Chapter 8
Caged in Gold
Mary's POV
I woke up to the scent of expensive cologne and fresh linen. For a moment, I forgot where I was. The soft sheets, the high ceiling, the silk curtains swaying with the morning breeze, it was a setting fit for royalty. But the second I turned my head and saw the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows locked from the outside, reality hit me like a brick.
I wasn't in my apartment.
I was in the De La Cruz mansion.
And I was trapped.
Sitting up, I brushed my fingers through my hair, my mind sluggish from exhaustion. The events of last night replayed in my head—the tense dinner, the cold stares, the unspoken threats. Isabella's voice echoed in my mind:
"Marriage is war. And in this family, the weak do not survive."
I swallowed hard.
I wasn't weak.
I wouldn't be.
Pushing off the heavy blankets, I got out of bed. The moment my feet touched the polished marble floor, I felt the weight of my situation settle on my shoulders. This wasn't just a temporary arrangement anymore. My every move was now under scrutiny.
A knock on the door startled me.
I didn't even have time to react before it opened, and a maid stepped inside. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, with dark eyes that refused to meet mine. She carried a tray of food and placed it on the table near the window.
"Good morning, ma'am," she said quietly.
I hesitated. "What's your name?"
The maid's eyes flickered to the door as if someone might be listening. "Lucia," she murmured.
I nodded. "Lucia, do you know where my phone is?"
She flinched. "Phones are not allowed, ma'am. You are to use the mansion's line if you need to make a call."
I clenched my jaw.
Of course. They had stripped me of even that small freedom.
Lucia turned to leave, but I stopped her. "Wait. Who's watching me?"
She froze.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "There are cameras in this room, aren't there?"
Lucia's silence was answer enough.
A chill ran down my spine.
Andrew had me under surveillance.
I should have expected it. He didn't trust me—just like I didn't trust him.
But if he thought I would bow to his rules without a fight, he had another thing coming.
---
Later That Morning
I wandered the halls of the mansion, my steps echoing against the marble floors. Every hallway felt endless, every turn leading to another expensive display of power. Gilded paintings, ancient sculptures, chandeliers that cost more than my father's entire company.
Yet, despite the luxury, it felt suffocating.
Everywhere I went, there were eyes.
Guards at every corner. Maids who refused to look me in the eye. Silent figures lurking in the shadows.
I wasn't just Andrew's fiancée.
I was a prisoner.
Tired of feeling watched, I retreated back to my room.
"You're up early."
The deep, amused voice made my skin prickle.
I turned, and there he was, Andrew, leaning against the wall with that damn smug smirk on his face. He was dressed casually today—black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the veins on his forearms.
He looked effortlessly powerful.
I hated how my stomach twisted at the sight of him.
"Couldn't sleep," I said, keeping my tone even.
"Adjusting to your new home?" He stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between us.
I lifted my chin. "It doesn't feel like a home."
Andrew chuckled, his blue eyes darkening. "That's because it isn't."
His bluntness sent a shiver down my spine.
I crossed my arms. "If you think you can control me, you're mistaken."
Andrew tilted his head, as if considering my words. Then, before I could react, he reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face.
The touch was featherlight, but it sent a jolt through me.
I stiffened.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
His lips curled. "Reminding you who's in control."
He took another step, and I instinctively stepped back, but my back hit the cold marble wall.
Andrew leaned in, his scent wrapping around me, dark, intoxicating.
"You like fighting me," he murmured, his voice dangerously low. "But tell me, sweetheart… are you ready to lose?"
I clenched my jaw. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer.
My breath caught, but I held my ground, refusing to back away. He smelled like spice and danger, like the kind of temptation that could ruin me if I wasn't careful.
"Tell me something," he murmured, his fingers grazing my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His touch was light, teasing, but it sent a current of heat down my spine.
"What?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His thumb dragged along my lower lip, slow and deliberate. "Do you hate me, Mary?"
"Yes," I breathed.
Liar.
His lips curved, dark amusement flickering in his icy blue eyes. "Then why are you trembling?"
Damn him.
I hated this, hated how my body responded to him despite every reason to resist.
Andrew leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek, his voice a low, seductive drawl. "You can fight me all you want, but we both know how this ends."
Before I could snap back, his lips crashed against mine.
It wasn't gentle.
It was raw, demanding, like he wanted to claim me, to ruin me.
A gasp escaped me, and he took advantage, his tongue slipping past my lips, deepening the kiss with an intensity that stole my breath. His hand slid to the back of my neck, tilting my head to give him better access, and God help me, I let him.
Heat curled in my stomach, pooling low, awakening something dark and thrilling inside me.
I should push him away. I should fight.
But instead, I kissed him back.
My fingers twisted into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned against my mouth, like he had been waiting for this, like he needed it just as much as I did.
His hands roamed my body, gripping my waist, pressing me flush against him, letting me feel every hard inch of him.
I gasped as he suddenly spun us around, pinning me against the cold wall.
"Andrew," I whispered, my voice trembling with something I refused to name.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his pupils blown with lust.
His fingers traced the side of my neck, trailing lower, lower
Then, just as suddenly as he started, he stepped away.
Leaving me breathless.
Shaken.
Wanting.
Andrew smirked, his lips still glistening from our kiss. "Careful, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "You might start wanting me."
I stared at him, my heart pounding, my lips swollen from his touch.
I clenched my fists, my entire body burning with frustration.
My breath hitched as his fingers trailed down my arm, slow and deliberate. Every inch of me was on high alert, but not from fear.
From something far worse.
Desire.
I hated that my body betrayed me, that a single touch from him could ignite something I didn't want to feel.
I clenched my fists. "You're disgusting."
Andrew smirked, leaning in until his lips were just a breath away from mine. "And yet, your pulse is racing."
Damn him.
He was right.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might escape my chest.
Then, just when I thought he would kiss me again,, just when my body tensed in anticipation for more
He began walking away.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened.
"Enjoy the rest of your morning, sweetheart," he said smoothly before walking away, leaving me standing there, breathless and furious.
Damn him.
Damn him to hell.
I pressed a hand to my chest, my fingers trembling.
Andrew De La Cruz was a dangerous man.
And the worst part?
He knew exactly what he was doing to me.
This war between us had only just begun.