Caged by the Prince, Saved by the Monster - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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"Wait!" I darted forward, cutting him off mid-step.
He froze. His head jerked to the side like he couldn't bear to let me see his face.
"I meant every word," I said firmly, holding his gaze without blinking. "You're my choice."
His fingers dug into the armrests until his knuckles bleached white. The tips of his ears burned crimson.
The silence stretched between us like taffy.
Then, barely above a whisper, Terrence muttered, "Mm."
For days after, mysterious packages of meds and vitamins kept appearing at my doorstep.
All courtesy of Terrence.
The gash on my forehead had crusted over, healing sluggishly. But each bandage change brought back the memory of his flaming ears, his rigid posture. And each time, warmth pooled quietly in my chest.
Days later, I walked into a high-end boutique and straight into my personal hell.
"Desmond, I want everything!" Gwen's saccharine voice trilled as I entered.
Her hand drifted to her stomach in that calculated little gesture she'd perfected.
Desmond's reply oozed indulgence. "Then take it all. Put it on Cassandra's account."
I strode deeper inside, my bitter laugh slicing through the perfumed air.
Desmond spotted me but didn't even blink.
No shame. No hesitation.
"You shoved Gwen last time. She got hurt," he recited mechanically. "Consider this reparations."
Gwen's eyes locked onto my jacket like a hawk spotting prey.
"Desmond," she breathed, "I need Cassandra's coat."
The clerk looked ready to faint. "This is a global limited edition! Ms. Mercier waited six months—"
Gwen dropped her gaze, playing meek. "It's fine... someone like me shouldn't expect such luxuries."
Right on schedule, her palm cradled her stomach again.
Desmond's jaw tightened.
He turned to me, voice granite-hard. "Your closet's overflowing. Hand it over."
I stared him down. "Why would I?"
"Call it damages," he growled. "That gallery shove left her knee black and blue."
As I opened my mouth, Gwen suddenly swayed like a sapling in wind.
Desmond caught her, panic flashing across his face. "Sweetheart?"
"I'm okay," she whispered, weakly shaking her head—then touching her belly again.
Desmond wheeled on me. "Cassandra. Give. Her. The. Coat."
I barked a laugh and nodded to the door guards. "Toss them."
They shifted uncomfortably.
One murmured, "Ms. Mercier... you're marrying into the Caldwells. Maybe hear him out?"
Before I could react, Desmond shot them a look.
That was all it took.
Next thing I knew, my back slammed onto icy marble, pain spiderwebbing through my spine.
"Strip her," Desmond ordered.
The clerk stood petrified. "Sir—"
Desmond sneered down at me. "Save it. She's been obsessed with me for years. Once we're married, I'll own her anyway."
The clerk's hands shook as she fumbled with the buttons.
When they ripped the coat off, rage vibrated through every nerve.
I wanted to rake my nails down his smirking face.
Desmond draped the coat around Gwen like royalty. "Now this is how it's meant to be worn."
Gwen nibbled her lip. "But... what if Cassie causes trouble?"
Desmond whipped out his phone, snapping photos of me—disheveled, humiliated, sprawled on the floor. "Try anything," he hissed, "and these go viral."
"Desmond, you're a fucking waste of oxygen," I spat.
My nails carved half-moons into my palms.
That look—the same arrogant cruelty from my past life.
A clerk silently offered me a silk scarf. No words. Just dignity. I wrapped it around myself and marched out, fury scorching my throat.
Dad took one look at my bruises and turned to stone.
The sharp tang of antiseptic hung in the air. A teacup sat beside him.
He hurled it against the wall where it shattered like a gunshot.
"That Caldwell bastard touched you?" His voice could've leveled cities. "We're burning them to the ground."
He froze. His head jerked to the side like he couldn't bear to let me see his face.
"I meant every word," I said firmly, holding his gaze without blinking. "You're my choice."
His fingers dug into the armrests until his knuckles bleached white. The tips of his ears burned crimson.
The silence stretched between us like taffy.
Then, barely above a whisper, Terrence muttered, "Mm."
For days after, mysterious packages of meds and vitamins kept appearing at my doorstep.
All courtesy of Terrence.
The gash on my forehead had crusted over, healing sluggishly. But each bandage change brought back the memory of his flaming ears, his rigid posture. And each time, warmth pooled quietly in my chest.
Days later, I walked into a high-end boutique and straight into my personal hell.
"Desmond, I want everything!" Gwen's saccharine voice trilled as I entered.
Her hand drifted to her stomach in that calculated little gesture she'd perfected.
Desmond's reply oozed indulgence. "Then take it all. Put it on Cassandra's account."
I strode deeper inside, my bitter laugh slicing through the perfumed air.
Desmond spotted me but didn't even blink.
No shame. No hesitation.
"You shoved Gwen last time. She got hurt," he recited mechanically. "Consider this reparations."
Gwen's eyes locked onto my jacket like a hawk spotting prey.
"Desmond," she breathed, "I need Cassandra's coat."
The clerk looked ready to faint. "This is a global limited edition! Ms. Mercier waited six months—"
Gwen dropped her gaze, playing meek. "It's fine... someone like me shouldn't expect such luxuries."
Right on schedule, her palm cradled her stomach again.
Desmond's jaw tightened.
He turned to me, voice granite-hard. "Your closet's overflowing. Hand it over."
I stared him down. "Why would I?"
"Call it damages," he growled. "That gallery shove left her knee black and blue."
As I opened my mouth, Gwen suddenly swayed like a sapling in wind.
Desmond caught her, panic flashing across his face. "Sweetheart?"
"I'm okay," she whispered, weakly shaking her head—then touching her belly again.
Desmond wheeled on me. "Cassandra. Give. Her. The. Coat."
I barked a laugh and nodded to the door guards. "Toss them."
They shifted uncomfortably.
One murmured, "Ms. Mercier... you're marrying into the Caldwells. Maybe hear him out?"
Before I could react, Desmond shot them a look.
That was all it took.
Next thing I knew, my back slammed onto icy marble, pain spiderwebbing through my spine.
"Strip her," Desmond ordered.
The clerk stood petrified. "Sir—"
Desmond sneered down at me. "Save it. She's been obsessed with me for years. Once we're married, I'll own her anyway."
The clerk's hands shook as she fumbled with the buttons.
When they ripped the coat off, rage vibrated through every nerve.
I wanted to rake my nails down his smirking face.
Desmond draped the coat around Gwen like royalty. "Now this is how it's meant to be worn."
Gwen nibbled her lip. "But... what if Cassie causes trouble?"
Desmond whipped out his phone, snapping photos of me—disheveled, humiliated, sprawled on the floor. "Try anything," he hissed, "and these go viral."
"Desmond, you're a fucking waste of oxygen," I spat.
My nails carved half-moons into my palms.
That look—the same arrogant cruelty from my past life.
A clerk silently offered me a silk scarf. No words. Just dignity. I wrapped it around myself and marched out, fury scorching my throat.
Dad took one look at my bruises and turned to stone.
The sharp tang of antiseptic hung in the air. A teacup sat beside him.
He hurled it against the wall where it shattered like a gunshot.
"That Caldwell bastard touched you?" His voice could've leveled cities. "We're burning them to the ground."
End of Caged by the Prince, Saved by the Monster Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Caged by the Prince, Saved by the Monster book page.