PART I
THE GILDED CAGE
1
AN ALMOST MISSED OPPORTUNITY, EVE
I'm cursingmorning traffic while firing off a desperate text:
Sorry, I'm going to be late.
I hit send to my boss, Cal.
When will you be here?
I don’t know.
Flashing lights and sirens surround the crowded bus. I look out the window at the unmoving cars around us. “Unbelievable,” I say under my breath.
“There's been an accident,” the woman next to me says, like she’s offering some grand revelation. “It could be much worse. You young people are always rushing. Never waiting. Never seeing the signs. If you want my advice, relax and let fate find you naturally. If you push too hard, you might end up with the darker side of the fate you deserve.Trust me, I know.”
I force a smile. “Sorry, unless you're the Oracle of Delphi, I'm not really looking for a lecture on destiny right now. My only concern is paying my bills this month. Something that must concern you too, since you’re sitting on this bus, just the same as I am.”
She presses her lips into a thin line and looks away, leaving me to stew in the endless brake lights. I tap my black heels against the floor as I wait for a reply from Cal. When my phone pings, it's not the message I want to see.
That's a pity. You were my first choice for this promotion.
Shit!I want this promotion more than I've wanted anything in years. I've excelled in my three years at the Terra Sanctum hotel, the “hidden jewel,” so exclusive it doesn't even have a sign. I'm a natural at working for the rich and powerful, and I want to see how far I can go in this exclusive world, even if I’m just the staff.
The bus driver's deep voice crackles over the intercom. “Looks like there's been an accident.”
What the hell, man? I look at him through his reflection in the mirror. Did he just wake up and realize he’s at work? We’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes surrounded by sirens.Why is everyone on this bus so content just to sit here?
I look out the window at the emergency services going by and try to console myself that this isn't the only promotion, but deep down I know better. At Terra Sanctum, coveted promotions only come around every few years, and nothing is transparent about the company’s hiring practices. But one thing is always the same; it’s always a move to another city and another hotel.
So the next time one rolls around, my life might have morphed into something I can't escape. I might have settled for some mediocre relationship or taken on debt I can't afford and be trapped in the same hand-to-mouth existence that's haunted me since I left the system.
My eyes sweep over the other people on the bus, my peers. Everyone is lost in their own digital world, faces bathed in the blue glow of screens, thumbs scrolling endlessly through feeds.
I don't have any social media accounts to lose myself in. I like my privacy. No, Iobsessovermy privacy like a dragon and its hoard. It's the one luxury I've managed to afford in a world that wants to know everything about everyone.
But it’s no surprise I’m not active on social media. For the first twenty years of my life, I shared air, blankets, and heartbreak with a carousel of girls at St. Catherine's. There, privacy was only a myth, and everything was “borrowed.” My purple barrette, which was a secret gift from Sister Agnes for my eighth birthday, just vanished one day. My dog-eared copy ofAnne of Green Gableswent missing for months only to reappear with all the Gilbert Blythe scenes ripped out. Even the cheap spiral diary where I poured my heart into fantasies about being adopted became communal entertainment, thanks to my bully, Briar, and was passed around for laughs.
Even my file hadn’t been my own. The sterile biography of my whole existence belonged to strangers who never met me, never even cared to meet me, and yet rubber-stamped every decision that shaped my life until I reached adulthood.
At eighteen, I finally gained legal access to said file, and I spun dangerous daydreams while I waited for it to be mailed to me. I imagined tragically sentimental stories, like my mother died while giving birth to me and my father was unaware I even existed. Then I would take a DNA test, and a match would trigger a tearful reunion with a man who swore he would have never put me up for adoption if he’d only known I existed.
But the reality hit harder than any orphanage mattress. Two signatures. Two checked boxes: NO CONTACT.
Sister Agnes had watched me rip the manilla envelope open in her office, so she was there for my complete collapse. She told me, “Peopleleave babies for a thousand reasons. Most of them aren't about the child at all.”
“Not about me?” I'd snapped with tears streaming down my cheeks. “This was entirely aboutme. I’m a person, a human being, and they weren’t even curious about the life that they had created together. Even without any strings attached. They rejected me without even knowing me!”
It was like finding out I was an orphan all over again; even though I had always been an orphan, seeing it in black-and-white made itreal. It made it permanent. I cried for weeks until my state-assigned roommates finally lost their patience and gave me the tough love I needed to survive.
“My file said, 'parental rights terminated due to substance abuse.' Briar's said, 'abandoned at hospital.' We all have an ‘unwanted’ sign stamped on our foreheads, Eve. Yours just uses different words. You’renotspecial.”
They were right. I learned to forget my dreams of ever having parents or a family. I looked away when I saw lucky girls with their parents on the street. I kept reminding myself that that kind of life wasn’t for me.
