Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
At 7:45 a.m. the following morning, Evelyn stood in the center of her cramped studio apartment in East Harlem, staring at three rack-fuls of designer clothing that had been delivered by two silent men in charcoal suits twenty minutes prior.
Silk blouses, tailored pantsuits, floor-length evening gowns from Italian fashion houses she had only ever seen in glossy magazines, and six pairs of shoes that each cost more than her annual textbook budget.
Her phone buzzed on the formica kitchen counter.
It was a text from an unknown, encrypted number:
A car is waiting downstairs. Black Maybach. License plate ends in 88. Drivers name is Marco. He will take you to Lenox Hill first, then to your 10:00 AM lecture at NYU.
Evelyn picked up her battered canvas backpack, tossed her criminal procedure notebook inside, and looked at the clothes.
She chose a conservative, impeccably tailored cream cashmere sweater and dark navy trousers. When she put them on, the fabric felt like silk air against her skin.
She stepped out of her building.
Standing beside the polished Maybach was a tall, stone-faced man in his late thirties with a military haircut. He opened the rear door the moment she approached.
“Miss Vance,” Marco said, his voice flat and polite. “Mr. Moretti requested that I ensure your comfort this morning. How is your niece?”
Evelyn stopped before stepping into the car, surprised. “Lily... she went into surgery at six. The hospital cleared everything the moment the wire went through last night.”
“Good,” Marco said simply. “Mr. Moretti does not make promises he cannot fund.”
The ride to Lenox Hill was smooth and terrifyingly quiet. Inside the Maybach, the noise of New York City was completely filtered out.
When they arrived at the hospital’s pediatric wing, Evelyn hurried up to the third floor. She found her sister Mara sitting in a plastic waiting room chair, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee, looking exhausted but crying tears of sheer relief.
“Evie!” Mara gasped, jumping up to throw her arms around her sister. “Oh my God, Evie! The hospital administration came in at midnight! They said a private donor cleared the entire deposit and established a medical trust for Lily’s recovery! How did you do this? What did you do?”
Evelyn held her sister tight, feeling the agonizing weight of the past six months lift off Mara’s shoulders.
“I found a client,” Evelyn lied softly, pressing her face into Mara’s hair. “A very wealthy client who needed legal research and personal assistant work. It’s all legal, Mara. I promise.”
“Is Lily okay?”
“The surgeon came out twenty minutes ago,” Mara sobbed, smiling through her tears. “They repaired the valve! She’s stable! She’s sleeping in ICU right now!”
Evelyn closed her eyes, letting out a breath she felt like she had been holding for five years. Whatever cost Damian Moretti demanded of her over the next three weeks, seeing her sister smile again made every penny worth it.
She stayed for thirty minutes, peeking through the glass window at little Lily sleeping peacefully surrounded by warm heart monitors, before Marco called her phone politely to remind her of her ten o'clock lecture.
When the Maybach pulled up to Washington Square Park outside NYU’s Vanderbilt Hall, half the students sitting on the stone steps stopped to watch.
A Maybach in Greenwich Village was not uncommon, but the man who stepped out of the front passenger seat was.
Luca, Damian’s massive, scarred head bodyguard, held the rear door open for Evelyn.
Evelyn stepped onto the sidewalk, clutching her backpack, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes staring at her from the university courtyard.
“Miss Vance,” Luca said loudly enough for three surrounding law students to hear clearly. “Mr. Moretti will pick you up at six o’clock sharp for dinner at the River Café. Please be waiting at the arch.”
Evelyn flushed deep red. “Thank you, Luca. I will.”
She hurried up the granite steps of the law school, her heart pounding.
As she entered the glass doors, her closest friend in the program, Marcus Reyes, caught up to her, his jaw practically touching the floor.
“Evelyn!” Marcus hissed, grabbing her arm as they walked toward the lecture hall. “What was that? Who was that guy with the scar? And since when do you wear thousand-dollar cashmere sweaters?”
“It’s... a long story, Marcus,” Evelyn murmured, setting her bag on a lecture desk.
“Is it true what people are saying on the campus group chat?” Marcus asked, pulling out his phone. “Someone took a picture of that car. That’s Damian Moretti’s private vehicle, Evie! The shipping guy who’s currently being investigated by the Southern District of New York!”
Evelyn’s hand froze as she unzipped her bag.
The trap was already working.
Damian had turned her into public news within twelve hours. By making sure she was seen in his car at NYU, he had guaranteed that federal surveillance teams, campus gossips, and city reporters would instantly link her name to his.
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She was no longer just Evelyn Vance, straight-A law student.
She was Damian Moretti’s protected obsession.
