Chapter 5. Golden Cage

Two maids help Roxanne with her belongings and then ask her politely to follow them. They walk into a luxurious hall, rooms, and library and finally stop in front of one huge oak door.

"This is your room, miss," one maid said, as they opened the door.

"The door across your room belongs to the madam," the other added.

"Madam? Alexandra?" Roxanne asked.

"Yes," the maids answered in unison, stepping aside as she entered.

Roxanne’s jaw almost dropped; the sight in front of her is mesmerizing. The space is vast, more sanctuary than bedroom, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls opening to the city skyline beneath her feet and a mirrored ceiling above that reflected the glittering lights as if she were suspended among the stars.

Black marble walls veined with streaks of gold rose around her, imposing yet elegant, and at the center sat a low, expansive bed dressed in dark silken sheets, glowing faintly from the hidden lights beneath its platform.

A pale-gray rug softened the sleek stone floor, leading her eye toward the modern fireplace where flames curled within glass, casting a warm flicker across sleek couches and glass tables. Every detail was curated, from sculptural vases and shadowed greenery to the recessed lights that drew attention to the marble’s texture.

It's stunning and intoxicating, but as Roxanne stepped deeper inside, she felt the contradiction at its heart. This will be her room, starting from today, a palace placed high above the world, a dazzling cage of glass and firelight where she would be both sheltered and displayed.

Suddenly her thought drifted back to her small but warm room in Texas. It was cramped, with a rumpled bedspread and floral pillows, books stacked unevenly on the nightstand beneath a tilted lamp, and a teacup left forgotten beside it.

Her worn-down cardigan often lay half-folded across the chair, the patterned rug was never quite straight, and the old paintings on the wall, some a little dusty, one slightly crooked, watched over her in their quiet way. Messy as it was, bathed in golden sunlight through the tall window, it had always felt like home.

“What, you don’t like your room?” The husky voice at the door made Roxanne’s heart flip.

Standing there is Alexandra, still in the same suit, though now the buttons hang open, revealing her toned body, sculpted abs, and the tattoo that sprawls across her chest and down her left arm.

She stepped inside, heading straight to the walk-in closet. “I don’t know your exact size, but I got your picture from your mother. So, I bought you things—dresses, school uniforms, shirts, shorts, and jeans. Everything inside this closet is yours.” She opened the doors, revealing rows of clothes and shoes that made Roxanne’s small bundle from Texas look almost pitiful.

“Don’t think too much,” Alexandra added, ruffling her hair gently. “You can still wear the ones you brought from home.”

“Oh…” was all Roxanne managed to mutter.

“I wish I could see your natural hair. That husband of mine, he has no sense of fun.” Alexandra looked genuinely annoyed.

“My natural hair?” Roxanne asked, just as the maids dropped her two worn bags by the bed frame.

“Yeah,” Alexandra replied, walking closer, her gaze softening. “I saw it in the picture: golden brunette, wavy.” She reached out, stroking Roxanne’s cheek before gently holding a strand of her hair between her fingers.

“I don’t know if I can be a good mother to you,” she murmured, her eyes softened as she locked on Roxanne’s, “but I can try to be a good adult for you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Roxanne breathed in the intoxicating scent that lingered around the older woman.

“Good.” With that, Alexandra turned and walked out of the room, leaving the air warmer than before.

When the door across Roxanne’s room finally clicked shut, she felt as if she could breathe again. Even the two maids seemed to exhale in unison. Alexandra’s presence lingered in the air, too overwhelming, like a hand clenched tight around her heart.

“Why aren’t they sleeping together?” Roxanne asked absently as she sat on the bed.

The mattress is impossibly soft, nothing like the hard, sagging one she’d used back in Texas. That bed had already served her parents before passing down to her. She suspected it had bedbugs, but it was where she cradled her baby sister through nightmares when their parents were away. Small, worn, and flawed, it still held pieces of home.

“Do you need anything else, miss?” one of the maids asked gently.

“I’m thirsty. And hungry. When is dinner in this house?” It's already eight.

“Dinner is usually at seven. After eight, no one eats. But… we can bring you something if you like. And water.”

“Would you like juice too, miss?” the other added.

“That would be great. Thank you so much,” Roxanne said with genuine relief. They bowed and slipped out without answering her question.

She sank back into the bed, stomach churning. Rage had carried her all the way from Texas to New York, and she hadn’t been able to eat or drink. Some part of her had clung to the hope that her parents would stop the car, that they’d change their minds, and take her back. But deep down, she knew this was for the best.

Her leaving meant money. Money that would give Caleb and Madelyn better schooling, more food on the table, something beyond bread and jam. Most days it was jam made from wild berries they gathered in the forest. If they were lucky, they caught fish or found bird eggs. When their father managed to bring home a wild boar, they feasted like kings for weeks.

Milk from their cows and eggs from their hens are all sold to wholesalers. Almost none kept for themselves. Every dollar stretched thin, swallowed by the mortgage, the farm’s upkeep, and, worst of all, Amelia’s debts.

Her mother had been a gambler. She vanished when Roxanne was eleven, leaving them with nothing but baby Caleb, barely one year old, and Ruth clinging to Roxanne’s skirts. Three years later Amelia returned—not repentant, but ruined—dragging behind her a mountain of debt.

Robert Stephen is a pacifist, and he loves Amelia too much to turn his back on her and took her back. She wept and said she had nowhere else to go. He believed her and even mortgaged the house to pay off part of what she owed. The rest remained, a staggering $180,000.

All because of Amelia’s hunger for cards and lights.

“I swear,” Roxanne muttered bitterly, changing out of the expensive clothes Brandon had bought her into her sun-warmed shirt and shorts from home, “if they use that money to feed her gambling again, I’ll kill her.” She moved to the sofa, staring out at the glittering city below. For a fleeting moment, with its endless skyline at her feet, she felt as if she owned the world.