Chapter 2 - The Gilded Cage
The Blackwood Estate was not a home; it was a fortress. Nestled behind massive wrought-iron gates in the exclusive enclave of Upper East Side, the limestone mansion loomed like a silent giant against the night sky.
When the car pulled up, a small army of staff was already waiting. But Maxwell ignored them all. He carried Ethan inside himself, refusing to let anyone else touch his son. I walked a few steps behind him, clutching the oversized cashmere coat around my small frame, my dirty sneakers leaving muddy prints on the immaculate, white marble floors.
The staff stared at me. Some looked with pity; others looked with disgust. I was used to those looks. On the streets, you learn to read eyes.
"Get the guest wing prepared," Maxwell ordered a head housekeeper, a stern-looking woman named Mrs. Gable. "And call Dr. Sterling. Have him check both of them immediately."
"Both of them, sir?" Mrs. Gable asked, her eyebrows arching as she looked at me. "But she is... well, she’s a stray, sir. We don't know where she's been."
Maxwell stopped. He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto Mrs. Gable with a terrifying intensity. "That 'stray' kept my son alive tonight while his own stepmother-to-be left him to die. You will treat her with the exact same respect you treat Ethan. Am I clear?"
Mrs. Gable went pale and bowed her head. "Of course, Mr. Blackwood. Forgive me."
I was led to a massive bathroom that was larger than any place I had ever slept in. The bathwater was warm, smelling of lavender. For the first time in three weeks, the deep, biting cold in my bones began to melt. They gave me soft, oversized pajamas and a bowl of warm chicken soup.
An hour later, Dr. Sterling, a kind, older man, checked my vitals. Aside from mild malnutrition and a few scrapes, I was remarkably healthy. Ethan, however, was in a different state. He was warm and safe in his bed, but he refused to sleep unless I was in the room.
Maxwell sat in a leather armchair beside Ethan’s bed. He looked exhausted, the lines on his face deeper than before.
"Lily," Maxwell said quietly, breaking the silence of the room. "Why were you sleeping in the park?"
I looked down at my hands. "My mom died of the sickness in the summer. The landlord took our apartment. He said I was too small to pay rent, so he put my box on the street. I didn't want the state people to find me. They put you in places where they lock the doors."
Maxwell’s jaw clenched. He looked out the window, his eyes reflecting the distant city lights. "The world is a cruel place to those who cannot defend themselves," he murmured, almost to himself. "I built an empire so I could protect my family. And yet, the monster was inside my own house."
"Why did Jennifer do it?" I asked. On the streets, curiosity could get you killed, but I couldn't help it. "Ethan is nice."
Maxwell sighed, rubbing his temples. "Jennifer’s father is a powerful senator, but her family is deeply in debt. If she married me, her family’s fortunes would be secure. But there was a condition in my prenuptial agreement. If Ethan... if something happened to Ethan, and he was no longer my heir, her future children would inherit the entire Blackwood estate. I thought she loved him. I was blind."
Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the bedroom burst open.
Arthur Blackwood, Maxwell’s younger brother, strode into the room. He was younger, slicker, wearing an expensive suit but with a look of extreme agitation on his face.
"Maxwell! What the hell is going on?" Arthur demanded, ignoring the sleeping Ethan and staring straight at me. "The press is having a field day! There are reporters outside the gates. They’re saying Jennifer has been arrested for kidnapping and attempted murder! Do you have any idea what this is doing to the Blackwood stock? It's plummeting!"
"My son almost died tonight, Arthur," Maxwell said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And you're worried about stock prices?"
"I'm worried about the family!" Arthur snapped. He pointed a finger at me. "And who is this kid? Why is she here? You can't just harbor a runaway. The police are going to ask questions. The public will think you're using a homeless child for a PR stunt to make Jennifer look worse!"
"Get out," Maxwell said.
"Maxwell—"
"Get out of my house, Arthur. Before I have security throw you out."
Arthur’s face twisted in anger. He glared at me, his eyes lingering just a second too long. There was something in his gaze—not just anger, but a strange, flickering panic.
"This isn't over," Arthur muttered, turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him.
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I shivered, pulling the blankets tighter. My street instincts, the ones that kept me alive under the freezing bridges, were screaming at me.
Jennifer wasn't acting alone. The way Arthur looked at me, the panic in his eyes... there was a deeper trap here. And we were all sitting right in the middle of it.
