Chapter 1 - The Cage
Chapter 1 - The Cage
Content Warning & Information
This story contains elements of violence, tobacco and tobacco product usage, alcohol consumption, and restricted substances within the scope of its fictional narrative. These elements are handled purely for creative purposes to support the dramatic structure and character development. They do not aim to normalize, promote, or encourage any such behavior. Readers are advised to proceed according to their own personal sensitivities.
Publication Date: June 30, 2026
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“A person is taken captive most deeply where they believe they belong.”
Istanbul was not welcoming Catherine for the first time. It was merely reclaiming her for the first time. When she spoke her name at passport control, the officer’s gaze lingered for a second too long.
In that single second, Catherine understood one thing: nothing in this country was a coincidence. Especially not her arrival. Never.
Her phone buzzed; it was her father. A single-sentence message appeared on the screen:
"Sois élégante ce soir. Garde le sourire. Et ne pense même pas à t'échapper."
(Be elegant tonight. Keep smiling. And don't even think about escaping.)
As Catherine stared at the screen, a solitary sensation tightened in her throat:
A cage.
A few days before the events...
She held her final exam paper for the autumn term in her hand.
Her eyes involuntarily drifted to her own reflection on the black screen of the smartboard directly across from where she sat. Her pale complexion was adorned by cascades of red waves spilling over her shoulders down to her waist. Perhaps the only thing illuminating her somber face was her striking green eyes, gleaming through long eyelashes.
The invigilator’s warning that time was almost up forced her gaze away from the reflection and back to her paper. She checked her answers one last time to be certain, then handed in the paper and signed her name on the roster.
Catherine Elise Sinclair.
When she stepped out of the classroom, the heavy air of the corridor lifted from her shoulders. She took a deep breath. Keeping her expression perfectly serene, she began walking between the stone walls of Oxford.
Aware that she was being watched, her eyes instinctively scanned her surroundings. Sensing her father's shadow looming over her, she spotted his men scattered throughout the area. As always, they were positioned in the perfect spots. It was as though they were there not to ensure the security of the university, but to measure the exact radius of her freedom. For the first time that day, Catherine bypassed her usual path and turned in the opposite direction.
Her autumn term had ended today. Tomorrow, she was forced to return to Canada. Because of this, she wanted to enjoy the taste of liberty—as much as it was possible with guards trailing her—by walking. Besides, her home wasn't very far.
Moreover, the men behind her weren't protecting Catherine. They protected her father.
Her father... his reputation, his blueprints. And perhaps, because he feared Catherine might pose a threat to those very blueprints, he had attached dozens of them to her heels.
Walking over the cobblestones, Catherine reflected on her life once more.
She had been born and raised in Canada. For this reason, she spoke her native English fluently, and because of her father's constant demands, she knew Turkish remarkably well. Due to the region she grew up in, she also spoke French, like a significant majority in Canada. She was the only child of a Turkish father and a Scottish mother.
Perhaps... their only mistake.
She had been brought into this world as a strategic plan. The heir to a kingdom. The successor to an unshakable throne. And most importantly, an insignificant yet sole pawn in a game of vengeance.
The preparations made to ensure those plans came to fruition had turned her life into nothing short of a tragedy. A mother subjected to relentless psychological abuse... a woman who turned that abuse into hatred and aimed it at her own daughter. And a father burning to reclaim everything he had lost in the past... a man ready to burn his own daughter if necessary.
Catherine was the only one trying to emerge from this family wreckage without a scar. Until now, she had never been allowed to possess real emotions; she had learned to bury whatever she felt deep inside. The only human being in her life was Luca, a friend from her university class. The only moments she tasted freedom were the moments she sketched. Aside from studying and drawing, she held onto almost nothing. Perhaps that was why she had won a single ticket to escape Canada and this family:
Oxford University.
She had assumed her father would never let her go and had even made escape plans. Yet, Riza Karayel had brought her to the school with his own hands. Catherine still did not know why. A small, foolish hope lingered inside her: maybe, just for once, he had decided to care about his daughter. She had built a life for herself at Oxford. But during the holidays, she was forced to return to that house, which was no different from hell. And tomorrow would be one of those days again.
Catherine was about to turn into the street where her house was located when everything happened in a flash. Her mouth was covered forcefully, cutting off her breath. As her eyes widened with terror, two heavily built men began dragging her away. Catherine fought back reflexively, but her strength was incomparable to theirs.
The scent of the cloth pressed against her mouth burned her nasal passages. She tried to hold her breath.
One second... two seconds...
Then the world blurred. Her eyelids grew heavy. As Catherine collapsed into the arms holding her, the last thing she registered was the sound of a car door opening.
And then...
Darkness.
Catherine Elise Sinclair
I opened my eyes to the smell of mold and dampness filling my nose. I examined the surroundings, trying to comprehend where I was. The ceiling was low. The walls were blackened with moisture. In this place without a single window, the light came from a small fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling. A cold, narrow room resembling a warehouse. I was sitting on a chair.
Furthermore, I wasn't tied down.
Strangely, that made it feel worse. As if I were being dared to run, yet expected to stay put. I knitted my brows and tried to regulate my breathing, forcing myself to remember.
Last thing I knew, I had left the exam. I was walking home. Then someone covered my mouth. A cloth. A sharp scent. Then nothing.
Suddenly, I clung to the thought that my father's men might have witnessed this. Perhaps they had already informed him. Maybe they were looking for me right now. I had to hold onto this hope.
I flinched as the rusty iron door directly ahead creaked open. I stood up reflexively, fully intending to demand answers from whoever entered. But the face I saw knotted my stomach.
It was one of my father's closest bodyguards. As bewilderment and rage tangled inside me, my voice trembled.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe ? Pourquoi je suis là ?"
(What is going on? Why am I here?)
The man didn't give my anger a single flicker of expression.
As if I hadn't spoken at all, he walked over to a projection screen in the corner of the room that I hadn't noticed before. Pulling the screen down, he uttered only a single phrase:
"Veuillez vous asseoir."
(Please, sit down.)
Grit my teeth, I took a step toward him.
"Je veux savoir ce qui se passe ici. Immédiatement."
(I want to know what is happening here. Immediately.)
The guard pulled the screen all the way down and turned on the projector. An image flashed onto the screen. Then, without looking at me, he headed for the door.
"Vous allez le savoir d'un moment à l'autre. Je vous attendrai dehors."
(You will find out momentarily. I will be waiting for you outside.)
The door clicked shut.
For a second, I couldn't be sure if I heard the sound of a lock turning. I was about to walk toward the door when the sound coming from the screen froze me in my tracks. I turned around and saw my father.
"Va à ta place, Catherine. Écoute-moi bien."
(Go to your seat, Catherine. Listen to me carefully.)
His commanding voice strangled any notion of defiance before it could even breathe. I swallowed hard and, despite my reluctance, sat back down in the chair. In this life where you could do absolutely nothing without his permission, speaking was included in that rule.
Silently, I looked at the screen.
"Le jour J est enfin là."
(Judgment Day is finally here.)
The sickening excitement in his sentence turned my stomach. I didn't know what he was talking about. Worse, I had no idea where I fit into it.
"À Istanbul, Hakan Karahan organise une somptueuse réception pour célébrer les vingt-cinq ans de sa société."
(In Istanbul, Hakan Karahan is hosting a lavish reception to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of his company.)
Hearing him utter that name—which hadn't left his lips for years—with such relish for the first time sent a chill down my spine. A solitary feeling expanded inside me: nothing good was going to happen.
"J'attends ce moment depuis des années. Depuis le jour où il m'a poignardé dans le dos."
(I have been waiting for this moment for years. Since the day he stabbed me in the back.)
He paused for a beat. Then, he shifted his gaze directly to me.
"Et maintenant, tu es prête."
(And now, you are ready.)
My skin turned to ice.
"Moi ?"
(Me?)
"C'est ça, oui, toi."
(That's right, yes, you.)
The corner of his lips curled upward.
"Mon petit… mon doux cheval de Troie."
(My little… my sweet Trojan horse.)
I felt a surge of nausea. It became difficult to keep myself steady in the chair. I wanted to get out of here. To run. To escape. Never to return. But my father's voice pressed on.
"Pour cet événement, il a fait appel à la meilleure entreprise de catering du pays. Et je sais d’expérience que Hakan garde à ses côtés quiconque montre du talent."
(For this event, he has hired the best catering company in the country. And I know from experience that Hakan keeps anyone who shows talent close to him.)
My breath hitched for a moment.
"Grâce à mes relations, j'ai réussi à glisser ton nom dans cette entreprise de traiteur. Tu iras à cette réception en tant que chef. Tu vas déployer tous tes talents. Ce soir-là, tu dois impressionner Hakan Karahan."
(Thanks to my connections, I managed to slip your name into that catering firm. You will go to this reception as a chef. You will deploy all your talents. That night, you must impress Hakan Karahan.)
My father's eyes gleamed.
"Et tu feras en sorte qu'il te prenne auprès de lui."
(And you will make sure he takes you in.)
Then he added:
"Le moment est venu de rentabiliser toutes ces années de cours de cuisine."
(The time has come to make all those years of culinary lessons pay off.)
It was at that exact moment I questioned whether this man was actually human. He had raised me like a puppet for years.
Like a resume.
Like a project.
Like a weapon...
As I overflowed with these thoughts, in a rare moment of clarity where I would usually never dare, I defied him. I shoved the chair back harshly and stood up, walking toward the screen. My eyes were welling with anger, but I stubbornly refused to let him see it. I would not show weakness before him.
"Je refuse de faire partie de ton sordide jeu de vengeance. Et je n'en ferai rien."
(I refuse to be part of your sordid game of vengeance. And I will do no such thing.)
My voice didn't waver. I didn't allow it to.
"C'est auprès de l'un des hommes les plus dangereux de Turquie que tu m'envoies ?"
(Is it to one of the most dangerous men in Turkey that you are sending me?)
I took a breath.
"Tu jettes ta propre fille au feu pour assouvir ta vengeance ?"
(Are you throwing your own daughter into the fire just to satisfy your vengeance?)
My father's eyes darkened, but he didn't yell. He didn't need to. His silence was more lethal than shouting.
"À cause de ce bâtard, j'ai failli tout perdre."
(Because of that *******, I almost lost everything.)
The hatred on his face looked ready to spill through the screen.
"Mon nom. Mon honneur. Mes biens."
(My name. My honor. My assets.)
He paused.
"Ça fait des années que je vis comme un fugitif."
(I've been living like a fugitive for years.)
Then, he continued with a calmness as cold as a grave.
"J’ai tissé ce plan, fil par fil."
(I have woven this plan, thread by thread.)
His gaze locked onto mine.
"Et toi, tu es en première ligne de cette guerre."
(And you, you are on the front lines of this war.)
My chest tightened.
"Soit tu te bats… et tu prouves que tu es ma fille en survivant, soit tu capitules sans même combattre."
(Either you fight… and prove you are my daughter by surviving, or you capitulate without even putting up a fight.)
I shook my head in refusal.
"Garde tes sales besognes loin de moi."
(Keep your filthy business away from me.)
I turned toward the door.
"Je ferai mes études. Je serai architecte."
(I will complete my studies. I will be an architect.)
I took another step.
"Pas un monstre dans ton genre."
(Not a monster like you.)
Just as I was about to exit, my father's voice echoed from behind, pinning me to the spot.
"Si tu ne montes pas dans ce foutu avion pour la Turquie…"
(If you don't get on that damn plane to Turkey…)
He paused for a beat.
"Tu perdras ta mère."
(You will lose your mother.)
My blood ran cold. Tears rushed to my eyes, but I didn't cry. I couldn't give him this moment of vulnerability. I spun around.
"Tu n'oserais pas."
(You wouldn't dare.)
A smile belonging to a man who had already won surfaced on my father's face.
"Tu sais mieux que quiconque de quoi je suis capable."
(You know better than anyone what I am capable of.)
My heart was hammering wildly against my ribs.
"Pourquoi tu fais ça ?"
(Why are you doing this?)
My father answered with a single sentence.
"Parce que tu es mon plan."
(Because you are my plan.)
I shook my head. For a split second, I hoped a miracle would happen and I might touch the human being inside him.
"C'est moi, ta fille."
(I am your daughter.)
My father's reply came instantly, and I felt something I thought had long since died shatter inside me once more.
"Tu n'es qu'un simple pion sur un échiquier."
(You are nothing but a simple pawn on a chessboard.)
In that exact moment, the last shred of hope within me died. I fell silent and walked quietly toward the door. In this war where the victor was already decided, taking further blows was meaningless.
His amused voice drifted from the screen behind me.
“Fais bon voyage, ma fille."
(Have a good trip, my daughter.)
He stopped.
"Et n'oublie pas…"
(And don't forget…)
The poison in his voice was sweet.
"Si tu tentes de fuir, mes chers petits oiseaux en informeront Hakan. Une petite confidence sur ce que vaut réellement leur talentueuse cheffe."
(If you attempt to flee, my dear little birds will tip off Hakan. A little secret about what their talented chef is actually worth.)
While my hand gripped the doorknob tightly, my father continued.
"Et il s'occupera de ton cas sans que j'aie à lever le petit doigt."
(And he will take care of your case without me having to lift a finger.)
I opened the door and stepped out.
The final sentence trailing behind me struck my ears just before the door slammed shut.
"Amuse-toi bien en Turquie !"
(Have fun in Turkey!)
End of Chapter.
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-solandis
