Chapter 3 - The Golden CageThree days passed inside the Callahan fortress. Marin quickly learned that "protection" was just a polite mafia word for house arrest.
Though her room was luxurious—complete with a private balcony, a walk-in closet filled with brand-new clothes that fit her perfectly, and gourmet meals delivered by a silent, polite butler named Silas—she felt like a bird in a gilded cage. Armed guards patrolled the corridors outside her door 24/7.
Her only companions were Murphy, who had quickly adopted the massive Persian rug as his throne, and Mave, who was slowly gaining strength under the watchful eye of a private vet Ronan had hired.
On the fourth morning, Marin decided she had enough of the confinement. The bandages on her hands had been replaced with lighter dressings, allowing her to clumsily curl her fingers. She slipped on a simple navy sweater and jeans from the closet and opened the door.
Two guards in black suits instantly stepped forward, blocking her path.
"Where do you think you're going, Miss Miller?" asked the taller one, a scarred brute named Gregor.
"I need some fresh air," Marin said firmly. "And Murphy needs to walk on actual grass, not a Persian rug. Move."
"Mr. Callahan’s orders are strict. You stay in the east wing," Gregor replied, unmoving as a statue.
"I am not a prisoner!" Marin snapped, trying to push past him.
"Actually, you are," a deep, authoritative voice echoed down the corridor.
Ronan stepped out of the private elevator at the end of the hall. He was wearing a dark charcoal overcoat, looking like an angel of death stepping out of the mist. He walked toward them, his eyes fixed on Marin. The guards immediately stepped aside, bowing their heads slightly.
"Is there a problem, Marin?" Ronan asked, stopping a foot away from her. The clean scent of cedarwood and rain drifted off him.
"The problem is I’m going stir-crazy," Marin retorted, crossing her arms. "I appreciate that you didn't throw me in a dungeon, Mr. Callahan, but I have a life. I have a job at the diner. If I don't show up soon, they'll fire me, and my landlord will throw my things on the street."
Ronan raised an eyebrow, a slight amusement touching his lips. "Your diner job pays minimum wage, Marin. The roof leaks, and your landlord is a slumlord named Viktor who beats his wife. Consider yourself legally and permanently evicted. As for your job—consider it bought out."
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Marin gasped. "You bought the diner?"
"I bought the whole block," Ronan corrected smoothly. "Now, if you want fresh air, walk with me. The gardens are lovely this time of morning."
