Chapter 4 Co–existing In The Glided Cage

The bed was a continent. Zara lay in its center, dwarfed by the sheer expanse of silk sheets and plush pillows, her body stiff with an unfamiliar tension. Her room – or rather, her wing – in Darius Kane's mansion was more luxurious than any hotel suite she'd ever seen. A king-sized bed dominated the space, facing a wall of windows that offered a breathtaking view of the manicured gardens and, in the distance, the glittering Lagos skyline. The bathroom was a spa unto itself, all marble and chrome, with a walk-in shower and a freestanding tub.

Expensive perfumes and lotions lined the vanity, hinting at a previous occupant or simply provided for a new one.

But despite the lavish comfort, Zara felt an oppressive weight in the air. This wasn't a home; it was a museum of wealth, cold and impersonal. She missed the familiar scent of her own, smaller apartment, the worn comfort of her old mattress, the quiet hum of her neighborhood. Here, the silence was profound, broken only by the distant whir of the central air conditioning and the occasional rustle of unseen staff.

She had arrived late last night, exhausted and emotionally drained. Tunde, ever efficient, had introduced her to Mrs. Adenike, the stern but seemingly kind head housekeeper, and a few other staff members before showing her to her room. Darius himself had vanished after his curt 'Welcome home,' leaving Zara to navigate the vast, unfamiliar spaces alone.

Sleep had been elusive. Every creak, every shadow, seemed amplified in the unfamiliar quiet. She kept replaying the events of the day: the forced vows, Vanessa's venomous glare, and Darius's kiss – that surprisingly potent kiss that still sent a strange ripple through her whenever she thought about it. It was a kiss designed for public consumption, yet it had ignited a confusing spark within her. She pushed the thought away, annoyed at her own reaction. It meant nothing. He meant nothing. He was a means to an end.

The first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of orange and pink, filtering through the sheer curtains. Zara finally gave up on sleep. She rose, her body aching, and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. A hot shower helped to wash away some of the lingering exhaustion and the phantom touch of Darius's lips. She chose a simple, practical dress from the new, expensive wardrobe Tunde had informed her was stocked for her – a stark contrast to her own designs.

Downstairs, the mansion felt even more immense in the light of day. She followed the faint aroma of coffee and found herself in a formal dining room, where a long, polished table was set for breakfast. Only two places were laid.

Darius was already seated at the head of the table, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, reading a financial newspaper. He looked up as she entered, his golden eyes briefly meeting hers before returning to the paper.

"Good morning," she offered, her voice a little uncertain in the vast space.

"Morning," he replied, his voice clipped, not looking up.

Zara sat down, feeling awkward. Mrs. Adenike, the housekeeper, appeared silently, placing a plate of fresh fruit and a glass of orange juice before her. "Good morning, Mrs. Kane. What would you like for breakfast? We have akara, omelets, pancakes, or a full English."

"Just... an omelet, please," Zara mumbled, feeling self-conscious. The formality of it all was overwhelming. At home, she'd scramble eggs, make tea, and eat quickly before heading to her workshop.

The breakfast was silent, save for the rustle of Darius's newspaper and the clinking of cutlery. Zara ate slowly, acutely aware of his presence. He exuded an aura of calm, controlled power, completely at ease in his intimidating surroundings. He finished his meal, folded his newspaper precisely, and then, finally, looked at her.

"I have a meeting at nine," he stated, his gaze direct. "Tunde will go over the house rules with you. You'll have access to a car and driver for your personal use. You're free to go where you please, within reason. Your mother's treatment will continue as planned; I've already ensured funds are transferred. As for your fashion brand, Tunde will discuss setting up a new business account and finding a suitable commercial space for you. We'll need to make an announcement to the press about your new venture soon, as Mrs. Kane."

He spoke rapidly, efficiently, like a CEO delivering a quarterly report. There was no warmth, no personal touch. Just facts and directives.

"Thank you," Zara said, the words feeling inadequate. She wanted to ask about the 'house rules,' about what 'within reason' meant, about the parameters of her new life. But his cold, distant gaze made her swallow the questions.

He stood, his chair scraping softly. "I expect you to act accordingly in public. Discretion is paramount. Avoid any unnecessary scandals. My reputation, and by extension, the company's, depends on it. We will have dinner together most evenings, for appearance's sake. Beyond that, our private lives are our own."

The implication hung in the air: he was setting the boundaries, cold and clear. Their marriage was a performance. Anything beyond that was... undefined, and perhaps, forbidden.

He then strode out of the dining room, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors, leaving Zara alone with her half-eaten breakfast and a fresh wave of apprehension.

True to his word, Tunde appeared shortly after Darius departed. He was surprisingly personable, his efficiency tempered with a dry wit that Zara found unexpectedly refreshing. He gave her a tour of the sprawling mansion, pointing out the various wings, the impressive home office, the state-of-the-art gym, the sprawling swimming pool, and the extensive art collection.

"Mr. Kane is... particular about his space," Tunde explained as they walked through a pristine living area. "Cleanliness, order, punctuality. He appreciates efficiency."

Zara nodded, sensing an unspoken warning. "Understood."

He then outlined the "house rules." These weren't rigid, oppressive commands, but rather a set of guidelines for maintaining the household's seamless operation. Meals were at set times, though she could request otherwise. Staff were to be treated with respect. Darius's private office was off-limits. And most significantly, their separate bedrooms. "Mr. Kane values his privacy, as I'm sure you do, Mrs. Kane," Tunde said, his tone neutral, but his eyes held a knowing glint.

Zara felt a faint blush rise. The clear delineation of their separate spaces was both a relief and, strangely, a subtle jab. It solidified the transactional nature of their union, leaving no room for romantic illusion.

Later in the morning, Tunde began outlining the plans for her fashion brand. He had already found a spacious commercial property in a prime Ikoyi location, perfect for a boutique and workshop. He presented her with market analysis, potential suppliers, and even a list of PR agencies. Zara found herself slowly being drawn into the details, a spark of her old passion reigniting. This was real. This was a chance to rebuild, to create again.

"Mr. Kane is very keen on seeing your brand flourish," Tunde said, observing her expression. "He believes a successful, publicly visible wife will enhance his own image. It's all part of the... long-term strategy."

Zara felt a cynical twist in her gut. Even her dream was being leveraged for his corporate agenda. But she couldn't deny the practical benefits. This was more than she could have ever hoped for on her own.

Over the next few days, Zara settled into a strange rhythm. Mornings were spent at the new commercial space, meeting with contractors, discussing designs, and planning the relaunch of ZARAesque. It was exhilarating, a tangible step towards reclaiming her identity. She poured all her creative energy into it, using the work as a shield against the unsettling reality of her new life.

Evenings, however, were the most challenging. Darius and Zara would have dinner together in the formal dining room, or sometimes in a smaller, more intimate breakfast nook overlooking the city. The conversations were polite, formal, and superficial. They discussed current events, business news, occasionally even art. Darius spoke little of himself, and when he did, it was always in broad, detached terms. He asked about her progress with the brand, his questions precise and analytical, betraying a surprising level of engagement.

Zara, in turn, learned to navigate his silences, to offer enough information without revealing too much of herself. She learned that he preferred his coffee black, his meals healthy, and his discussions devoid of emotional preamble. He was a man built for efficiency, even in his personal interactions.

One evening, Zara recounted a frustrating experience with a supplier, a typical Lagosian tale of delays and unforeseen costs. She expected a dismissive nod, perhaps a dry remark. Instead, Darius surprised her.

"Send me the details of the supplier," he said, his voice quiet. "My legal team will handle it. They'll ensure you receive what you paid for, and on time." There was a cold certainty in his tone that made Zara realize he wasn't just being helpful; he was asserting his power, clearing obstacles with ruthless efficiency.

"Oh," Zara said, a little taken aback. "Thank you. I... I appreciate that."

His golden eyes met hers across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "It's part of the agreement, Mrs. Kane. Your success reflects on me."

His words, while true, still stung. Everything was transactional. Everything had a benefit for him.

Yet, despite the coldness, Zara couldn't deny the undeniable magnetic pull that existed between them, a silent current that often made the air crackle whenever they were in close proximity. His scent, the subtle movements of his powerful frame, the way his golden eyes would occasionally hold hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary – it all registered, unsettling her in ways she couldn't articulate.

One afternoon, Zara was by the swimming pool, going over fabric samples. She wore a simple kaftan, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Darius, having just emerged from the pool himself. He wore only dark swimming trunks, his chiseled physique on full display, water still clinging to his skin, glistening in the afternoon sun. He looked less like a CEO and more like a warrior, his muscles rippling with restrained power.

Zara's breath hitched. She quickly looked away, feeling a blush creep up her neck. The raw masculinity of him, stripped of his corporate armor, was intensely potent.

He ignored her reaction, grabbing a towel from a nearby chair. "Good progress on the designs?" he asked, his voice casual, as if he hadn't just walked into her personal space looking like a Greek god.

"Yes, making headway," Zara managed, her voice a little strained. She tried to focus on the fabric in her hands, but her awareness of him was overwhelming.

He dried his hair, then threw the towel over a chair. "Good. We'll need to schedule your grand opening soon. High profile. It will establish your place in the public eye."

He made it sound less like a creative endeavor and more like a strategic military operation. Zara sighed inwardly. Her life was no longer her own. It was meticulously orchestrated, a public performance for the benefit of Darius Kane's empire.

As Darius walked away, disappearing into the house, Zara let out a shaky breath. She was trapped in a gilded cage, her life managed by a man she barely knew. But the cage was beautiful, offering her mother's life and the resurrection of her dreams. It was a compromise she had to live with. The real question was, how long could she coexist with this powerful, enigmatic stranger before the carefully constructed walls between them began to crack? And what would happen when they did? She knew, deep down, that the tension simmering beneath the surface of their polite interactions couldn't last forever. Something had to give.