Trapped with the heart that loved him

Our house never slept.

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‎Even at night, it breathed. Light spilled from towering glass windows, reflecting off polished marble floors and the sparkling fountains at the center of the compound. Staff moved silently through the hallways, shadows flitting across walls lined with priceless art. The low hum of the generators reminded everyone inside that wealth didn’t exist in silence,it existed in control.

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‎I had lived like this my entire life: safe, surrounded by opulence, yet confined. My father’s rules were invisible walls and though I appeared free, every step I took had always been measured. Luxury without freedom was a gilded cage, and I knew every bar by heart.

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‎The gates were already open when my father’s car rolled into the driveway. The headlights caught the fountain, the water glittering like frozen fire. My heels clicked against the stones as I stepped from the house into the driveway, straightening the emerald silk dress that hugged my curves in all the right ways. I knew I was beautiful,everyone did ,but beauty in our world was a weapon, a distraction, a warning. And I had never needed it… until now.

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‎Our home loomed behind me, three floors of glass, stone, and quiet authority. Chandeliers glimmered like stars trapped indoors. Sculptures and paintings lined the walls, each a symbol of power and taste. Everything about this house screamed control, even to those who weren’t supposed to notice it. I had spent my life learning to exist here without breaking it or myself.

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‎“Meelan.”

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‎My father’s voice was calm, firm, and full of weight. He stood near the car, tall, immaculately dressed in a dark tailored suit. He didn’t smile often. When he did, it was brief, calculated—a sign of approval or warning, never affection.

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‎“You’ll be joining us tonight,” he said. Not a question.

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‎I nodded, aware that “joining” didn’t mean mingling freely. It meant performing. Standing, Smiling,Observing, Being beautiful, being graceful, being silent. My life was a script I had to recite perfectly, every word, every step, every glance measured.

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‎Abi arrived as I reached the grand staircase, slipping through the house like a breeze that didn’t belong. She had always been my rebellion, my breath of air in a life boxed by luxury and rules. Her laughter was soft and irreverent, her eyes sharp, her presence untouchable. She was my friend.

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‎“Wow,” she whispered, surveying the hall. “Your house somehow manages to get more extravagant every year.”

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‎I smiled faintly. “That’s the illusion.”

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‎Abi tilted her head toward me, her grin widening. “And you, Meelan. You’re beautiful,curvy,confident. You walk like you own the room, even if your life is… well, this.” She gestured vaguely at the walls, the staff, the polished perfection.

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‎I rolled my eyes. “Abi, stop.”

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‎“Nope,” she said. “Facts. Your father could auction you tonight, and people would pay double just to look at you.”

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‎I laughed, though a pulse of unease ran