Chapter 3 - The Gilded Cage
By three o'clock in the morning, Clara and Lily were settled into the west wing of the Kade estate—in a sunroom suite that had sat empty for five years.
The room was vast, heated by a roaring stone fireplace, and furnished with plush velvet sofas, silk curtains, and a high canopy bed topped with goose-down pillows. A tray of hot soup, fresh roasted chicken, warm bread, and glasses of sweet berry juice sat on the low oak table.
Lily sat on the edge of the enormous bed, her legs dangling three feet off the floor, chewing happily on a drumstick while holding her rag doll in her lap.
Clara stood by the window, staring out at the dark, snow-dusted grounds. She held a cup of hot chamomile tea in her hands, but her fingers were trembling so much the china rattled against the saucer.
A light knock sounded at the door.
Clara jumped, almost spilling the tea. "Come in..."
The heavy oak door swung open, and Weston stepped inside. He had changed out of his suit into a dark wool sweater and trousers. He carried a small wooden box under his arm.
He looked at Lily, a soft, almost imperceptible warmth softening the hard lines around his mouth. "Is the food acceptable?"
"It's the best chicken in the whole world," Lily declared, wiping a smear of grease from her chin with the back of her hand. "Are we living in a castle now?"
"Yes, little one," Weston said quietly. "You are in a castle."
He walked over to the table and set the wooden box down beside Clara. He opened the lid.
Inside rested a gold key, a thick stack of blue bearer bonds, and a deed for a four-bedroom house in coastal Maine.
Clara stared at the contents of the box in shock. "What... what is this?"
"Insurance," Weston replied, leaning against the edge of the table. "If anything happens to me in the coming weeks, Dominic will escort you and Lily to Maine. The house is paid for, and the bonds will ensure Lily goes to any university she chooses."
"Mr. Kade... I can't take this," Clara whispered, stepping back. "I'm just a maid. I only told you what I saw—"
"You gave me the truth," Weston interrupted, his grey eyes piercing hers. "For three years, I have lived in a prison built by Silas Marchetti and his daughter. I believed my family was killed by a stray lieutenant in a turf dispute. I made peace with the men who ordered their execution. I held the hand of Genevieve Marchetti while she pretended to mourn with me."
His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his throat bulged.
"You gave me back my rage, Clara. You gave me back my purpose. That box is not payment. It is a tiny fraction of what I owe you."
Lily set her chicken bone down and scrambled off the bed. She walked over to Weston, her small bare feet silent on the thick oriental rug, and tugged on his trouser leg.
Weston looked down, startled.
Lily held up her rag doll, offering it to him. "You can hold Barnaby if you're sad. He helps when the room gets too dark."
Weston looked down at the tiny girl, then slowly lowered himself to one knee until he was eye-level with her. He reached out and gently rested his large hand on top of her head, his thumb lightly stroking her fine brown hair.
"Thank you, Lily," Weston murmured, his voice thick with raw emotion. "I think Barnaby needs to stay with you to keep you safe. But I will keep you both safe from now on."
He took the doll’s tiny yarn hand, squeezed it gently, and stood up.
He turned to Clara, his expression turning cold and sharp as a blade. "Tomorrow morning, Genevieve Marchetti is coming to the estate for our weekly wedding planning brunch. I want you to wear your maid's uniform and serve the tea."
May you like
Clara gasped. "What?!"
"She needs to see you," Weston said, a dark, terrifying smile curling his lips. "And I need to see her face when she realizes who is standing in my house."
