Escaping The Ruthless Billionaire's Gilded Cage

What do you mean by that?

The heavy, double-layered mahogany door to the penthouse office in the Vanderbilt Tower clicked shut behind Al. The blinding sunlight reflecting off the floor-to-ceiling windows forced her to squint. She stood stiffly on the thick Persian carpet.

Cyrus Vanderbilt III ended the call. The enormous leather chair spun around with a heavy mechanical creak. His deep eyes, like an eagle spotting its prey in open terrain, were fixed on her.

Al forced her lungs to expand. She walked forward, her high heels sinking into the carpet. She reached the edge of the massive mahogany desk and placed a brand-new white envelope and a key on the polished table. She pushed them forward.

That key was for his private apartment.

She has now returned it.

Along with a resignation letter.

Cyrus let out a low, trembling chuckle. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders casting long shadows on the table. His gaze stripped away her professional facade.

"You want a raise," Cyrus said, his voice low and husky. "Or is this just a ploy?"

That's not the case, not from the day the two met.

He had said he wouldn't give himself a formal title.

Now she wants to end it, but due to various factors, she has no choice but to.

Al clasped her hands together in front of her stomach. Her nails dug deep into her palms until her skin stung. She used her oversized handbag to block his view of her waist.

My lower abdomen is already showing signs of slight bulging.

She couldn't delay any longer; he might find out someday.

"I'm resigning," Al said. Her voice was completely flat.

"reason."

Cyrus asked expressionlessly.

"I'm getting married."

Cyrus's custom Montblanc pen stopped spinning. His fingers froze in mid-air. His pupils contracted to tiny, dangerous pinpoints.

"Marriage?" Cyrus repeated. The word tasted like poison to him.

His icy voice carried a hint of disdainful laughter. "Who dares to steal what belongs to me?"

The insult struck her like a slap across the face. Her throat tightened, and swallowing felt like swallowing glass. She straightened her back.

“He was my senior in college,” Al said, his jaw steady. “He was a good guy.”

"Most importantly, my mother wants to see me in a wedding dress. You know, she's very ill, and who knows when... I need to make plans early."

"This is not a reason for you to provoke me."

Cyrus's jaw muscles twitched violently. He grabbed his Montblanc pen and yanked the resignation letter toward himself. He pressed the nib into the paper with tremendous force, the metal tip even tearing through the thick parchment. The tearing sound made Al's stomach churn. He hastily signed his name on the damaged page.

Cyrus slammed the pen down. The sharp cracking sound made Al flinch.

"Go to the legal department," Cyrus commanded, his voice low and menacing like a deadly whisper. "Sign a Level 1 Confidentiality Agreement (NDA). Then disappear from my sight."

El turned around. The instant her back was to him, a burning pain shot through her eyes. She forced her legs to move, taking one step at a time until she stepped out of the office. As the heavy wooden door clicked shut, his oppressive presence vanished.

Standing in the empty corridor, her shoulders slumped. Her hand moved instinctively, resting flat on her lower abdomen. She took a trembling breath and silently apologized to the tiny life within her.

She swiped her access card at the private elevator. The metal doors slid open. She stepped inside, watching the numbers plummet. She had to sever all emotional ties with the building.

Al stepped onto the bustling sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. The biting wind dried her damp eyelashes. She raised her hand and flagged down a yellow taxi. She slid into the worn leather back seat.

"Mount Sinai Hospital," Al said to the driver.

She watched the glittering skyscrapers blur by outside the window. The smell of exhaust fumes and stale coffee in the taxi made her stomach churn.

Forty minutes later, Al walked down the sterile, brightly lit hospital corridor. The pungent smell of bleach and alcohol filled the air. She fought back the rising bile. She pushed open the door to a private room.

Mrs. Hayes lay in bed, a thin plastic oxygen tube attached to the underside of her nose. Her skin was the color of old parchment. Al hurried to the bedside.

Mrs. Hayes opened her eyes, her voice trembling. "Al. How's work?"

A smile crept onto Elle's lips, a flawless smile she had practiced countless times. She sat on the edge of the mattress, holding her mother's fragile hands, marked with needle marks.

"I have good news, Mom," Al said, his voice light and slightly breathless. "I said yes. I'm getting married."

A sudden glint appeared in Mrs. Hayes's cloudy eyes. Her weak fingers gripped Al's hand with astonishing strength. A long, hoarse sigh of relief escaped from her chapped lips.

Al watched as the tension on his mother's face dissipated. The lie had been worthwhile.

A nurse pushed a vital signs monitoring cart into the ward, its wheels squeaking on the linoleum floor. Al stood up, walked to the side, and stared intently at the green curve on the monitor.

"Her vital signs are stable," the nurse said, checking the screen. "The doctor has signed the discharge papers for tomorrow."

El let out a sigh of relief that had been building up inside her for days. She thanked the nurse, left the ward, and headed towards the nurses' station at the end of the corridor.

The toll collector handed her a thick stack of bills. Al pulled out her credit card. She stared at the total balance at the bottom of the page. The numbers blurred. Her chest tightened.

She signed the receipt. As she turned, her gaze fell on the television hanging on the wall. A news anchor was discussing a tech merger. Cyrus Vanderbilt III filled the screen, stepping out of a black SUV, looking unapproachable.

Al looked away from the screen. She walked quickly, her high heels clicking rapidly, until she returned to her mother's hospital room.

Mrs. Hayes was already asleep. Al took off his coat and gently covered his mother's thin legs.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Al walked to the window to answer the call.

"Have you submitted your resignation letter?" Jan's calm and steady voice came through the receiver.

Al gazed at the distant Manhattan skyline. "Yes. It's taken care of."

"I'll pick you both up tomorrow morning," Jane said. "Then we can finalize the contract."

"Thank you, Jane," Al said softly.

She hung up the phone. She pressed her palm against the cold windowpane. Her other hand rested on her lower abdomen. She gazed at her reflection in the glass and saw a woman about to spend the rest of her life wearing a mask.