Chapter 6 : The Gilded Cage
Rowan didn’t sleep after the nightmare.
With Vivienne’s ghost lurking in every shadow, how could she? Emma had finally fallen into a restful sleep, but her hand remained clenched around Rowan’s fingers.
Dawn lit the Manhattan skyline as Rowan studied Emma’s face. Even in sleep, the child’s features were taut—a crease between her brows, lips pressed as if withholding forbidden words.
The bedroom door opened without ceremony.
The woman who entered carried a silver tray, her movements measured and silent. Tall and severe, hair the color of steel and drawn back into a chignon, eyes that missed nothing.
“Ms. Hayes.” The woman’s voice was crisp, professional, with ice beneath. “I am Mrs. Thornfield, head of household staff.”
Rowan pulled her hand free and sat up. “Nice to meet you.”
Mrs. Thornfield’s smile was thin. “Mr. Vance has asked that you join him for breakfast. Miss Emma will be taken care of.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“That was not a request.”
The words hovered in air like a challenge. The promise Rowan had made to Emma warred with the expectation that she must obey.
“She had nightmares,” Rowan said.
“Miss Emma’s needs are well understood by trained staff, Ms. Hayes.” Mrs. Thornfield’s tone made Rowan’s attempts seem like nonsense. “Mr. Vance is waiting.”
Emma stirred, hazel eyes fluttering open. When she realized Rowan wasn’t holding her hand, panic flashed across her face.
“Where are you going?”
“Just breakfast with your father,” Rowan said gently. “I’ll be right back.”
“No!” Emma clutched her rabbit. “Don’t leave me with them. They don’t understand about her.”
“One hour,” Rowan promised. “Then I’m coming back.”
The breakfast room offered a panoramic view of Central Park. A table set for two dominated the space. Crystal gleamed, silver sparkled, everything arranged with photo-shoot precision.
Asher stood with his back to the door, speaking into his phone. When he turned, Rowan’s breath caught. He looked exhausted. Lines around his storm-gray eyes were deeper, jaw tight from sleepless hours and caffeine.
“You came,” he said, ending his call.
“You didn’t give me much choice.”
His mouth curved in something not quite a smile. “Choice is a luxury in my world, Ms. Hayes. The sooner you understand, the easier this will be.”
He gestured to a chair. The spread was fit for royalty—fruit, pastries, and coffee that smelled divine. But Rowan’s appetite fled when she saw the exhaustion in his eyes.
“You look like hell,” she said.
“Charming as always.” No heat, only weariness. “I’ve been making arrangements.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
“The kind that ensure Emma’s safety. And yours.” He poured coffee with unsteady hands. “As of this morning, you don’t exist.”
Rowan’s blood turned cold. “What does that mean?”
“It means Rowan Hayes died in a car accident two days ago. Tragic.” His storm-gray eyes met hers. “Fortunately, Rebecca Harrison has just been hired as Emma’s new live-in companion.”
The casual way he erased her identity made her stomach lurch. “You can’t just—”
“I can do anything I want,” he said mildly. “I own judges, politicians, media executives. Creating a new identity is child’s play compared to what I’m capable of.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you’ll discover how dangerous it is to cross me.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, which made it more terrifying. “But you won’t refuse.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you love her already.” His whisper reached inside her chest. “And love makes us do impossible things.”
The truth hit her like a slap. She did love Emma—fierce, protective love rooted in place the moment the child whispered her fears into her palm.
“What about my life? My apartment, my friends—”
“What life?” His question was brutal. “You had no job, no significant relationships, no ties to anyone. You were invisible before us. Now you’ll be invisible in a different way.”
The words stung because they were true. She’d been drifting until Emma grabbed her hand and rooted her.
“What was Vivienne like? Really?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, as if each word cost him, he began.
“Beautiful. Brilliant. Charming when she wanted to be.” His voice was hollow. “I thought I was saving her when I married her. She was young, pregnant, afraid. I gave her security. I thought love would be enough.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“Love isn’t enough when someone is determined to destroy themselves. And everyone around them.” His storm-gray eyes were haunted. “She started with pills. Prescriptions at first, then other things. I tried treatment, therapy, and intervention. Nothing worked.”
“And Emma?”
“Vivienne saw Emma as competition. For my attention, my resources, my love.” His hands clenched. “She locked Emma in her room, told her she was worthless. When Emma was three, I found Vivienne holding her over the balcony. Forty stories up. Saying maybe everyone would be happier if she let go.”
The horror of it stole Rowan’s breath.
“That’s when I knew I had to choose,” he said. “Emma or Vivienne. I chose my daughter.”
“But you didn’t divorce her. You faked her death.”
“Divorce would have meant custody battles, media attention, exposure.” His voice was flat.
“Vivienne was brilliant at manipulation. She could have convinced a judge I was the problem. I couldn’t risk it.”
“So, you made her disappear.”
“I offered her a choice. Take a settlement and vanish or face charges for child endangerment.”
His smile was sharp. “She took the money.”
“And now she’s back.”
“Now she’s broke.” His words were ice. “The settlement ran out six months ago. She’s been testing boundaries. It’s only a matter of time before she makes her move.”
The weight of it crashed over Rowan. Vivienne wasn’t just a distant threat—she was hunting them.
“What does she want?”
“Emma. Or more specifically, what Emma represents—access to my money, my empire.” His storm-gray eyes burned. “She thinks she can waltz back and reclaim what she gave up.”
“And you’re going to let her?”
The question surprised him. “Let her?”
“You’re hiding. Building higher walls, tighter security. But you’re still playing defense.” Rowan leaned forward, fire kindling in her chest. “When do you go on the attack?”
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps reluctant respect. “What are you suggesting?”
“That maybe it’s time to stop letting Vivienne dictate the terms of this war.”
The word hung sharp and dangerous. This was a war for Emma’s soul, her future, her right to live without fear.
“You don’t understand,” Asher said quietly. “Vivienne isn’t just dangerous. She’s brilliant, connected, and ruthless. She knows exactly how to hurt the people I care about.”
“Then maybe it’s time she learned the people you care about know how to hurt her back.”
The silence was electric, charged with possibility and threat.
“You have one hour with Emma,” Asher said finally. “Then we discuss strategy.”
As Rowan rose to leave, his voice stopped her: “Rebecca.”
She turned, confused.
“Your new name. Rebecca Harrison. You might want to start getting used to it.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click, but the sound echoed like a gunshot.
Rowan Hayes was dead.
Rebecca Harrison had just declared war on a ghost.
