Chapter 3: The Gilded Cage
The DeLuca estate was less of a house and more of a fortress disguised as a palace. Situated on a cliff overlooking the ocean, it was completely isolated, surrounded by high iron gates and security guards in sharp black suits.
For the first two weeks, Grace felt like a ghost haunting the marble hallways. Her duties were surprisingly simple: read to Margaret, push her wheelchair through the sprawling rose gardens, and make sure she took her medication. Margaret was kind, sharp-witted, and carried a deep, unspoken sorrow that Grace recognized immediately.
But it was Dominic who made the air in the house feel heavy.
They rarely spoke. He left before dawn and returned long after sunset. Yet, Grace felt him everywhere. She felt his eyes on her when she ate dinner with the staff. She felt his presence in the library when she read Margaret’s books.
One night, a thunderstorm raged outside, rattling the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Grace couldn't sleep. She wandered down to the massive kitchen to get a glass of water, wearing only oversized sweatpants and a worn-out gray t-shirt.
She froze in the doorway.
Dominic was standing by the island, pouring a glass of amber liquid. His tie was discarded, his collar unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and a faint, jagged scar near his elbow. The lightning flashed, illuminating the sharp, harsh planes of his face.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, not looking up.
"Just getting water," Grace muttered, keeping her distance.
"You're afraid of me." It wasn't a question. He took a slow sip of his drink, his dark eyes finally locking onto hers.
"I'm not afraid of you," Grace lied, her heart doing a strange, terrifying flutter in her chest. "I just don't understand you. You brought me here, but you act like I'm a threat."
Dominic set the glass down. The clink echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen. He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing just inches in front of her. Grace's breath hitched. She refused to step back.
"In my world, Grace, trust is a liability," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "Vivian didn't attack my mother because she was angry. She attacked her because my mother holds the deciding vote on a corporate merger that would ruin the Whitmore family. People don't just 'snap' in my world. They scheme."
"And you think I'm part of a scheme?" Grace asked, feeling a flash of genuine anger. "I make ten dollars an hour, Mr. DeLuca. I don't care about your corporate mergers. I just didn't want to see an old woman get hit."
A strange, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Dominic's mouth. It was the first time she had seen anything resembling warmth on his face.
"I know," he murmured, lifting a hand. For a breathless second, Grace thought he was going to touch her cheek. Instead, he reached past her, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and handing it to her. "That's exactly why you're here. You're the only person in this house who isn't trying to steal from me."
As Grace took the glass, her fingers brushed against his. A jolt of electricity, sharp and undeniable, sparked between them. Dominic's eyes darkened, and he stared at her lips for a fraction of a second too long.
May you like
The moment was interrupted by the harsh ringing of Dominic's phone. The spell broke.
"Drink your water, Grace," he said coldly, turning his back on her. "Tomorrow, Vivian's son is coming to the house for negotiations. Keep my mother upstairs. And stay out of sight."
