I was born into silk and gold, but that didn’t mean I was free.

People think my life is perfect—wealth, status, power. They don’t see the cage. They don’t see how my parents smother me in luxury, how the world handles me like I might break.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to run, dance, live. Then the accident happened. No one talks about it. Not my parents. Not me. But I remember—the flashing lights, the pain, the stillness. The moment I realized my legs would never listen to me again.

That was the day I stopped being Clarissa Laurent and became something to be managed. A delicate problem. A pity case. And if the world wanted to treat me like a burden, I’d become one.

They send caretakers. I break them. Some leave crying. Others quit before I can push them further. Either way, they always leave.

And today? The game resets.

Another one stands in my doorway, clutching a bag like it’s a lifeline. I stare at her from my bed, silk sheets cool against my skin. She’s pretty, but that doesn’t mean anything. They always are.

I let the silence stretch, enjoying how she shifts under my gaze. Then I sigh dramatically, draping an arm over my forehead.

“Oh, good. Another one. How long do you think you’ll last?”

She blinks, confused. I smile—slow, sweet, poisonous. Like a cat toying with a mouse.

“Well?” I gesture lazily toward my wheelchair. “Push me somewhere interesting. Or are you as useless as the last one?”

Her expression shifts. Annoyance? Defiance?

Oh?

This one might actually be fun to break.