The clang of the heavy gate echoed behind her as Caliste stepped into the cold visitation room. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the weight pressing down on her chest.
Her father sat behind the glass partition, wearing a plain beige prison uniform that looked so foreign on a man who once commanded boardrooms in tailored suits. His proud shoulders were hunched now, his eyes dimmer, older.
When Gregory Winslow looked up and saw her—really saw her—his breath caught. "Caliste…"
Tears welled in her eyes at the sound of her name spoken with so much pain and longing. She picked up the receiver, hand trembling.
"I'm so sorry, Dad…" she whispered, voice cracking. "I should have never left. I should've been here when everything fell apart."
Gregory didn't touch the phone at first. He just stared at his daughter, his jaw clenching, emotions storming behind his tired eyes. Finally, he lifted the receiver to his ear.
"You shouldn't have come back, sweetheart," he said hoarsely. "Desmund... he won't stop until he ruins you too."
"I don't care," Caliste replied firmly. "He already took everything—your name, the company, our home. I won't let him destroy what's left of us."
"You don't know the things he's capable of," Gregory said, his voice sharp with fear. "He's dangerous. Calculated. He wants power, and anyone who threatens that… he'll crush them."
"I'm not scared of him," she whispered. "Not anymore."
Gregory's eyes softened with pride and pain. "You're so much like your mother. Stubborn. Brave. Reckless."
Caliste wiped a tear from her cheek. "I just want to make things right, Dad. I know I hurt you when I left. I was running—from everything. From Lucian, from the media, from myself…"
Gregory gave her a small, sad smile. "You were protecting your peace. I can't blame you for that. But Caliste... Desmund plays dirty. If you stay, you'll be in his line of fire."
"Then I'll fight," she said, straightening. "He doesn't own me. And he doesn't get to decide what happens to our family."
For a long moment, Gregory just looked at her—really looked. And in his worn expression, something shifted. Hope, maybe. Or pride.
"You've grown stronger," he murmured.
"I had to," Caliste replied softly. "For you. For me."
Their hands touched the glass between them. Cold separated them physically, but the love in that moment warmed every crack that time and silence had carved between father and daughter.
----
The visit to the detention center had left Caliste emotionally drained. Her heart still ached from her father's words, his warnings echoing in her mind. But despite it all, she felt more determined than ever.
She needed to clear her head.
Stopping by a quiet corner café, she ordered a warm latte and took a deep breath. The aroma of coffee, the soft hum of casual chatter—it was a small moment of peace, and she clung to it.
She texted the hotel she'd be arriving shortly, grabbed her drink, and stepped out of the café into the late afternoon light.
Then everything went black.
Rough hands grabbed her from behind—two, maybe three men in black masks and hoodies. Before she could scream, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and her coffee cup fell, shattering on the pavement.
"Let go of me!" she struggled, kicking and thrashing, panic flooding her chest. But the sidewalk was eerily empty, and the few passersby either didn't notice or were too afraid to intervene.
The van door slid open. She was shoved inside, the interior dark and cold. She hit the floor hard, her wrists instantly grabbed and tied behind her.
"What do you want from me?" she cried, voice sharp with fear.
One of the men shoved a cloth in her mouth, muffling her cries. Another held her down while the van door slammed shut.
"Drive," someone barked from the front.
As the van sped off, the cloth was pressed over her nose. A strange chemical scent flooded her senses. Her vision blurred, limbs growing heavy, heart thudding in her ears.
She fought to stay awake, but darkness crept in quickly, swallowing her whole.
The last thing she saw was one of the masked men pulling out a phone—and sending a message.
To someone.
-----
A sharp pain throbbed at the back of her head. Caliste stirred slowly, her limbs stiff, her mind foggy. The scent of heavy perfume, expensive cologne, and something sickly sweet clung to the air.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She wasn't in a hotel. Or a hospital.
The room was dimly lit, draped in velvet and gold. The bed beneath her was too soft, too luxurious—surreal. A chandelier glittered above her. The windows were barred with ornate gold-painted metal. There were no doors in sight. Only a single hallway guarded by two large men in black suits.
She sat up in alarm.
"What is this place?" she whispered, voice hoarse and dry.
Her clothes had been changed—into a silk robe she never owned. Her handbag, phone, everything—gone.
A knock echoed at the wall behind her. Then the hidden door slid open.
A woman walked in. Tall, beautiful, with red lips and eyes that held no warmth. She looked her up and down like a product.
"So you're the Winslow girl," the woman said with a clipped accent. "Pretty. Pure. You'll be in high demand."
Caliste's stomach twisted.
"What are you talking about?" she rasped. "Where am I?"
The woman's smile tightened. "Let's not play dumb. You're in the Silken Rose—a private house for the elite. We cater to a… specific clientele. Discretion is everything."
Caliste's blood ran cold. "No. No, this is a mistake. I'm not— I'm not like this. Let me go!"
The woman turned, heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor. "You were sold to us, Ms. Winslow. Signed, sealed, and paid for. Desmund said you were...excess baggage."
Caliste's hands trembled. "My uncle sold me?! That's illegal—he can't—"
The woman raised a brow. "He forged guardianship. And in our world, legality is... negotiable."
Caliste lunged toward her. "I'm not staying here! I'll scream—people will find me!"
The guards at the hall tensed, one hand casually resting on the baton at his belt.
"Scream all you want," the woman replied coolly. "But no one will hear you. No one cares what happens behind the walls of the elite. Especially not to discarded heiresses."
She paused at the door.
"You have until tonight to adjust. We have a guest coming. A very important man. If you behave, he might offer to keep you for himself. If not… well, there are less kind buyers."
The door slid shut behind her.
Caliste backed into the wall, her heart pounding in terror. The world was crashing around her again—but this time, there was no escape, no father to protect her.
She was alone.
And trapped in a golden cage of nightmares.