Tangled love

The Cage Behind the Glass

The Cage Behind the Glass

The morning sun was a lie.

It filtered through the massive arched windows of the estate, painting the marble floors in gold, but inside, Selena felt none of its warmth. Her chest was tight with dread as she stepped into the hallway, her bare feet silent on the cold floor.

She’d tried the door again. All of them.

Locked.

Every one.

Her phone, her laptop, even the landline in the west wing—gone. Every connection to the outside world erased overnight.

It wasn’t just control anymore.

It was confinement and she can’t accept that, she knew if she wants to get out of here she have to fight back but will she able to do it. Her mind was recalling all the moments which she had spent with her husband, her contract husband.

Selena paused at the top of the staircase, one hand on the railing. Below, the household staff moved like shadows, quiet, efficient, their eyes sliding past her without recognition. As if they’d been instructed not to speak to her.

And she knew they had. Well, this bullshit wont work on her, she won’t let it.

A chill ran down her spine as she descended slowly, knowing who waited behind the heavy oak doors of the drawing room. For a minute she kept struggling in her mind wheather she should go ahead or turn back but sometimes your emotions takes out the worst side of yours.

She opened them to find Alec seated on the leather armchair, a crystal glass in hand, his gaze unreadable. Morning suit crisp. Every inch the polished predator. For a second looking at her husband’s appearance she completely forgot why she came to see him but then realising what the heck she has been doing, she controlled her emotions and sucks a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

“Sleep well?” he asked smoothly as if nothing happen. Her fists curled and jaws clenched

Selena didn’t answer but kept staring at him.

“You removed the cameras,” she said instead.

A faint smile touched his lips. “I realized watching you wasn’t enough. I need to feel you. Hear you. Control every breath.” His voice was doing things with her body which she can’t explain no matter how much she try neither she can tell wheather she has been feeling good or dominant by his behaviour.

Her stomach turned.

“This isn’t love,” she let out and don’t know why because she already what reply she would get from him.

Turning his head little bit, Alec rose, walking toward her. The air shifted with his presence — cool, sharp. He reached out and brushed a hand along her jaw, gently enough to make her skin crawl.

He leaned little close to her making her feel the butterflies into her gut and the moment she closed her eyes in the hope to get touched by his lips , he said something which fueled her anger.

“No,” he whispered. “This is ownership.”

She stepped back. “Let me go.” She said gritting her teeth. Her eyes were holding too much emotions but unfortunately to him she was showing only rage in her eyes. He can’t treat her in this way, she won’t let him.

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Selena. You’re not a guest. You’re a possession. And I don’t release what’s mine.” His voice was holding domination

Her hands clenched. “My life isn’t yours to hold.” She semi yelled at him , trying her best not to leash on him.

Alec’s smile vanished. “Isn’t it?”

He pulled something from his coat and held it out — a small device. She recognized it instantly.

Her father’s company’s financial data.

Encrypted. Private.

“How—”

“You’re smart, but you’re not careful,” Alec said, voice like ice. “One call from me, and your father’s name will drown in scandal. Fraud, bankruptcy, public disgrace. Do you want that?”

Selena’s throat closed.

“Of course you don’t,” Alec said, stepping closer, brushing a thumb across her lip like a lover — like a warden. “So you’ll stay. Smile. Be mine. Because if you don’t…”

His voice dropped.

“Everything burns.”

Without saying anything she left the area and made her way back to the room.

After an hour:

She sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling in her lap, clutching nothing and everything at once. The room was silent, save for the shallow rhythm of her breath—sharp, uneven, as if each inhale cut against the bruised corners of her soul. Her eyes, glassy and wide, stared at the floor, but they weren’t seeing it. They were looking inward, into a place no one else could reach.

How do you explain a war inside your chest?

She wanted to speak, to scream, to force the world to understand—but no words came. Just a knot in her throat, thick and burning. Every time she tried to push it out, it clawed back down like a hand gripping her from within. Her voice was lost, buried under years of swallowing sorrow, of silencing herself to keep others comfortable. So instead, tears fell.

Not the loud, dramatic kind, but the quiet tears—the ones that slid down her cheeks with no sound, no warning, no permission. They weren’t just from sadness. They were grief. Exhaustion. Rage. The mourning of a self long unheard. Each tear was a story untold, each drop a scream she wasn’t brave enough or free enough to release.

Pain like hers wasn’t always visible. It didn’t bruise skin; it bruised memory. It didn’t scream—it whispered, choked, and eventually silenced. And when others asked her what was wrong, she’d only shake her head, ashamed of the ocean building behind her ribs. How do you explain being lost in a place you used to call home—your own body?

So she cried.

She cried because the world expected her to be composed, to smile and keep moving. She cried because every time she tried to explain, she was told it wasn’t that bad. She cried because she didn’t even know exactly what hurt anymore—only that everything did. Her tears didn’t ask for attention. They asked for understanding. For space. For someone to simply sit beside her and not demand an explanation for her breaking.

In her silence was a scream. And in her tears, a truth no one had the patience—or the courage—to hear.

⸻

By afternoon, the doors were still locked, but Selena had stopped trying them. She sat curled on the divan in the library, staring out at the garden she could no longer walk through. Her thoughts spiraled — rage, fear, confusion — all wrapped tightly in the ache of betrayal.

She heard him before she saw him.

Footsteps. Confident. Controlled.

Alec entered with two glasses of wine. He offered one.

She didn’t move.

“I had the chef make your favorite tonight,” he said softly, “that lemon-rosemary chicken you always order in Paris.”

She turned away.

He knelt beside her, setting the wine on the table, resting his hands gently on her knees.

“You can hate me,” he said. “But don’t pretend I don’t know you.”

She blinked back tears.

“What you know is how to destroy people.”

Alec’s expression hardened. “And you should know by now — I destroy for the ones I love. I would ruin the world before I let it take you from me.”

She met his eyes. “Then you don’t love me. You love the idea of control. Of being the only voice I hear, the only hand I hold.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed her — slow, intense, possessive.

And for a moment, the anger melted into something darker. Her mind told her to resist, but her body responded against its will — not in consent, but in confusion. In the echo of a love that once felt real.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “You’ll remember this moment. Not the pain. The power.”

She shoved him away, breath ragged. “You disgust me.”

He stood slowly, towering over her.

“Good,” he said. “Hate me. But you’ll never forget me.”

⸻

That night, her room was no longer hers.

The lock had been removed from the inside. Surveillance lights blinked quietly in the corner.

The windows wouldn’t open.

And the wardrobe — restocked. But not with her choices. Dresses Alec had selected. Silks and velvets. Pale lace and deep reds. A curated prison.

She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

The door creaked open.

Alec.

He entered with the ease of someone who knew there was no resistance left. He sat beside her, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he murmured. “Even in defiance.”

Selena didn’t speak.

“I know you’re scared. But fear,” he said, “is part of desire. Part of submission. And in time, you’ll see this isn’t a cage.”

She finally looked at him, eyes blazing. “Then unlock the door.”

He smiled softly. “No.”

He leaned in again, lips grazing her temple. “Because if I do, you’ll run. And I can’t let that happen.”

His touch lingered — careful, almost tender. But every movement came with the weight of command. It was the seduction of power. The illusion of care stitched into cruelty.

“I will make you love me again,” he whispered.

And then he left her — in silence, in shadows, in fear.

⸻

Selena lay awake for hours after, staring at the ceiling.

But something had changed.

She wasn’t just afraid.

She was angry.

And anger… was a weapon.

If Alec thought she’d break quietly, he didn’t know her at all.

He wanted submission. He would get survival instead.

And survival… could be just as dangerous.