Caged by the Prince, Saved by the Monster - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

"What?" His voice cracked. "No way. That can't be right. I'm supposed to be the groom!"
He turned to me, his tone shifting to that pathetic wheedle he thought still worked on me. "Cassie... Are you still upset? Stop making this difficult for Gwen, and I promise—I'll marry you."
My laugh came out sharp and humorless. "I already told you. I'm not marrying you."
"No!" he shouted, desperation creeping in. "That's impossible! You've been chasing me for years! You're always saying you want to be my wife!" His glare snapped to Terrence, venom dripping from his words. "You'd actually marry a cripple just to spite me?"
"Desmond," I cut in coldly, "watch your mouth. Terrence is the future head of the D'Angelo family. You're nowhere near important enough to insult him."
His face twisted into something ugly and bitter. "How could you... how could you choose him?"
I didn't bother responding.
Instead, I turned to the emcee and took the microphone.
"Thank you all for coming to witness my marriage to Terrence D'Angelo," I announced, my voice carrying clearly across the hall. "And while I have your attention, there's something I need to address."
I locked eyes with Desmond, watching his face go pale.
"This man—Desmond Caldwell—has been spreading delusional rumors about marrying me. Worse, he's been deliberately sabotaging my businesses." I swept my gaze across the room. "If anyone here supports his actions, consider this your notice to cut ties with the Mercier family starting today."
The silence shattered into gasps and murmurs.
Someone near the back snorted. "Ms. Mercier must be joking. Him? The Caldwell heir? Give me a break."
Another voice chimed in, "Everyone knows his mother was just a mistress. The real wife threw her out, and she lost her damn mind!" A guest nearby added, "The only reason anyone called him 'Golden Boy' was for his looks. Thought he was special just because he's pretty."
I watched the crowd's reaction shift—shock giving way to hushed whispers and growing disgust.
It was satisfying, so I continued.
"And just to be clear," I projected, "Desmond wasn't even on the list when names were drawn. One more thing..."
I tapped play on my phone.
His voice blasted through the banquet hall speakers—that call where he casually confirmed Gwen's pregnancy. The recording played crisp and clear for everyone to hear.
The backlash was instant.
"So it really is his mistress's baby?"
"Got her pregnant before even securing the wedding? Disgusting."
"The guy's pure trash. Nothing more."
Desmond lunged forward, but security moved faster. They restrained him as he thrashed and screamed like a madman.
He was dragged out, still shouting.
Gwen didn't even try to follow. She collapsed under the weight of the crowd's judgment, buried her face in her hands, and fled.
I turned back to the guests, smoothed my dress, and walked calmly to Terrence's side.
"Now," I said with a smile, "let's get back to the wedding."
After the ceremony, we returned to the D'Angelo estate—a sprawling testament to generational wealth, timeless elegance, and quiet power.
Terrence sat upright in his wheelchair, his tailored black suit immaculate, every line precise. He looked composed, like a man who'd finally claimed his rightful place.
That evening, his grandmother Katherine summoned me to a private sitting room.
Her thin hands trembled in mine, the skin nearly translucent with age.
"Cassie," she began softly, her voice fragile, "Terrence has never had it easy. Even before he was born, someone was trying to harm him. There were people after the D'Angelo family's medical secrets. They poisoned his mother while she was pregnant." Her voice caught. "He was born with that poison in him. A condition we've spent years trying to treat. And if you ever feel—"
"Grandma," I interrupted gently, covering her hands with mine. "Terrence is more than enough."
Later that night, I found Terrence at his desk, his posture rigid, like he was bracing for rejection.
I chuckled softly. "You look like you're waiting for a death sentence."
His gaze dropped, voice rough. "I'm not the one you deserve, Cassie. This marriage... I don't deserve it."
I stepped closer, sliding my fingers under his collar. "Terrence, I married you because I wanted to. I choose you."
He didn't move, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
I loosened his tie, my fingertips brushing the warm skin of his neck. His breath hitched.
"Let me see you," I murmured. "Please."
His Adam's apple bobbed, but he didn't refuse.
I slipped his jacket off, the fabric falling away. My hands traced his chest, feeling the heat beneath my touch.
Suddenly, Terrence grabbed my wrist. "Cassie, I—"
"Shh," I whispered, closing the distance. My lips met his before he could protest.
He trembled under the kiss.
That night, I gave him everything—my warmth, my trust, and the truth I'd been too afraid to say aloud.
The next morning, golden sunlight streamed through the curtains.
I turned my head—and froze.
His silver mask lay abandoned on the pillow.
My breath caught.
For the first time, I really looked at him.
The scars? The so-called deformity? The "monstrous" disfigurement? Nonexistent.
What I saw stole the air from my lungs.
Brows sharp and perfectly angled. A strong, straight nose. A jawline carved to perfection. And those eyes—amber and luminous, deep enough to drown in.
Beneath his left eye, a single beauty mark—small, teardrop-shaped, achingly delicate.
Next to him, Desmond paled into insignificance.
I stared, heart pounding.
Terrence stirred, blinked awake, and caught me looking.
He reached for the mask, panic flashing in his eyes. "Did I scare you?"
I caught his hand before he could grab it.
"No," I breathed, pulling him toward the mirror. "Look. You're beautiful."
He froze before his reflection, disbelief written across his face.
Then, without warning, he stood.
Not unsteadily. Not weakly.
Just stood. Solid. Whole.
Our eyes locked, and for a moment, time stopped.
Then he laughed—bright, breathless—and swept me into his arms, spinning me around. "Cassie! I'm healed!"
Still barefoot, Terrence dragged me down the hall, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Dad! Grandma!"
Katherine turned so fast she dropped her spoon. Her mouth fell open, eyes welling with tears.
She reached for his face, his legs, speechless.
"The heavens have blessed us," she whispered. "Cassie, you're a gift to this family."
Terrence's father, Bernard, stepped forward, fingers pressing to his son's wrist. He stayed silent, brow furrowed as he checked the pulse.
Then Bernard leaned in and murmured something to Terrence.
Instantly, Terrence flushed scarlet—ears, neck, all the way down.
It turned out the D'Angelo family's ancient medical journals held a forgotten cure. The poison could only be purged through a bond with someone born with a rare empathic constitution. It required more than science—it demanded a union of emotion, body, and soul, a connection forged through marriage that was both intimate and unbreakable.
And what we'd shared that night, whether by fate or chance, had healed him.
Sunlight flooded the dining room that morning, but Terrence's radiant smile put the golden rays to shame. In that moment, I realized he'd never need to hide behind that mask again.
His recovery transformed the entire D'Angelo household with joy, but the change went deeper than just his physical healing. He treated me like I was his entire universe—and "lavish" didn't even begin to cover it. First came the private luxury cruise ship purchased just for us. Then the custom-built garden villa where every stone, every blossom, every window was selected specifically with my tastes in mind.
One tranquil afternoon as we strolled hand-in-hand through the gardens, the fading light dappling through the trees, he finally shared the memory that had haunted him. "When I was a boy," he said quietly, "the other children would pelt me with stones whenever I dared show my face at banquets. You were the only one who stood up for me—who chased them away."
My heart clenched.
So that's why he'd tried to wipe the blood from my face all those years ago—back when Terrence was still confined to his wheelchair and I was locked in that damned cage. Even while Desmond had him beaten and thrown out like garbage, he'd knelt to gently clean my wounds. The memory surfaced now with startling clarity.
After our wedding, news of Desmond's downfall spread through Metropolis like wildfire. The Caldwell family showed him no mercy—that stolen fifty million was returned with interest. Overnight, my father severed all ties with their mining project, despite Desmond's previous boasts about the Caldwell name being essential. The consequences were brutal: Caldwell Industries' stock plummeted, hemorrhaging over a billion dollars in days.
Vincent Caldwell's rage knew no bounds—he beat Desmond so savagely he broke his son's leg. Then came the scandal that sealed his fate.
Gwen and Desmond's affair became the talk of the town, the gossip spreading faster than a grease fire. Margaret Caldwell, who'd always despised Desmond's mother, finally snapped—demanding Gwen terminate the pregnancy. Gwen simply vanished. Some claimed she went underground to protect the child; others said she fled to escape the fallout. No one knew for certain.
I never expected to see Desmond again—not so soon, at least. But fate had other plans.
The evening I went to collect Terrence from the private club, the dimly lit halls were unusually quiet. And there he stood—Desmond, pale and motionless as a marble statue outside a private room. From within came Gwen's sharp, mocking laughter.
Through the cracked door, I saw her lounging on a velvet chair like royalty, legs crossed, swirling a glass of red wine. "Desmond?" she scoffed to her companion. "He's just a pretty-faced bastard who thought he was still the Caldwell heir. I only stuck around for the perks."
At the hesitant question about the baby, Gwen rolled her eyes. "That was just a scheme to milk him for more. Turns out he's completely useless—couldn't even handle Cassandra Mercier properly." She took a satisfied sip. "His mother was insane, wasn't she? Publicly beaten by Margaret? You think I'd tether myself to that toxic bloodline?"
Outside, Desmond stood frozen, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles bleached white. He looked like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.
Gwen continued callously, "I'll tell him I miscarried in a few days. Honestly, the whole family's trash—"
I'd heard enough. Turning to leave, I was startled when Desmond suddenly chased after me. "Cassie—" His voice broke with a raw desperation I hadn't heard since before the cage incident.
I kept walking.
He grabbed my wrist. "Wait!"
Wrenching free, I turned with an icy laugh. "What could you possibly have left to say to me, Desmond?"
His ashen face, sunken eyes, and trembling lips painted a pathetic picture. "I haven't stopped thinking about you—not for a single second these past weeks."
I tilted my head, my voice like tempered steel. "Let me guess—now that you've discovered Gwen's deception, you think I'll take you back?" My smile held no warmth. "Life doesn't work that way."
"No! That's not—" He stepped closer desperately before suddenly cutting himself off, his gaze locking onto something behind me.
I turned.
There was Terrence—walking toward us with effortless strength. No wheelchair. No cane. Just steady, confident strides. His perfect posture and calm, commanding presence filled the hallway like a force of nature.