Caged Since Birth
She wasn’t even born when he decided she would be his.
He was six—too young to understand love, but old enough to claim.
And when he first saw her, a crying bundle in pink, his world shifted.
It wasn’t affection.
It wasn’t care.
It was claim.
She was his.
Not because anyone said so, but because something in his bones declared it.
He wouldn’t leave her side.
He followed her like a shadow, possessive in ways no child should be.
She laughed. He smiled.
She cried. He raged.
And no one saw it for what it was—obsession blooming quietly beneath innocent skin.
Until her tenth birthday.
The crash.
The funeral.
The lie.
They said she was dead. That the fire took her too.
He broke that day. What was left of his innocence burned with her.
And for thirteen years, he lived in ruin—rich, powerful, dangerous, but hollow.
Until he saw her again.
Alive.
Breathing.
Beautiful.
His caged bird had returned. And this time, she wouldn’t fly away.
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