Escaping The Billionaire's Golden Cage

The Caribbean sun bled into the ocean, casting a violent orange glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Bahamas private villa. Eloise Mendoza stood perfectly still, watching the waves crash against the private shoreline.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Bronson Ortega pulled her back against his solid chest, resting his chin in the crook of her neck.

"Happy anniversary, baby," he murmured.

Before she could turn, the heavy, cold metal of a custom pink diamond necklace settled against her collarbone. Bronson's fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he fastened the clasp.

Eloise reached up, her fingertips tracing the massive stones. The weight of the necklace felt less like a gift and more like a beautiful, suffocating collar. She swallowed hard, forcing the thought away.

"It's stunning, Bronson," she said.

He kissed her earlobe, his breath warm against her skin. "Is the dinner the Michelin chef prepared to your liking?"

Eloise smiled and nodded, desperate to mask the slight wave of nausea that had hit her when the scent of the seared seafood wafted from the kitchen. "It's perfect."

Moira, their head housekeeper, stepped into the dining area. She carried a silver tray holding a specialized fertility meal plan, curated by Bronson's team of nutritionists.

Bronson waved Moira away without looking at her. He pulled Eloise's chair out, waited for her to sit, and then took the seat beside her. He picked up his knife and fork and began cutting her steak into perfectly even, bite-sized pieces.

Eloise watched his focused expression. The sharp line of his jaw, the dark intensity in his eyes. A fierce, desperate urge to give this man a child swelled in her chest.

"I was thinking," Eloise started, keeping her voice light. "Next month, I'd love to fly to Los Angeles. My sister just had her baby girl, and I want to see my new niece."

The silver blade of Bronson's knife scraped harshly against the porcelain plate. He stopped cutting.

He slowly adjusted the cufflink on his left wrist, his jaw tightening. "Eloise, you know your body is too weak right now. You need absolute rest. A cross-country flight is out of the question."

His voice was gentle, but the refusal was an iron wall.

A cold spike of disappointment hit her chest, but it was quickly buried when he reached across the table and took her hand.

"Three years," Bronson said, raising his glass of red wine.

Eloise picked up her crystal glass, filled only with sparkling water. "To three years."

As their glasses clinked, a shadow flickered in Bronson's dark eyes. It was there and gone so fast Eloise thought she imagined it.

He reached out, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "You don't need to put so much pressure on yourself to have a baby, Eloise. I just want you."

Tears pricked her eyes. She turned her face into his palm, overwhelmed by his understanding. "Thank you."

After dinner, they walked barefoot on the private beach. The sand