Naomi
I hold Leo until my arms ache. I memorize the weight of him, the scent of his hair, the way his small hand fists the fabric of my shirt. This is the only thing in the world that is real. Everything else is ash and noise.
He eventually squirms out of my grasp, his five-year-old attention span exhausted by my sudden, desperate need for comfort. “Can I have a cookie, Mommy?”
“Of course, sweetie.” My voice is a thin, reedy thing. I watch him scamper over to the cookie jar, his small world still intact, still safe. It’s a world built on my back, and the foundation is cracking.
I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over the contact for Chloe, my best friend. What would I even say? A ghost from my past came back from the dead to buy my son and me like property? She would tell me to fight. She wouldn’t understand that fighting means losing Leo.
I find the crisp, expensive business card Jacob’s lawyer left on the counter. Arthur Sterling, Esq. The letters are embossed, sharp against my fingertips. I dial the number before I can lose my nerve.
It rings once.
“Sterling.” The voice is clipped, efficient. Impatient.
“This is Naomi Foster.”
A brief pause. “Mr. Renner is pleased you’ve chosen to be reasonable. I’ll text you an address. Be there tomorrow at ten a.m. sharp.”
“What for?” The question is stupid. I know what for.
“To finalize the contract, Ms. Foster. And to ensure you become Mrs. Renner.” He says it with the same emotional investment as if he were discussing a stock purchase. The line goes dead.
The address that appears on my screen is in the financial district, a place of steel and glass towers that scrape the sky. A place I don’t belong.
The next morning, I dress Leo in his nicest shirt. I put on a simple dress that feels like a shroud. We take a taxi that feels like a tumbrel on its way to the gallows.
The law office is on the fiftieth floor. The lobby is a cathedral of marble and hushed reverence for money. Arthur Sterling meets me at the elevator. He’s a man made of sharp angles and a perfectly tailored suit. He doesn’t offer a hand, just a curt nod.
“Mr. Renner is waiting.”
He leads me into a boardroom. A mahogany table stretches for what feels like a mile, surrounded by leather chairs. At the far end, Jacob stands looking out a floor-to-ceiling window at the city spread below him like a kingdom. He owns it. He owns me.
He turns when we enter. He’s wearing another flawless suit, this one a dark grey. His eyes find mine for a second, then immediately drop to Leo, who is hiding behind my leg.
Jacob’s entire posture softens. He crouches down, bringing himself to Leo’s level. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle. It’s the voice of the boy I remember, and hearing it now is a special kind of torture.
“Hello, Leo. My name is Jacob.”
Leo peeks out. “Are you my daddy?” he whispers, the question a tiny silver arrow straight to my heart.
Jacob’s gaze flicks to me, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths, before returning to our son. “Yes. I am.”
“The paperwork, if you please,” Sterling says, gesturing to the table. He spreads a thick stack of documents across the polished surface. “If you’ll just sign here, and here… and here.”
I don’t read the words. I know what they say. They say I am his. They say Leo is his. I pick up the heavy, gold-plated pen. My hand shakes as I sign ‘Naomi Foster’ for the last time.
“Excellent,” Sterling says, gathering the pages. He produces a single, final document. “The marriage certificate.”
I sign again. My new name feels like a brand. Naomi Renner.
Jacob hasn’t moved. He’s still focused entirely on Leo, talking to him in low tones about cars and superheroes. He is building a bridge to my son while I sign away our freedom.
“It’s done,” Sterling announces. Jacob stands up, his attention finally shifting.
“Good,” he says. “My moving team will be at her apartment in one hour. Have them pack everything. I want them moved into the penthouse by tonight.”
It’s not a request. It’s an order. He walks over to us, his presence sucking all the air out of the room.
“It’s time to go home, Leo,” he says, his voice still soft, directed only at our son.
Leo looks to me for confirmation. I give a jerky nod, because my throat has closed up. He takes Jacob’s outstretched hand.
I watch them walk out of the boardroom together, my son’s small hand engulfed in his father’s. A perfect picture. A perfect lie.
I was right. It wasn’t a wedding. It was a corporate takeover. And I was the primary asset.
Just as he promised, the movers are a swarm of quiet, efficient men in identical uniforms. They descend on my small apartment above the bakery with a ruthless precision, wrapping my mismatched furniture and boxing up my life. I stand in the middle of the chaos, useless.
Leo is thrilled by the activity. He follows the men around, chattering excitedly. To him, it’s an adventure.
“Where are we going, Mommy?” he asks, his eyes bright.
I kneel down and force a smile. “To a new house, sweetie. A really big one.”
“With him?” he asks, meaning Jacob.
“Yes. With him.”
He nods, satisfied. The ease with which he accepts this is another knife in my gut. Jacob has been gone for Leo’s entire life, yet he walks back in and claims his place in an afternoon.
The penthouse is… vast. Calling it an apartment feels wrong. It occupies the top two floors of the tallest residential building in the city. The elevator opens directly into a living area with ceilings so high they make me dizzy. One entire wall is glass, offering a breathtaking, terrifying view of the city lights.
The furniture is all sharp lines and muted colors. Greys, blacks, and whites. There isn’t a single photograph, not a single book left out, not a single sign that a human being actually lives here. It’s a showroom. A museum. A cage.
“Wow,” Leo breathes, running to the window and pressing his hands against the glass. “It’s like we’re in an airplane!”
Jacob is there, standing by a floating staircase made of steel and glass. He watches Leo with that same possessive hunger I saw in the bakery.
“Your rooms are upstairs,” he says, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. He’s speaking to me now. “Leo’s is the second on the left. Yours is at the end of the hall.”
“I need to go back,” I say, my voice sounding small. “The bakery…”
“Has been taken care of,” he cuts me off. “I had my team close it down for the evening. We’ll discuss its dissolution tomorrow.”
“Its dissolution?” I repeat, the words catching in my throat. “You can’t just…”
“I can,” he says, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “And I have. Your focus is here now. On our son.”
He turns his attention back to Leo. He’s holding a small, exquisitely detailed model of a vintage sports car. “I thought you might like this, Leo.”
Leo’s eyes go wide. He takes the car reverently. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.”
I watch them, a man and a boy, silhouetted against the glittering city lights. Jacob gets down on the marble floor, showing Leo how the doors on the tiny car open. He is patient. He is gentle. He is everything a father should be, and every perfect gesture feels like a perfectly aimed blow. He isn’t just buying my compliance; he’s winning my son’s heart, brick by brick.
Later, after I’ve put a bewildered but happy Leo to bed in a room larger than my entire old apartment, I find Jacob in the vast living room. He’s standing by the window again, a glass of something dark in his hand.
“He’s asleep,” I say, my voice tight. I keep my distance, hugging my arms around myself.
“He seems to be adjusting well.”
“He’s five. Everything is an adventure. He doesn’t understand that his life was just stolen from him.”
Jacob turns to face me. The cold mask is back in place. “His life wasn’t stolen. It was upgraded. He will have access to the best schools, the best healthcare, a future without limits.”
“And a mother who is a prisoner.”
“You are not a prisoner, Naomi. You are my wife.”
I laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that gets lost in the high ceilings. “Don’t call me that. This isn’t a marriage. It’s a hostage situation. Let’s be very clear about the terms of this… arrangement.”
He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving my face. “Go on.”
“I will be a mother to my son. I will live in this house. But that is all. You will not touch me. You will not share my bed. This is a business deal, remember? I am part of the price. The deal is closed.”
He walks toward me slowly, stopping just out of arm’s reach. The air between us crackles with six years of anger and betrayal.
“Fine,” he says, his voice a low murmur. “Separate rooms. Separate lives. But in front of our son, and in front of the world, we are a family. You will play your part. Is that understood?”
“You get what you paid for,” I spit back.
A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Good. Then we have an understanding.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the sterile, silent room with nothing but the billion lights of the city staring back at me. Each one feels like the eye of a spectator, watching me in my beautiful, expensive new cage.
