The Gilded Cage Girl's Escape

ttle thing. But when I saw him kiss his sister-in-

e second my contract ended. I would become a scientist

the good man I' d fallen for, and used my estranged mother to

fetime contract to replace the old

"She's a whore! Your whore! Dirty goods!

s, then at Caleb's, filled with a pain that

just run. I would end

pte

hompso

' sugar baby. His gilded cage girl. His t

ght jokes. My beauty was a performance, a silent language spoken for an audience that never truly saw me. To them

iction notice. They didn't see the desperation that gnawed at my stomach, the gnawing fear that had driven me

d a different light, a desperate yearning, would flicker in his eyes. I was just a substitute, a warm body, a convenient distraction. I endured his coldness, his publi

ary tale. Another forgotten face. They envisioned me drowning in the aftermath, lost witho

iving. I was planning my escape. And to

th secured. I closed the banking app, a stark reminder of the golden handcuffs I was still wearing.

was tight with worry when I called her later

he city lights blur. "He won't even notice at first, Kyle. I'm just a convenience. A p

ear I understood all too well. Anderson saw me as an extension of his power, a beautiful object to be displayed, never questioned. He was a man who controlled everythi

tone, a lightness I didn't feel. "He'll be too distracted. His

hen exactly are you m

y constructed plan. I had a new city picked out, a new name even, a fresh start where no one would know "Anderson Mathews' sugar baby." I was going to find a quiet jo

ones. Rain always made things feel heavier, more dramatic. Like the city itself was mourning something, or

adlights cutting through the gloom, pulled up to the curb. My heart hitched. And

a jolt of recognition, a familiar tightening in my chest that had

ments precise. He was a silhouette of power against the backdrop of the city. He didn't look up

smile on my lips. "Anderson, you're back early. I thought you had a late meeting." My voice was light, a subt

eting second, then darted past me. "I need you to run a bath for me, Ayla," he sai

e turned slightly that I saw it: a faint bruise beginning to bloom on his jaw, almost hidden by his sharp

urse, Anderson." I moved quickly, carefully, tow

ut it had become indelibly linked to him, to this life. It was the scent of power, of wealth, and of the cage I lived in. It bro

d itself, but the way it mixed with the rain, the way it used to filter through the thin walls of my childhood bedroo

th fake tears. "Your sister, Ayla, she needs this more than you. Her health... it's so fragile." My younger sister, always the fragile one, always the one my mother doted on, even when she was perfectly healthy. I

try again next year. Think of your sister." It was never about my sister. It was about my mother's

ighbors still stung: "Oh, Ayla, such a shame. I heard you failed your exams. Your sister, though, she's so de

ad raged, her loyalty fierce. "You can

ckmail. "Don't you dare abandon us, Ayla. Your sister needs you. I need you. If you l

umbling to dust. I got a low-paying job, saving every penny, plotting my escape. It took two years, two years of scraping by, of

otionless goodbye. My mother's furious phone call had come days later, a torrent of curses and accusations. "Don't

mbia. But then a mugging, a violent, terrifying encounter that left me physically hurt and emotionally broken, stripped me of everything I ha

for abandoning your family, Ayla. This is God's pu

e long dark hair, the sharp cheekbones, the kind of striking beauty that could be a currency. I spent weeks refining it, practicing smiles, learning the lang

room full of gilded smiles. He was talking to an older man, his expression unreadable, even as he commanded the conversation. I'd heard whispers abou

my hand. "Mr. Mathews?" My voice was soft, carefully modulated. He turned, hi

Yes?" His tone was dismissive,