CZARINA

CAGED HEART

Seraphina's POV

Two weeks ago, my mother abruptly announced our impending relocation, citing a promising job opportunity in a distant city. Initially, I was hesitant, but then I realized this could be my chance to escape the gilded cage Mors had so meticulously constructed around me. The prospect of freedom, however fleeting, ignited a spark within me, a glimmer of hope that perhaps I could reclaim the autonomy that had been slowly stripped away over the years.

As we busied ourselves with the preparations for our departure, I remained silent about my plans, knowing full well how Mors would react. The mere thought of his reaction sent shivers down my spine—would he confine me somewhere, or worse, harm my family? I no longer had the answers, nor the certainty that I once possessed.

All I knew was that keeping quiet was paramount, for I was now eighteen and determined to break free from this suffocating existence. Doubts crept into my mind, haunting me with questions about the nature of my feelings for Mors.

Did I still love him as I had in those bygone years, or had his "soft abuse" slowly chipped away at the very foundation of our relationship? I couldn't say for certain, but one thing was clear: I could no longer endure this torment.

Mors was a dangerous man, and I was all too aware of his capabilities.
A month ago, I had stumbled upon a startling discovery—cameras, hidden in every corner of my home, even in the sanctity of my own room.

The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning, and I rushed to confront him, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. His response, delivered with a smug grin, was a chilling admission: he had installed them himself. When I pressed him further, asking how long they had been there, his answer sent a shard of ice through my heart.

"You don't want to know," he had said, his words laced with a possessiveness that made my skin crawl. In that moment, I felt something within me shatter—my trust, my faith in the man I had once loved.

I knew then that Mors was not normal, that his obsession with control had warped his perception of our relationship. Fear had once kept me from standing up for myself, but no more. I would not be caged any longer. It was time to leave, to find a safe haven for my mother and myself, far from Mors and the life he had forced upon me.

As I packed my belongings, a sense of determination settled over me. "It's good that I discovered the cameras earlier," I muttered to myself, "or else my plan would have failed."

The sound of the doorbell startled me, and I hurried downstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. "Who could it be?" I whispered anxiously, "I hope it's not him." Cautiously, I opened the door to find a delivery man standing on the threshold, a large red box in his hands.

"Here you are, ma'am," he said, handing me a clipboard. "Please sign here." I scribbled my name and took the box inside, curiosity getting the better of me. Ascending the stairs, I carefully opened the package, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Wow, a beautiful dress," I murmured, my fingers tracing the intricate fabric. Nestled within the box was a black envelope, and I knew without a doubt that it was from Mors. He was the only one who called me "Czarina," a term of endearment that had once made my heart flutter but now filled me with a sense of unease.

I retrieved my phone and immediately called him, my voice trembling slightly. He informed me that the dress was for our date tonight, and I realized that this was my chance to end things on my own terms. Mors would be none the wiser about my plans to leave in the morning, and I could finally break free from his grasp. I quickly erased any trace of our connection, preparing to sever the ties that bound me to him.

As the clock struck seven, I stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to wash away my fears, if only momentarily. I dressed in the elegant gown, applying a touch of makeup and minimal accessories. A glance at the clock told me it was already eight, and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that my mother was occupied with the details of our impending move. With a deep breath, I descended the stairs, steeling myself for the confrontation that lay ahead.

As I stepped outside, an eerie sensation enveloped me, and I knew he was there. A figure emerged from the car, and my heart sank—it was Mors, the man I had once loved but now feared. I forced a shy smile, not wanting to arouse his suspicion. He approached me with a gentle smile, taking my hand in his and pressing a tender kiss upon it. If this had been five years ago, I might have melted at his touch, but now I knew the truth of who he was, and my heart remained hardened.

We embarked on a slow drive, the soft strains of jazz music filling the car, but my mind was consumed with thoughts of how to confront him. Honesty, I was terrified, and I could feel my hand trembling slightly. Mors kept glancing in my direction, no doubt sensing my unease, but I tried to maintain my composure, even as my fear threatened to consume me. I knew I had to end this, no matter the cost.

Finally, we arrived at our destination, and as we entered the hotel, I noticed several men eyeing me with predatory gazes. Mors' rough hand on my waist was a stark reminder of his possessiveness, and he glared at the onlookers with a ferocity that sent shivers down my spine.

We had our dinner in relative silence, and just as I thought we were heading home, Mors announced that he had one more surprise for me. We ascended the floors to our room, and I steeled myself for what was to come.

"This is it," I thought, my heart pounding in my chest.
As the elevator doors opened, I stepped out first, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. We entered the room, and I was struck by the romantic ambiance—rose petals scattered across the floor and bed, candles flickering softly.

It was a beautiful setting, but the weight of what I was about to do hung heavy in the air. I stared at the floor, questioning my decision, when suddenly I felt Mors' rough hand on my shoulder.

"Do you love it?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement.
I looked at him for a moment, my heart pounding in my ears. "Mors, I want to say something," I said, my tone heavy with meaning.

He seemed to sense the gravity of my words, but I brushed aside the expressions that flitted across his face, unwilling to let them deter me from my course.
"Sure, what is it, angel?" he asked, his voice slightly different, tinged with an edge of uncertainty.

I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage within me. "Let's end this, now," I said, putting emphasis on the final word.

As I looked up at his face, I felt my heart leap into my throat. Mors looked like a monster in that moment, his features twisted by rage and possessiveness. I was terrified, my hands trembling uncontrollably. He didn't speak, but his eyes said everything, and I realized with a sinking feeling that I had made a grave mistake. I had dug my own grave, and now I would have to face the consequences of my actions.