Caged Pheonix

"Stop acting like a nerd and put this on. I've had enough of your excuses."

Violet stood frozen before her mother, eyes lowered, fingers fidgeting as if searching for an invisible thread of courage—one more excuse to escape this nightmare masquerading as a wedding.

"Mom, I... I don’t want to get married. I—"

"And you think that matters?" her mother, Amelia Joseph, snapped, voice sharp as glass. "Violet, listen carefully. We didn’t adopt you so you could live in comfort without consequences. It’s time you paid us back. Your father needs this alliance with Mr. James William, and that means you marrying into their family. Have we ever treated you poorly? Didn’t we give you food, a home, clothes? This deal is crucial for our future. How can you be so selfish when everything is at stake?"

As her mother went on about our family, Violet felt a cold smile tug at her lips—bitter, knowing. She had never truly belonged. Yes, they hadn’t abused her, but love? That was never part of the arrangement. They had always made it clear: she could stay, as long as she didn’t speak too much, didn’t cause trouble. Adopted at fifteen, not for love, but for her beauty—an investment. A pawn. And now, it was time to collect.

"O-okay... I’ll d-do whatever you want."

Her mother’s expression softened into satisfaction. She gave a nod to the makeup artist standing by.

"Good. Make her beautiful. Whatever it takes--"

"Ma'am you have phone call from--"

One of their house maid came with a phone and before she could complete her sentence. Amelia snatched the phone.

"I need to take the call, you guys can continue."

The makeup artist nodded, gently ushering Violet toward the chair. As she sat down, her reflection stared back at her—painted, polished, and silent.

The makeup brush grazed her cheek like a butterfly's wing, but Violet felt it like a noose tightening around her throat. Her reflection in the mirror was pale, too still—like a ghost being painted to look alive.

"Beautiful," one of the artists murmured, unaware of the irony.

But Violet didn't see beauty. She saw a mask being built, layer by layer. A mask for a girl who was never really herself.

Her mind drifted back to the night they brought her home. She remembered the silence. Not the warm kind, but the type that suffocated. The way her adoptive father had studied her face like a merchant inspecting goods. The way her mother’s voice always dripped with sugar when guests were around—but tasted like poison when no one was listening.

They had always told her to be grateful. For the bed. The food. The clothes. Gratitude was expected, not affection. And now—marriage was her price tag.

She stared into the mirror, but the girl looking back felt unfamiliar. Her lips moved before her thoughts caught up.

"What kind of man agrees to marry a girl he’s never met?" she whispered, her voice too soft to hear.

But the makeup artist paused. "Mr. William’s son is… quiet. Reserved. A bit strange, if I may say so. They say he doesn’t like women who talk too much."

A chill crept down Violet’s spine.

Perfect. Just the way her "parents" liked her—silent, compliant, disposable.

She suddenly felt like she wasn’t being prepared for a wedding… but for sacrifice.

_______

Violet shifted uncomfortably in the dress, the fabric clinging too tightly to her skin like a second, unwanted layer of identity. The heels bit into her feet with every uncertain step. She wasn’t used to showing so much skin. She wasn’t used to being someone else.

She tripped again. Her mother’s eyes flicked over her, sharp and scolding. Violet quickly lowered her gaze and sat, clasping her hands in her lap, forcing herself to breathe as they waited.

"Be careful with your steps"

Her dad, Liam Joseph, warned her in a dull tone

Fifteen minutes passed in a silence so tense it made her ears ring.

“Aunt, I told you—I’m not interested in marriage. Please...” A voice came from the hallway.

Violet’s head turned slightly, her pulse skipping.

That voice. She knew it.

A flicker of hope bloomed in her chest. Maybe... just maybe, the person standing behind her didn’t want this marriage either. Maybe they could both walk away from it. Maybe fate was being kind for once.

“Keep your voice low. We're already here. Just meet her and then decide.”

Her breath caught. That voice—no, it couldn't be. Her stomach churned.

“Aunt, please—”

He stepped into the room, eyes lazily scanning the space—until they landed on the girl with her back straight and hair cascading down her waist like black silk. His words died in his throat. Recognition flashed across his face.

She slowly stood and turned.

And their eyes met.

"YOU??!"

"You!?"

The room blurred around her. Violet collapsed back onto the chair, her eyes hollow, her body limp. She couldn’t breathe.

It’s over, she thought. Of all the people in the world... it had to be him.

To be continued...