Chapter 15 - The Gilded Cage
Matteo sat beside Lolita, gleefully munching on his sandwich. Crumbs flew with every bite as he spoke in an uncontainable stream of excitement. His laughter echoed off the sterile hospital walls, his eyes shining with a joy that was almost foreign to Lolita. She couldn't understand how he could be so effortlessly happy, so completely oblivious to the storm that had been brewing around them.
It gnawed at her insides, this contrast between the innocence of Matteo and the ever-darkening world she was forced into. His bright smile made her stomach twist, not from disgust, but from a deep, aching frustration. He didn't deserve this life, and neither did anyone else in this room.
"Loli, this is really good! Waki got me my favorite!" Matteo beamed, swinging his legs back and forth as he dug into his sandwich, clearly pleased with himself. He was a child in the truest sense—pure, untainted by the undercurrents of the world. And yet, she was the one who had to protect him from it all.
Lolita offered a thin smile, though it felt more like a mask. Her gaze flickered to Waki, who stood against the wall, his presence as unnerving as ever. He had this uncanny calmness about him, something unsettling that didn't sit well with her. There was a coldness in his eyes that she couldn't shake, but at least for now, he had done nothing overtly suspicious. Still, the tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating.
Waki's voice broke through her thoughts, flat and uninterested. "Alright, we should get moving."
Lolita raised an eyebrow, her mind instantly spinning with possibilities. "Moving where?"
Waki's smirk deepened, but there was no humor in it. "You'll see." His tone was clipped, dismissive, as though the details were beneath him. He gestured toward the door, his patience wearing thin. There was no room for questions in his world.
Matteo, undeterred by the atmosphere, practically leapt from his seat, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "Are we going somewhere fun?" he asked, eyes wide with excitement.
Waki chuckled, though it was devoid of warmth. "Something like that."
Lolita's heart sank, her body already gearing up for whatever game Waki was playing. She followed them out of the sterile confines of the hospital room, her mind racing with dark thoughts. What was Monica planning? What was the purpose of all this?
Outside, the night air was sharp and cool, a welcome contrast to the suffocating heaviness inside. The city skyline stretched out in the distance, the neon lights blurring as they drove away, leaving the chaos of the city behind. Matteo leaned forward in the backseat, his face lit by the city lights that flashed past, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
Lolita stared out of the window, her thoughts a tangled mess of distrust and suspicion. She had never trusted Monica. She couldn't. The woman had too many hidden agendas, too many connections that reached into the darkest corners. But it wasn't just Monica she had to be wary of—it was everyone who moved within her orbit.
The car rumbled on, the urban landscape slowly fading as they veered onto a quieter, more isolated road. The trees on either side of the narrow path loomed like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching across the road in a surreal dance. The sky was deepening, the last slivers of sunlight casting an eerie glow on the surroundings.
And then they arrived.
The gate to a massive estate swung open, as if it had been expecting them, its creaking hinges announcing their arrival. Matteo gasped, his small hands pressed against the glass as the car rolled forward. "Loli! Is this our new home?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.
Lolita couldn't bring herself to respond, not yet. Something was wrong—she could feel it in her bones. The whole situation was too neatly constructed, too orchestrated. This wasn't a gift; it was a cage, a gilded one perhaps, but a cage nonetheless.
Waki parked the car with precision, the engine purring to a halt. His eyes were unreadable as he glanced over at Lolita, his smile thin. "Monica wanted this house for you two. It's secure, private—no one can find you here."
Lolita's heart stuttered in her chest. Monica wanted this for you two. The words hung in the air like a threat. It wasn't generosity; it was control. They were pieces on a board, moved at the whim of someone who saw them as nothing more than tools to be used.
Matteo, ever the optimist, had already bounded out of the car, his excitement palpable as he darted toward the house. "Loli! Come on, let's see inside!" His voice echoed through the cold evening air, full of innocent joy.
Lolita followed at a more measured pace, each step weighed down by the sense of foreboding that seemed to cling to the very air around her. The house loomed before her, a sprawling mansion of marble and glass, gleaming under the fading light. Inside, it was just as extravagant, every corner shouting wealth and power. But it wasn't the luxury that caught her attention—it was the chilling emptiness of it all.
The living room was vast, with velvet furniture that seemed too pristine to be real. The windows stretched floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the manicured grounds. But it wasn't the view that made her pause—it was the feeling of confinement, the overwhelming sense of being trapped.
Then she saw it.
A private beach.
Lolita stepped outside, her feet sinking slightly into the soft sand as she approached the back doors. The waves of the ocean rolled gently, the colors of the setting sun reflecting off the water in a breathtaking array of golds and pinks. For a moment, she almost allowed herself to be swept away by the beauty of it all. The salty breeze kissed her skin, and she inhaled deeply, as if searching for a breath of freedom.
But it didn't last.
"Loli, look! We have our own beach!" Matteo's voice cut through her thoughts, his excitement palpable. He was running toward the shore, his tiny feet kicking up the sand as he laughed.
Lolita stood still, her heart heavy with the weight of what was unfolding. The beach, the mansion, the luxury—it was all a carefully constructed illusion. The beauty was designed to disarm her, to make her feel small, insignificant in the face of it all.
Waki joined her, his gaze fixed on her with that unnerving intensity. "Everything you need is here," he said, his voice flat. "Clothes, food, security. All taken care of."
Lolita's jaw tightened, her gaze never leaving him. "Why?" The word slipped from her lips like a whisper, but it was a question that had been growing inside her for days.
Waki's smirk never wavered. "Because Monica doesn't like loose ends. You're an investment now."
Her stomach dropped, as if the very earth had shifted beneath her feet. This was never about safety, never about comfort. It was about control, manipulation, and ownership.
Matteo was already upstairs, his laughter echoing through the house as he explored his new surroundings. Lolita followed slowly, her every step heavy with the realization of what she had walked into.
Upstairs, the rooms were just as pristine, just as sterile. Matteo's room was bright, colorful, filled with toys and books—everything a child could want. But Lolita's room was something else entirely. It was clinical, almost unsettling in its perfection. The bed was made with crisp white linens, the walls bare, save for the cold, professional-looking furniture.
And then she saw it.
The wardrobe, already stocked with clothes—blazers, pencil skirts, silk blouses. The kind of clothes that screamed corporate, structured, planned. Her fingers hovered over the handles of the wardrobe before she turned to the desk. A sleek laptop sat there, its screen already glowing as if it had been waiting for her.
A cold shiver ran down her spine as she opened the laptop, the browser already on a draft email. The subject: Application for Personal Assistant Position—Sofian Sai.
Her pulse quickened as she scrolled through the application, every detail—her name, her background, her "credentials"—all fabricated. The references were carefully chosen, none of them people she had ever met. It was a perfect cover-up, an airtight plan.
She hadn't written a word of it.
This wasn't a choice. It was a command.
Her breath hitched as she hovered over the "Send" button, her mind racing with the implications. She could run. She could grab Matteo and leave this all behind. But where would she go? She had nothing. No allies, no money, no plan. And if she ran, it would be her sister, Clara, who would pay the price. Monica's eyes were everywhere.
Her fingers trembled, and with one last, reluctant breath, she clicked "Send."
It was done.