Serene Walls, Velvet Chains

"Not all prisons have bars—some are lined with silk and silence, wrapped in velvet and stitched with duty." _Unknown

The car came to a slow halt at the grand gates of the Gastanov estate, the headlights sweeping across towering iron gates that opened like jaws into darkness. Maeve sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed out the window though there was nothing to really look at. The mansion ahead was not a home—it was an empire carved in stone and shadow, poised against the starlit sky like something out of a forgotten fairytale.

Anton, ever dutiful and composed, opened her door. "Mr. Gastanov had pressing matters to attend to," he said, voice clipped and professional. "He sends his regards. He'll join you when his schedule permits."

Maeve gave a light nod, her voice sealed shut. She didn't feel disappointed. In truth, she felt a quiet relief. No wedding night formalities. No awkward consummation with a stranger. Just silence—her most familiar friend.

The mansion's foyer swallowed her whole. Floors of black marble glinted beneath the gold chandeliers that hung like halos overhead. The space was cold, untouched, grand in a way that made even breathing feel like a trespass.

A maid, not older than twenty-five, stepped forward with a practiced smile. Her dark hair was neatly tied back into a low bun, and her pale blue uniform pressed to perfection.

"I'm Noelle," she said with a small bow. "Your head maid, madam. If you'd like any changes to your quarters or need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call for me. Everything is yours to alter or command."

Maeve's lips curled faintly, barely there. "Thank you," she said softly, dismissing her with a simple nod.

The room Maeve was led to could only be described as an artistic contradiction—elegant, soft, and hauntingly pristine. Cream-colored walls framed with delicate silver trimming gave way to soft velvet curtains in muted blue. A wide four-poster bed sat at the center of the room, wrapped in sheer ivory drapes that swayed gently from the overhead fan.

It was regal, yet soft. Lavish, but not cold. Everything in it whispered wealth, but also something quieter.

She let her fingers glide over the silver detailing on the wardrobe, marveled silently at the intricacy of it all. Not just the design—no, it was the thoughtfulness. The symmetry. Someone had paid careful attention to beauty here.

Without calling Noelle, Maeve peeled off the delicate layers of her wedding gown herself. The fabric slid off her body, puddling at her feet. Her hair came undone, cascading down her back like spilled ink on snow.

She entered the bathroom and paused.

It was breathtaking.

The floors were a matte grey stone, the walls painted with a soft champagne shimmer that caught the light just right. A standalone oval tub sat on a raised platform, surrounded by sleek glass shelves that displayed bath oils and soaps of every kind—lavender, vanilla, honeyed citrus, rose, musk, amberwood.

Soft warm lights, dimmable, ran along the borders of the mirror above the sink. A rainfall shower stood in a glass enclosure to one side, lined with temperature control panels and mist options. It was a modern oasis.

She stepped into the tub, the warm water enveloping her slowly, as though trying not to startle her. For the first time, in a very long time, her body relaxed—not in relief, but in unfamiliarity.

Maeve had never had an actual bath. Showers, maybe. Cold. Fast. Rushed. But this—this was foreign luxury, seducing her without even trying.

She poured in a few drops of something lavender-scented. It melted into the water with a small hiss, filling the air with a calming perfume. She watched the steam rise, her pale skin soaking beneath the surface. Her body was petite, almost too delicate for a woman her age. She often looked younger than she was—just bones wrapped in porcelain skin that bruised too easily.

Her collarbones jutted like gentle cliffs, her arms slim, waist barely there. The blue tips of her hair floated on the surface of the water, haloing her in strange hues. A living contrast. A contradiction.

She traced a finger across her shoulder, feeling the smoothness. Her mind wandered—not to Levi, not to Linda or her cousins—but to nothing. Just silence. She didn't even know what to feel. Gratitude? Fear? Hope?

None of it made sense.

And yet, in this strange house, in this strange bathtub, Maeve felt something small flicker inside her. A question. A whisper.

Would this cage… be worse than the last?

She leaned back, eyes fluttering shut, steam curling around her face. Not a tear escaped her eyes. There was no crying. Just breathing. Deep. Shallow. Real.

Because beneath her programmed calm and her cold nods, Maeve was still curious. Curious about a life she had never been allowed to taste. Curious about what waited behind Levi's gaze. Curious about what freedom felt like—not the illusion of it—but the real kind.

But tonight was not for wondering.

Tonight was for surviving.

And so, she bathed like she had done it all her life. Silent. Composed. Alone.

---

Wrapped in a soft towel, Maeve stepped out of the bathroom, her body warm, clean, and slightly weightless—as though the steam had drained her of everything heavy.

She moved toward the walk-in closet attached to the room, eyes scanning the neatly arranged shelves and silk hangers that held robes, nightwear, and house clothes far too elegant to be called casual. Each piece spoke of quiet riches and understated power.

She reached for the simplest one—a pale satin slip with delicate straps and lace trimming that danced at her thighs. It was soft against her skin, gentle even on the parts of her that had long forgotten what gentleness felt like.

The lights were dimmed low. The air was warm and still.

Maeve padded barefoot toward the bed, pulling back the layered duvet and slipping beneath the cool, luxurious sheets. Her head hit the pillow, and she let out a quiet sigh—barely audible, even to herself.

And then, sleep took her.

No thoughts. No dreams. Just the crashing weight of a week filled with sudden changes, force-fed expectations, and sealed fates. Her body gave in completely, surrendering to the first real rest it had known in years.