The Gilded Cage Girl's Escape

hompso

. My apartment, my temporary sanctuary, was no longer mine. It was a brutal reminder of my precarious position, of the flimsy pret

back. I just needed to disappear. The heavy front door, which I had just entered, suddenly slammed shut behind me, rattled by a gust of wind, a fin

. The contrast was stark, a brutal mirror reflecting my reality. I stood there for a moment, clutching my small backpack wit

es, my quiet hopes. I had allowed myself to believe, even for a fleeting moment, that I belonged. But a home was buil

humiliation. The water ran down my cheeks, mixing with what felt suspiciously like tears. I hugged myse

d, and stepped out into the biting New York night. The umbrella was

you get my message about Anderson's birthday

for him, a quiet dinner, just the two of us. A foolish fantasy, perhaps, a lingering hope that one day he mi

ow. Tonight. My contract is officially over

sounded surprised. "

e now. Not on his birthday. Not with her there." I needed a clean break, a definitive ending. I wanted to be gone, truly

endless minutes ticking by. I waited for a call, a text, anything from Anderson. But nothing came. Not a sin

rk, just an empty mirror reflecting

my hair. A flurry of articles from entertainment blogs and society pages. "Hope Vasquez, the celebrated concert pianist, spotted

s older brother, Robert. A detailed history of her accomplishments, her dazzling performances, her impeccable lineage. And then, a quote from an old

in the video, the naked longing in his eyes. Platonic. The word tasted like poison. She knew exactly w

e. He would simply forget. I was just a convenie

on, but from his assistant, Mark. "Mr. Mathews r

? My mind reeled. What did he want? I hesitated for only a second, then qui

d out, a moving truck was parked outside, men in overalls

anges his mind more than I change my socks. First he wants it al

ne I wasn't allowed to touch, the one Hope had admired so casually. Had he thrown it out just because she mentioned it? The th

sing, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the scene

ugly little doll, you still want it gone? Or are you going to keep this one too?" H

from her. I had kept it hidden, tucked away in the back of my closet, a small, secret piece of my past.

an's grasp. But I couldn't. I was Ayla Thompson, th

doll. "Get rid of it," he said, his voice flat, devoid of an

twist. He was purging me. Erasing eve