Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage in GreenwichThe wedding was not a celebration; it was a surrender.
There were no media cameras, no grand floral displays, and no family toasts. It took place inside a private, stone chapel nestled deep within the iron gates of the Caruso estate in Greenwich, Connecticut.
I wore a simple, ivory silk gown that felt like a shroud against my skin. Standing beside me at the altar was Nicholas Caruso.
At thirty-four, Nico was an intimidating presence. Standing well over six feet tall, with sharp, aristocratic features, dark hair trimmed with military precision, and slate-gray eyes that looked as though they had never registered a single human emotion, he looked less like a corporate CEO and more like a predator wearing a tailored Italian suit. His broad shoulders cut a dark shadow over the altar, and when he slipped the heavy platinum band onto my finger, his calloused thumb brushed my knuckles with a cool, detached efficiency.
He didn't kiss me. He merely pressed his lips to my cheek—a brief, formal gesture that smelled faintly of cedarwood, rain, and expensive tobacco.
Six hours later, night had fallen over the sprawling, fifty-acre Greenwich estate.
The estate was a fortress of stone, steel, and high-tech security, hidden behind twenty-foot wrought-iron gates patrolled by armed men wearing discrete dark suits.
Nico had led me up the grand marble staircase to the west wing of the mansion. He opened the door to a stunning, master suite decorated in shades of cream and navy, complete with a private fireplace and a balcony overlooking the dark woods.
Then, he walked across the room, opened a heavy oak door in the connecting wall, and stepped into the adjacent bedroom.
He turned around, key in hand, and looked straight into my eyes.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Evelyn,” Nico said, his baritone voice smooth, deep, and completely devoid of warmth. “Whatever kind of life you had before today is your business. Spend my money, buy whatever you want, and enjoy the estate. Just stay out of my wing, don't interfere with my work, and never give the press a reason to print our name.”
Click.
He turned the key in the lock, separating our rooms, leaving me standing alone in the quiet master suite.
I stood frozen in the center of the room, looking at the brass doorknob.
Relief should have washed over me. I was safe from his touch, free from the obligations of a real marriage, and allowed to live in luxury. But instead, a cold, burning fury ignited beneath my ribs.
He had dismissed me in three sentences. He had locked the door as if I were a mild inconvenience he had managed to lock away in a golden cage.
I walked slowly over to my vanity table, reaching into my leather handbag. I pulled out my laptop, my constitutional law textbooks, and a sleek, encrypted flash drive I had spent the last forty-eight hours filling with court records, corporate registries, and public property deeds.
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I looked at my reflection in the gilded mirror—taking in the ivory silk dress, the diamond necklace, and the sharp, defiant fire burning in my hazel eyes.
“You think I’m a spoiled socialite, Nico,” I whispered to the empty room, unzipping the back of my dress. “You’re about to find out how dangerous a law student with nothing left to lose can be.”
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