FATAL TROUBLE | JAY

11 - A Gilded Cage

Y/N'S POV

An apartment is what I expected Jay's safe house to be, something ordinary and unassuming. A place that blends into the background, a perfect hiding spot for someone on the run. After all, who would suspect anything out of the ordinary in a city full of identical apartment buildings? 

But as the sleek black car pulls through the towering iron gates and onto a secluded gravel driveway, my expectations are shattered. This isn't an apartment building. It's a mansion. A sprawling, two-story monstrosity built from dark grey stone, nestled amidst a dense grove of ancient oak trees. The windows, shielded by heavy black curtains, offer no glimpse into the interior. It feels less like a safe house and more like a fortress, a place designed to keep people out rather than offer a welcoming haven. 

The car comes to a halt on a broad stone patio. Jay steps out first, his movements brisk and efficient. Finally, I follow him, the cold air stealing my breath away. Guards are standing in every corner of the place, their imposing figures clad in black suits that speak of darkness. They don't look at me, but I can tell that, behind those black glasses, a hundred watchful eyes scrutinize my every move.

Jay strides towards the colossal oak door, his muscular frame moving with practiced ease. He's so unfazed by the tense atmosphere it makes me realize a place like this is nothing to him. But unlike him, mansions squeeze the breath out of my lungs and leave me with nothing but the memory of my father's murder. The memory I'm trying too hard to bury under a mountain. "Get her settled, Wraith," Jay finishes, his voice a low rumble. "Inform me immediately of any... irregularities." 

Wraith, the woman with the buzz cut, gives a curt nod, her gaze flickering to me for a fleeting moment. There's a flicker of something in her icy blue eyes that makes me want for the ground to open and swallow me whole, but then she smiles and ushers me to follow her. One last glance at Jay as he raises his eyebrow at me and I follow after her, staring around at the opulent excess that seems designed to intimidate as much as impress. The Lee estate has been the town's talk for a long, long time, but because I haven't been to such places after my father's death, the sight of it leaves me cold. 

"This will be your temporary quarters, Miss Lee," Wraith announces as she stops before a set of imposing double doors that look older than the mansion itself. With a practiced hand, she pushes one open, revealing a glimpse of a sprawling suite that can easily rival a luxury apartment. Her eyes flicker towards me for a fleeting moment, and although I can't decipher the emotion within them, it sends a prickle of unease down my spine. "There's a walk-in closet stocked with clothes that should fit your size. Meals will be served at your convenience. If you require anything at all, there's a call button on the nightstand."

She gestures towards a sleek black phone on the table beside an extravagantly large bed. Everything about the room screams opulence—rich fabrics, polished wood, and glittering chandeliers. Yet, it feels cold, sterile, a museum exhibit instead of a place for living.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice small in the vastness of the room. "You can call me Y/N." 

"Sure," She nods, "Anything else?"

A hundred questions about Jay burn on the tip of my tongue, but I know better than to waste her breath. This isn't the time for pleasantries, and something about Wraith's icy demeanor makes me hesitant to push my luck. "No," I finally say, forcing a smile. "That's all." 

Wraith gives a curt nod before disappearing through the heavy oak doorway, leaving me alone in the opulent prison. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Walking over to the massive windows, I press my forehead against the cool glass, my breath misting the surface momentarily. The view outside is a picture of serenity, and yet, a gnawing unease claws at my gut. 

My phone suddenly starts ringing and I pull it out to find Heeseung's name plastered on the screen. "Hi, Heeseung," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady while I lean against the window and stare at the room that's supposed to be mine for who knows how long.

"I'm sorry about what happened with Jinyoung," Relief momentarily washes over me when I hear his familiar voice. "I can't believe we couldn't tell his evil intentions. It's good to have Jay with you because I don't know what could happen now." His words, though, carry a tension. He's worried, rightfully so, and I can hear the frustration underlying his tone. "It's better for you to stay with him at his place. He could keep an eye on you and figure out what's going on. Are you okay, though?"

"Yeah," I blurt out, the word an automatic response I don't quite believe myself saying. Sitting on the plush bed in the middle of the room, I let out a sigh and run my fingers through my hair. "I'll be fine. This whole thing has left me drained but I'll manage." 

"If you need anything, Y/N, anything at all, just let me know," Heeseung says and his worry is so tangible I feel it pressing down on my chest. "I'm quite busy with the new projects but I'm never busy for you. Jay will also do anything you ask him to so don't hesitate to ask him. I need to go now, I have a meeting with some important people. I'll call you tomorrow." With that, he hangs up and I put my phone on the bed, a hollow ache settling in my stomach despite my attempt to appear nonchalant for Heeseung.

The sound of knocking on the door makes me jump slightly and I stand up, looking at Jay as he slowly opens the door and steps inside. His eyes scan the room, lingering for a moment on the phone lying innocently on the bed. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his expression before he speaks, "I'll get you a new phone. We should get rid of this one." I almost let out a scoff. Almost. But the seriousness and coldness in his eyes makes me suck in every protest I have clawing its way up my throat. Instead, I force a hesitant nod, trying to gauge his reaction. The flicker of something unreadable in his eyes deepens, morphing into a flicker of... relief? It throws me off balance. Was he worried I'd argue? "Good," He says curtly, stepping further into the room and closing the door with a soft click. "This one might be compromised. They could be tracking you through it."

"They could be watching us from your very own cameras if you think about it," I say, defiance ringing in my voice. "They could be listening to every word we say right now," I finish, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You could be one of them for all I know." 

Jay's jaw clenches for a moment before he smiles, a smile of genuine amusement. I watch as he steps closer to me, his hand reaching up, making me hold my breath. Then he wraps it around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make his point clear. "If I were one of them, Dollface," He says, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing lightly against my pulse, "you'd already be dead. But I like that you're wary, even of me. Makes you less likely to get yourself killed." 

My heart hammers against my ribs, a strangled gasp escaping my lips. This isn't the way to earn trust. Jay holds me for a moment longer, the silence thick with tension, before slowly releasing his hold. I stumble back, clutching at my throat, gasping for air. "I..."

"See, Dollface," He says, the nickname used less casually now, "trust has to go both ways. You question my motives, yet you expect me to keep you safe?" His words sting and I shoot him a glare but all he does is stare at me with his unreadable dark eyes. The amusement has vanished completely, replaced by a steely glint that chills me to the bone. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Come down when you're ready." He finishes, turning on his heel and leaving the room without another word. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and I let out a shaky breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly drain from my system. My hand instinctively moves to my throat, the ghost of his touch lingering. I replay his words in my head, the mixture of threat and protection confusing me. Trust has to go both ways. But how can I trust someone who seems to enjoy reminding me of his power over me? How can I trust someone who makes my heart race with fear and flutter with a strange, unfamiliar spark?

In his presence, I'm nothing but a marionette, strings yanked tight by his every move. The memory of his hand around my throat sends a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. Trust him? Right now, the idea seems laughable.