Sunlight. That was always the first thing Nancy saw every morning. It poured through the huge windows of the penthouse, spreading gold patches on the floor like spilled honey. Beautiful, sure. The whole city stretched below her, glittering and alive. But after two weeks, the beauty faded. It felt like a painting. Like something you could look at but never touch. She was trapped inside the frame.
Her new life wasn't hers. It was drawn up, planned out, controlled.
8 AM: Breakfast — oatmeal, berries, and one hard-boiled egg.
9:30: Vitamins — a handful of pills swallowed with water.
11: Yoga with a trainer who barely spoke.
1 PM: Lunch — grilled chicken and greens.
3: A doctor's visit or a phone check-in.
6: Dinner — fish and quinoa.
She used to joke that she was living like a pampered cat. But really, it felt worse like being part of some experiment. Well-fed, perfectly kept, and utterly not free.
And then there was Theodore Roosevelt, the man who made all this possible. Her warden in a tailored suit. When he was home, which wasn't often, he moved through the rooms like a cold wind. He didn't ask, "How are you, Nancy?" No. He asked, "Did you take your supplements?" or "Your medical levels are acceptable." That was it. Numbers and reports instead of words and warmth.
The first medical procedure was the worst. The room smelled of disinfectant and steel. He came in, nodded to the doctor, and barely looked at her. She wasn't a woman at that moment. She was just a body on a table. No one held her hand. No one said a word. The machines hummed, and when he left, she felt completely hollow.
Most days, she wandered aimlessly. The penthouse was too big. It had five bedrooms, a private cinema, a wine cellar she wasn't allowed to touch. The library looked inviting, but she never pulled a single book from the shelves. Everything felt staged. Polished. Dead.
Sometimes she'd catch her reflection in the blank TV screen. Her face looked the same, but something behind her eyes had changed. That slow dread again, coiling beneath the surface. She whispered to herself the reason she was still here. For my father. I'm doing this to save his life.
*****
Theodore tried to focus on his computer, but his gaze kept drifting through the glass wall. Out there, Nancy sat curled on the white sofa, silent. Too still. No tears, no shouting, no tantrums. Just… enduring.
It made him feel uncomfortable.
He'd dealt with dramatic women before, the type who cried, slammed doors, threatened to leave. But Nancy didn't play those games. She was calm, too calm. Like a lake with no ripples. It made him want to throw a stone, just to see what might surface.
What went through her mind all day? Did she think of running away? Did she hate him for keeping her here? The thought should've made him feel satisfied, it meant he was in control. But instead, it sat in his chest like acid. He'd bought compliance, not guilt. So why did it feel like he'd crossed a line?
He straightened, jaw tight. Stop it, Theodore. She's a deal, you're only having a transaction with her. Let it stay that way but somehow, it couldn't
*****
Nancy leaned against the terrace railing, the wind tugging at her ponytail.
She remembered her father before the illness. He'd made her do the silliest of things. Showing her how to change a flat tire in their dusty driveway. "Always know how to save yourself, Nance," he'd said with a grin. His hands had been greasy, his heart big.
Now, she wasn't saving anyone. Not even herself.
The glass door slid open behind her. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"The doctor called," Theodore said, voice smooth and controlled. "Your results were good."
"Great," she replied, not bothering to look at him.
He hesitated. "Is there anything you need?"
That was new. She turned. He stood there, hands in pockets, calm as ever but there was something different in his eyes. Not kindness exactly. Maybe curiosity.
"What I need," she said quietly, "is to remember why I'm here. And that doesn't involve you."
His jaw tightened. For a second, she thought he might argue. But he only gave a sharp nod and left.
Her heart was pounding. She'd challenged him. And in his eyes, just for a heartbeat, she'd seen something dangerous. Respect. That was somehow worse than anger.
Dinner time came and it was a quiet kind of war. They sat at opposite ends of a table so long it felt absurd.
"The chef made salmon," Theodore said without looking up.
"It's fine," Nancy murmured, pushing food around.
"You need to eat," he said flatly. "Not play with it."
She raised her head. "What are you now, my nutritionist or my warden?"
His eyes darkened, and that slow, deliberate smile appeared, it was the kind that made her nerves twist. "I'm the man paying twenty million dollars for you to stay healthy. So yes. Eat the asparagus."
Her cheeks burned. Anger, humiliation and something else she couldn't name. Still, she lifted the fork and took a bite, never looking away from him. The air between them buzzed. It wasn't just cold anymore. It was electric.
Later, Nancy splashed water on her face, trying to cool down. She barely recognized the reflection staring back. It was still her but somehow older, harder. She didn't hear the door until a voice spoke behind her.
"Everything alright in here?"
She spun around. Theodore was leaning against the doorframe, too tall, too close. This was her space. He shouldn't be here.
Her pulse spiked. He wasn't threatening her, not really. Just watching. Studying her. His eyes lingered — the damp skin, the quick breaths, the pulse in her neck.
Neither of them spoke. The silence wrapped around them like heat.
"I'm fine," she whispered at last.
He didn't move. Just looked, as if she were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. And then, without another word, he turned and left.
Nancy stayed frozen for a long second. When her knees finally gave, she gripped the sink and let out a shaky breath. The air felt different now, heavier somehow.
The cage was still locked but for the first time, she thought she saw the key.