The Prisoner of Silk: 5. Cracks in the Cage

The morning after, the penthouse was quiet. He had left before dawn, as he often did, disappearing into the city below like a shadow that owned the world.

She lay awake long after he was gone, wrists sore where the silk had kissed her skin, thighs still aching with the memory of him. The taste of shame lingered on her tongue, bitter as poison, but beneath it—gods help her—was sweetness too.

She hated herself for remembering how he’d made her beg.

And that was why she knew she had to try.

She rose silently, dressing in the first thing she could find—his shirt, thrown over a chair, smelling of cedar and skin. She tugged it over her body like armor and padded barefoot across the marble floor.

The penthouse stretched endlessly, its glass walls glimmering with daylight. She had never explored beyond the rooms he permitted. But today she did.

Past the dining hall. Past the private library. Down the corridor where the air grew cooler. At the far end, a s