The room had no clocks.
That was the first thing they took from her — time.
No morning sun, no evening breeze. Just the low hum of artificial air, the whir of unseen vents above the ceiling. The walls were white, not padded, but eerily clean. Everything else — her voice, her screams, her freedom — had been stripped piece by piece.
Serene didn't know what day it was. How many had passed since Roman dragged her screaming from her university, or since she watched her last breath of real life vanish behind tinted glass.
She hadn't cried today.
That felt like a win.
Her throat was sore, though. She'd spent most of last night whispering to herself — anything to remind herself that she was still there. Still alive. Still Serene.
But the silence had a way of answering back. And lately, it had started to sound like him.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
She tensed.
Not the sharp taps of Lelo's little shoes. These were heavier. Slower. Intentional.
She waited.
But it wasn't Roman.
It was a maid. A young one — quiet as a shadow. She didn't look Serene in the eye as she walked in, hung something on the far wall, and bowed her way out.
Serene didn't stand for a while. Her bones had grown used to stillness.
When she finally did, it was with trembling steps.
She crossed the room barefoot and reached for the hanging garment bag. Her fingers snagged the zipper and tugged it down.
White.
Of course it was white.
The dress inside shimmered with expensive silk, flowing like moonlight. Tiny crystals sewn into the sleeves sparkled even in the dim light. She touched the fabric and felt the stitch — not of beauty, but of a trap. Of a performance. Of ownership.
She pressed her forehead to the wall and let the chill seep into her skull.
---
That night, he came.
Roman.
Not in a rage. Not with chains.
With charm.
He walked in like he always belonged in her space — like he had designed it.
He wore a deep black shirt, sleeves rolled halfway, expensive watch flashing as he moved. In his hand: a long black box.
"Good evening, my love."
"Don't call me that."
He smiled. "You haven't even seen your gift."
She didn't move. Just stared at the wall.
Roman didn't care. He walked over, placed the box on her bed, and opened it slowly — like a magician revealing a trick.
Inside: a necklace. Thin, silver, delicate… and horrifying.
"I saw it in Paris," he murmured. "Thought it would look perfect on you."
"I don't want anything from you."
"You already have everything from me, Serene. Clothes. Safety. A home. A future. All I ask in return is a smile."
"Then take it all back."
Roman's smile dropped for half a second.
Then he walked forward, lifted the necklace, and before she could step back, he'd fastened it around her neck. She flinched.
"It suits you," he whispered.
Her fists balled at her sides. "You think I'm some doll you can dress up? Parade around like a trophy?"
"I think you're mine."
---
The next day began the rehearsals.
They brought in a team — stylists, hairdressers, even a vocal coach.
All of them worked on her without ever asking if she agreed. One woman spent two hours trying to teach her to smile. Another adjusted her walk to match the grace of someone in love.
Serene said nothing.
Because when she did speak — when she said "no," or "stop," or "I'm not doing this" — no one ever listened.
---
Lelo watched everything.
She didn't enter the cage much anymore. Not unless she was bringing breakfast, or sketching dresses in the corner with glitter pens and humming a tune no one else knew.
"You'll be perfect," she chirped one morning, placing a tray on Serene's bed. "Papa says you'll be our star."
"I don't care what he says."
Lelo giggled. "You're so funny."
Serene's eyes narrowed. "You called me Mama again yesterday."
The little girl blinked. "Did I?"
"Don't lie."
Lelo's mouth twitched. Then she smiled — the unsettling kind.
"I must be getting confused," she whispered. "Silly me."
Then she skipped out of the room.
---
Roman's presence was felt even when he wasn't there.
In the scent of his cologne left on the doorknob.
In the way the maids averted their eyes when she screamed.
In the playlist of romantic music now playing through hidden speakers in the ceiling, softly looping over and over.
She wanted to rip them out.
She wanted to scream until her voice snapped.
But she knew better.
The cage had ears.
---
Three nights later, she had a dream.
She stood in a hall of mirrors. She wore the white silk dress. People clapped. Cameras flashed. Roman stood at the end of the aisle, smiling. Lelo sat on a throne made of lace, holding flowers, beaming like a doll come to life.
Then everything shattered — mirrors cracking, sound fading. The silk became chains. And when she looked down, her belly was swollen.
She woke up sobbing.
---
The next morning, a small camera crew arrived upstairs.
She could hear them laughing.
The house echoed with noise for the first time in weeks.
Serene sat in her cage and listened.
She could hear Lelo practicing lines.
Roman giving instructions.
Maids fluttering past, calling for someone to fetch the cake samples.
There would be a party.
There would be cameras.
There would be lies.
And she — she — would be the centerpiece.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, still flat.
Still hers.
For now.
She turned toward the wall and whispered to the silence.
"Please… let someone remember who I am."
But the silence only smiled back.
--