vincent's household, Elena had a kindness to her. She was in her mid-thirties, with dark hair neatly tied back and watchful eyes that missed nothing.

"I brought your breakfast, Mrs. Moreau."

Celeste forced a smile. "Thank you, Elena."

The tray was placed on the bedside table—a perfectly arranged meal of fresh fruit, eggs, and toast. But Celeste had no appetite.

"Your husband requested that you join him in the study after breakfast."

She stiffened.

Vincent never requested anything—he ordered.

"What does he want?" Celeste asked, keeping her voice light.

Elena hesitated before responding. "I don't know. But… he seemed different this morning."

Different?

Celeste's stomach tightened.

Vincent was always calculated, unreadable. If something had changed, it meant something had happened.

Was it about last night?

Mikhail's offer still lingered in her mind. Could Vincent have found out?

She pushed her breakfast away. "I'll see him now."

Elena nodded, but before she turned to leave, she hesitated.

"Be careful, ma'am," she whispered.

Celeste's fingers curled into fists.

She always was.

---

A Dangerous Proposal

Vincent's study was one of the most guarded places in the estate.

A room filled with secrets, weapons, and documents that could destroy empires.

When she stepped inside, Vincent was sitting behind his grand desk, dressed in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing the tattoos marking his forearms—a contrast to the elegance he portrayed in public.

He looked up, his sharp green eyes unreadable.

"Close the door."

She did.

For a moment, he studied her in silence, his fingers tapping against the desk.

Then, he leaned back, his expression unreadable.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

Celeste tilted her head. "You're my husband. Do I need a reason?"

His lips curled in amusement, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Mikhail made you an offer last night."

Her breath caught.

He knows.

She schooled her expression into one of indifference. "He offered me a conversation."

Vincent's gaze darkened. "A conversation about what?"

Celeste met his stare. "Freedom."

A tense silence followed.

Then, Vincent let out a low chuckle.

"You think Mikhail would save you?" he mused. "He's not your knight, Celeste. He's just another wolf who'd rather devour you himself."

She folded her arms. "So what? You own me, but you won't let anyone else touch me?"

His smirk vanished.

In a flash, he was in front of her, his presence suffocating.

"You're playing a game you don't understand," he murmured, gripping her chin. "You want freedom? Fine. Let's make a deal."

Celeste blinked. A deal?

"I have an enemy," Vincent continued, releasing her as he turned toward the window. "Someone who's been interfering with my business. If you help me remove him, I'll give you what you want."

She frowned. "And what exactly do I want?"

Vincent turned back to her, his smirk returning.

"You want control. You want power."

His words sent a dangerous thrill through her.

Because he wasn't wrong.

She had spent so much time trying to escape that she never considered a different approach.

What if, instead of running… she took control?

"What's the catch?" she asked.

Vincent chuckled. "No catch. Just a choice."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Stay my prisoner… or become my queen."

Celeste's heart pounded.

She had expected threats, punishments—not this.

But Vincent Moreau was a man who played with power, not desperation.

And now, he was offering her a seat at the table.

Her next move would decide everything.

---

Blood on the Streets

That night, Celeste sat in the backseat of a sleek black car, her heart steady despite the chaos she was about to witness.

Vincent had given her a name.

Dante Russo.

A former associate who had turned against him.

Her role? Watch. Learn.

And decide.

The car rolled to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse. Vincent stepped out first, his men flanking him like shadows.

Celeste followed.

Inside, the scent of blood and gunpowder was thick in the air.

Dante Russo was on his knees, hands tied behind his back, blood dripping from his temple.

He looked up, his swollen eyes landing on Celeste.

"Your husband," he spat, "is a monster."

Celeste met his gaze. "I know."

Vincent handed her a gun.

A test.

A choice.

Celeste's fingers curled around the cold metal.

This was it.

Her moment to decide whether she would remain Vincent's possession…

Or become something far more dangerous.

---

End of Chapter 6.