Chapter 3 - The Velvet Cage
The Kade Estate in late November looked like a fortress carved from black granite and white ice.
Twelve-foot iron gates swung open silently as the Mercedes swept up the long, winding drive, passing under ancient, snow-laden oak trees. The main house rose four stories high, a dark masterpiece of Gothic architecture featuring high arched windows, slate roofs, and stone gargoyles watching the drive.
Inside the grand foyer, the air was warm, smelling faintly of cedarwood and polished mahogany.
Wren stepped onto the heated marble floor, holding Lily’s small hand tightly. The magnitude of the place terrified her. She had spent three years scrubbing floors in cold commercial basements; standing beneath a twenty-foot crystal chandelier made her feel impossibly small.
"Mommy," Lily whispered, her eyes wide as saucers as she stared at the sweeping double staircase. "Is this a castle? Is the King inside?"
Before Wren could answer, heavy footsteps echoed from the balcony above.
Weston Kade descended the stairs slowly. He wore a dark grey tailored suit without a tie, his dark hair brushed back, his sharp jawline rigid. To the world outside, he was a ruthless warlord who held the city’s underworld in his fist. But as his gray eyes landed on the small child standing in his foyer, his stride faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Mrs. Osei," Weston said, his voice deep and resonant.
Wren instantly bowed her head slightly, holding Lily behind her skirts. "Mr. Kade. Thank you for this opportunity. I promise I will work hard. I can clean, cook, handle laundry—"
"You will not be doing heavy labor, Mrs. Osei," Weston interrupted, stopping at the foot of the stairs, ten feet away. He kept his distance, knowing his sheer size and reputation often intimidated people. "Your primary duty is the care and maintenance of the private quarters in the south wing. Your living suite has been prepared."
He motioned toward a wide, arched hallway.
Marcus stepped forward to lead them down the corridor, opening a pair of double oak doors into a bright, sunlit apartment.
Wren gasped.
The suite was bigger than her entire old apartment building. Soft plush carpets covered the floor, a massive stone fireplace crackled warmly, and wide bay windows offered a view of a snow-covered rose garden. In the corner sat a dining table laid with hot silver serving trays—steaming chicken soup, roasted meats, fresh bread, fruit, and jugs of whole milk.
In the bedroom beyond, two plush beds were made with fine Egyptian cotton sheets. On the smaller bed sat three brand-new plush stuffed animals and a pair of warm leather boots lined with sheepskin.
Lily let go of Wren’s coat, taking two slow steps toward the table, her nose twitching at the scent of fresh bread. She looked up at Weston, who was standing quietly in the doorway.
"Is... is the bread for Mommy?" Lily asked softly, her voice small and delicate in the grand room.
Weston felt a sharp, agonizing knot tighten in his chest. He stepped into the room, dropping down onto one knee so he was at eye level with the little girl.
"Everything on that table is for you and your mother, Lily," Weston said gently, his icy gray eyes softening until they looked almost human. "You can eat as much as you want. And whenever you are hungry, you only have to ask."
Lily looked at the warm boots on the bed, then down at her ragged doll. She held the doll up toward Weston. "Mr. Doll is hungry too. Can he have a piece?"
Weston reached out, his long, calloused fingers gently touching the worn denim leg of the rag doll. "Mr. Doll can have whatever he wants."
Wren stood frozen near the door, tears welling in her eyes. She stepped forward, her voice shaking. "Mr. Kade... I don't know how to repay this. This salary, this room... it’s too much. I am just a cleaner."
Weston stood up, drawing himself to his full height. He looked at Wren, seeing the deep purple circles under her eyes, the thinness of her frame, and the quiet, fierce dignity in her posture.
"You are not just a cleaner, Mrs. Osei," Weston said softly. "You are a mother who kept her child alive in the dark. In this house, that commands respect."
Before Wren could respond, the heavy front doors of the estate slammed open down the hall, echoing through the quiet mansion.
High-pitched, arrogant heels clicked loudly against the marble foyer.
"Weston!" a sharp, demanding female voice rang out. "Why were the Marchetti cars turned away at the gate last night? My father is furious!"
Genevieve Marchetti swept into the south wing corridor. She was twenty-eight, stunningly beautiful in an aggressive, sharp way, wearing an expensive white mink coat and red designer heels.
May you like
She stopped in the doorway of the sunroom suite, her eyes sweeping over the hot food, the plush carpets, and finally landing on Wren and Lily with unvarnished disgust.
"What is this?" Genevieve sneered, her red lips curling. "Weston... why are there street rats living in the executive guest wing?"
