# May 3rd, 2019
Four months had passed. The days stretched, heavy with a growing weight.
~~~~ Anika POV ~~~~
Money. That’s what mattered, she realized. It was the cold, hard truth her parents had left her with when they abandoned her to her own devices. They didn't care. Not one bit.
Eight months pregnant, and still no word from him. The man she called husband – a rapist cloaked in a marriage license, who’d put her in this condition to produce an heir to his empire. A cold, calculated breeding program.
Day by day, her frustration climbed, a simmering rage that threatened to boil over. She needed to escape. She would escape. If this child was a girl, she would take her and run. Her daughter would be her shield against the darkness. A girl she could protect. But if it was a boy… she would leave him here. She couldn’t provide the life he deserved, the future this gilded cage promised. He’d thrive here, while she… she would disappear.
“Anika, drink this juice. It will make our grandson healthy,” her mother-in-law said, her voice saccharine. A wave of nausea rolled through Anika.
“Okay, Mom,” she replied, forcing a smile, and drained the glass in one go.
“I did a lot of shopping for our grandson. You want to see?” The woman chirped, beaming with a smug satisfaction. Anika nodded, plastering on the same fake smile she reserved for guests, the media, and her billionaire in-laws.
She was led to a room larger than her own. She’d moved into a smaller one months ago, driven by a need to distance herself from the memories that clung to the walls of the first. Images of him—the beast—haunted her. She couldn’t risk her child being born into the same darkness.
Listening to her mother-in-law’s endless chatter, she confirmed her own chilling certainty. In this world, a boy had the chance to be everything. A girl? A girl would be lost.
“Get ready, Anika. Today is your baby shower,” her mother-in-law announced, snapping her out of her thoughts.
“Ji,” she responded numbly, and allowed a maid to lead her back to her room.
Thirty minutes later, she was draped in heavy, expensive fabrics and weighed down with diamond jewelry. The weight pressed on her skin, suffocating her. She said nothing, her silence a carefully constructed armor. This was a billionaire’s party. Your dress, your gifts, your style—it all signaled your worth.
Downstairs, the function was arranged in a garden pavilion. She was seated on a golden swing, surrounded by women who offered blessings and expensive gifts.
“LIFE CAN’T SUCK ANYMORE,” she thought bitterly.
The women continued their chorus of prayers for a healthy son. Anika exhaled, a quiet desperation building within her.
“You will eat only this salad today. I want our grandson healthy,” her mother-in-law said, presenting a plate of boiled potatoes, cauliflower, and something else she couldn't identify. “And I want you to look fit again, before you're back to your old shape. I can't have an ugly girl showing off to society." Her words were meant as a joke, but they landed like shards of glass.
Anika nodded silently and began to chew the bland salad. She craved ice cream, something sweet, something comforting. But she couldn’t speak up. She knew the reward would be lectures on fitness and discipline.
“IT’S A GOLDEN CAGE AND I’M A PRISONER HERE, WHO CAN’T EVEN SPEAK WITHOUT PERMISSION.”
After dinner, everyone dispersed, and Anika finally retreated to her room. The best part of this gilded prison.
Once inside, she locked the door. A smile tugged at her lips. Every night, for weeks, an anonymous gift had appeared. A small, wrapped box. She hadn’t bothered to ask who it was from. She didn’t want to ruin it. She wanted to see the face of the person who was sending it. She knew it was a girl, by the little details she noticed in the gifts.
Excitedly, she tore open the wrapping paper and lifted the lid. Butterscotch ice cream.
“Awww! At least I get what I want.” She kissed the box and plunged her spoon into the creamy sweetness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OBEROI ENTERPRISES, LONDON
A man sat hunched over his laptop, his face etched with anger. The screen glowed in the dim room, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw. He’d been working through the night, and yet he looked as fresh as if he’d just woken. No tension lines marred his forehead, no hint of fatigue in his eyes.
A knock on the door. He barely glanced up.
“Say Julia,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Shivay, I want to make this official,” Julia Roberts, one of London’s most famous actresses, said, her voice tight with frustration.
“It’s not possible.” He turned back to his screen.
“But why?” Julia snapped, her voice rising. “I’ve been warming your bed for a month, confessing my love for you. You enjoyed it, too. What changed?”
“Because I’m married.”
“Break up with me if you must, but let's be real. There are a lot of actresses who would die for a chance to warm your bed. You were lucky I chose you. I don’t need a whore like you anymore.”
Julia screamed. But her voice was cut short as a guard slammed a hand over her mouth and two burly men dragged her from his office.
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Heyyy!!