The Prototype

42. The Warning

TEMPEST

The shrill buzz of the digital clock sliced through the quiet of my room, pulling me from the bliss of unconsciousness. My body, still heavy with fatigue, protests as I stretch, the muscles in my arms and legs elongating with a satisfying tension. A groan escaped my lips, low and irritated, as I blinked away the last remnants of sleep. The darkness in my room still lingers like a shroud, thick and comforting, insulating me from the harsh reality that I am still trapped in this gilded cage. A luxurious prison—no matter how much silk, marble, and gold they wrap around me—it's still a damn cage.

My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the thin slivers of light filtering in through the drawn curtains. The faint morning glow taunts me from behind those thick, expensive drapes, daring me to face another day in this place. I rolled over lazily, my arm stretching out to slap the snooze button with more force than necessary, relishing the abrupt silence that followed.

For a brief moment, the world is mine again. No Marcellus. No bullshit. Just silence. A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, slow and deliberate, as I savor the small victory. Today is Saturday. The first Saturday in four months where I'm not shackled to his insufferable world of power plays and empty social events. No more smiling through gritted teeth at arrogant men in overpriced suits. No horse races. No sycophants. No pretending to care about anything that revolves around Marcellus' carefully constructed empire.

Today, for the first time in what feels like forever, I am free. Free from him and his ridiculous need to assert dominance over everything. Locking me in this main building as some sort of punishment—thinking isolation would break me. It's laughable. All he's done is give me exactly what I needed. Time away from his world. Space to breathe without his suffocating presence always looming, always watching.

Shifting slightly, feeling the hard plastic of the remote dig into my back. Reaching under the covers, I grabbed it, pressing the button to open the curtains. The soft whirring sound fills the room as the heavy fabric glides open, revealing the morning sun in all its golden glory. It spills into the room like liquid gold, stretching across the cool, polished floors, bathing everything in warmth.

Taking it all in, letting the light touch my skin as I sat up in bed, stretching my arms above my head and rolling my neck. The tension from the past few days still lingering but it feels more bearable, almost like the sunlight itself is burning away the weight I've been carrying.

This estate is as beautiful as it is suffocating, but in these rare moments of solitude, I almost forget. Almost.

Throwing the covers off, my feet sink into the plush rug beneath me as I stand. The silk of my short nightgown brushed softly against my skin, a cool reminder of the luxury I'm surrounded by, yet unable to truly enjoy. I walked to the bathroom, knowing I won't bother making up the bed. Not today. Today, I plan on returning to it after breakfast, shutting the world out, watching movies, indulging in a long bath, and pretending, just for a little while, that this world doesn't exist.

The automatic lights flickered on, casting a soft glow across the marble countertops and gleaming fixtures. I turned on the tap, letting the cool water run for a moment before picking up my toothbrush. The minty paste foams in my mouth as I brush, the sharp, clean sensation a small pleasure in my otherwise stifled existence. I spit, rinse, and reach for the mouthwash, the cool liquid tingling as I swish it around, leaving my mouth fresh and sharp.

Glancing at the mirror, my eyes lingered on the silk scarf wrapped around my head. Slowly, I unraveled it, letting the fabric slide off and revealing my smooth, freshly pressed hair. It cascades down my back, perfectly straight. Running my fingers through it, giving a slight shake, watching the strands shimmer and fall into place. A few quick strokes with a wide-tooth comb fixing any stray strands.