The Billionaire's Caged Wife I Found Love After You

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On Valentine's Day, the Harbor City tabloids ran a front-page spread on the crown prince himself.

Rising Supermodel Tests Stamina 13 vs. 15, Edwards Narrowly Loses to His Buddy

The photos showed a hotel room in shambles, littered with the evidence of twenty-eight used condoms. Split evenly between Bertram Edwards and his friend. The next morning, someone had counted. Bertram's tally: thirteen.

The day after the story broke, the rising supermodel posted coyly on social media:

"It's only because he felt bad for me last night said I looked too tired, so he conceded. Otherwise? He wasn't even close to done."

I knew Bertram had always been competitive.

Back when a mainland tycoon offered a billion dollars to buy both my paintings and me, Bertram flew into a rage and dropped ten billion to take me along with every last asset that tycoon owned back to Harbor City.

That was how the city got its favorite metaphor: the "billion-dollar bride." Proof, supposedly, of how much the Edwards family valued their new wife.

Bertram had even played along with the tabloid circus this time, commenting: "What can I say? Once you marry her, you've got to take care of her. At my pace, I'd wreck her. Better to eat my fill elsewhere before heading home."

And just like that, the whole city understood. No wonder I'd never gotten pregnant. The crown prince had brought me home as nothing more than a trophy wife.

The same day the story dropped, the supermodel posted a photo of a pregnancy test two pink lines, clear as day.

"One shot was all it took with Mr. Edwards."

Now all of Harbor City was laughing, betting the billion-dollar bride was crying her eyes out.

I didn't want to disappoint them. So I went to the supermodel's comment section and posted my baby's one-month photo.

"Sorry for the late reply I've been on maternity rest. My boyfriend doesn't like me spending too much time on my phone."

Before I posted that, Bertram hadn't come home in two months.

Harbor City wasn't that big, when you thought about it. East side to west side, no traffic, two hours tops.

The truth was simple: he just didn't want to come back.

At first, I couldn't get used to it. A three-story mansion all to myself. The emptiness was suffocating.

The tabloids loved it, of course. "Billion-Dollar Bride Alone in Her Wedding Home" each headline more pitiful than the last.

Every once in a while, Bertram would swing by to offer a line or two of explanation. He'd sit on the sofa, a freshly lit cigarette pinched between his fingers.

"Cheryl Henson, after all these years, you still haven't figured out how to be a proper wife to a man like me?"

"Do I need to teach you myself?"

He lifted his gaze to meet mine, his expression unreadable. "You're a smart woman, Cheryl."

That was him giving me a hint.

He'd never been one to waste words. He said just enough and left the rest for you to figure out.

And after all these years of reading between his lines, I finally understood what kind of wife he'd wanted all along.

Pretty. Polished. Graceful. Gentle.

And above all else strong enough, forgiving enough, to look the other way while he kept every woman he wanted on the side.

So now, because of my comment, he'd finally remembered he had a home to come back to.

He sat on the sofa, unhurried, and lit a cigarette.

"Cheryl, I always thought you were the obedient one. What's this? Picking up tricks from those other women, trying to start something with me?"

"Delete the comment. It's a bad look."

From the day I'd chosen to be with him, I really had been the obedient one. No tears, no tantrums, no fighting, no demanding. And somehow, that was exactly how I'd ended up as Mrs. Edwards.

So he didn't believe my comment. He assumed I was throwing a tantrum to get his attention.

The crown prince of Harbor City, after all, had more than enough confidence for that.

I reached over and snuffed out his cigarette. "The secondhand smoke clings to me. It's bad for my baby."

He went still. Then he slammed the lighter down on the marble coffee table with a sharp crack. "Are you done? Is this fun for you?"

"Forget whether I believe it. You probably don't even believe it yourself."

"What did the doctor say after the avalanche? Have you already forgotten?"

I lowered my head in silence. I hadn't forgotten.

It had been a brush with death. Bertram and I had gone skiing in Switzerland over the holidays when an avalanche hit. We were buried beneath the snow for three days and three nights.

During those three days, he held me tight against his chest. He stripped off his own clothes to keep me warm. Every scrap of food went to me.

He'd said, "Cheryl, if I don't make it out of here, I want you to remember me for the rest of your life. Don't you dare find another man."

By some miracle, the rescue team found us.

But after we got back, the doctor told me that the prolonged exposure to freezing temperatures had most likely left me unable to conceive.

"Go get changed. I'll take you out tonight, clear your head."

His voice softened. He stood and crossed the room, blocking my path. "Come on, Cheryl. I'll move back in tonight."

He leaned close to my ear and murmured, "Your period just ended, didn't it?"

Then he kissed my forehead and walked out.

He didn't know that after giving birth, periods don't come back right away.

The moment the door clicked shut, my phone rang.

On the other end, I could hear the baby crying.

The man on the line chuckled softly. "He's saying he misses his mommy."

"When will the divorce be finalized? If he won't agree, I can step in and handle it."

I turned him down. "That won't be necessary. Soon. The lawyer says a week at most."

If he got involved, it would cause another citywide scandal.

I refused to go to the party with Bertram.

He left with a flash of anger in his eyes. "Cheryl, you're getting more and more disobedient. Suit yourself."

But that evening, while packing my things, I realized the identity documents were with Bertram. I had no choice but to go find him.

Inside the private room.

"Haven't you gotten bored yet, Mr. Edwards? Cheryl Henson is just some nobody from the sticks. Don't tell me you actually caught feelings."

I was about to push the door open.

Bertram's voice carried through. "Bored? Of course I'm bored. Why do you think I keep swapping them out, one after another?"

"How else could I have lasted five years?"

I froze.

This was the fourth year of my marriage to Bertram. By my count, we were one week shy of five.

Laughter and agreement rippled through the room. All of them were Bertram's usual crowd.

"Cheryl Henson? She's nothing but a little toy Mr. Edwards picked up on a whim."

"'The nation's purest beauty'? Please. She was entertainment. And she actually believed she was the Edwards family's young wife?"

"If Mr. Edwards hadn't bet me he could bag this so-called purest beauty and keep her playing the dutiful Mrs. Edwards for five whole years, would she ever have had the chance to sit at the same table as us?"

A woman's flirtatious giggle cut through, followed by a chorus of jeers.

"Come on, Mr. Edwards. You're the one who took Rachel's virginity. The least you can do is treat her right."

"Thirteen rounds tonight might not be enough, huh?"

The woman's voice turned syrupy and coy. "Oh, stop it..."

I pushed the door open. The room went dead silent.

The woman perched on Bertram's lap was Rachel Keane, the rising supermodel.

She was squirming on top of him, her skirt hiked so high it barely covered anything.

Every pair of eyes turned to me. Not one held surprise. Only contempt. Only scorn.

I walked straight toward Bertram. I looked at the woman draped over him.

"Sorry to interrupt the fun."

"I just need your car keys. I left something behind."

Rachel didn't so much as flinch.

Bertram had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other resting on her bare thigh, his fingertips tracing lazy circles against her skin.

He looked up at me. "Still that good temper of yours. You said you weren't coming, but you couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Couldn't even come up with a decent excuse. That desperate to take me home?"

He tossed the keys at me. "Fine. Since you've swallowed your pride, I'll give you one more chance..."

I smiled faintly and asked, "What home do we even have left?"

That caught him off guard. He blinked, momentarily speechless.

I didn't give him a chance to recover. I turned and walked away.

All this time, I'd believed the spectacle he'd made when he married me meant he truly loved me. I'd fallen deeper and deeper, until I couldn't imagine a world without him.

And in the end, I was nothing but a bet he'd made on a whim.

Bertram's expression darkened with anger. "Pick your battles, Cheryl. This isn't the place."

My feet didn't stop.

I needed to get to the courthouse and file for divorce.

Behind me, one of his friends called out, "Bertram, she's an orphan from the mainland. No family, no connections, and certainly not here in Harbor City. Where's she going to go without you?"

Bertram's voice was unhurried, almost lazy. "Exactly. She's got nowhere to go. By tomorrow morning, she'll come crawling back to beg."

He sounded so sure of himself.

I paused. Turned around. "Bertram, do you really think I have nowhere to go?"

He let out a cold laugh. "What are you putting on this brave face for? Where would you even get the nerve?"

"You might've had a little fame back on the mainland when you were young, but that was five years ago. You're a married woman now. How exactly do you plan to sell that innocent sweetheart image of yours? By painting with your crippled hand?"

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

Laughter erupted around the room.

Rachel stood up on her own, grabbed a glass of wine, and sauntered toward me.

"I've heard Mrs. Edwards was quite the prodigy in her younger days. Such a shame about the car accident, though. Lost a finger saving Mr. Edwards." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "I truly envy the love you two share."

She extended the glass until it nearly touched my lips. "Mrs. Edwards, since we're both here to keep Mr. Edwards company, we might as well call it fate. Do me the honor. Have a drink. Let's be friends."

I swung my hand and knocked the glass away before it could reach my mouth. "You're the other woman. On what planet would we be friends?"

The glass hit the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

Rachel's face twisted. She spun around to Bertram, teeth clenched. "Mr. Edwards, did you see that?"

Bertram waved her over. "She's just putting on airs. Come here. I'll drink with you."

Rachel smiled and turned back, but as she passed me, she rammed her shoulder hard into mine.

I wasn't braced for it. The impact sent me stumbling, and I crashed to the floor.

The back of my hand landed squarely on the scattered shards of glass.

White-hot pain shot straight through my bones.

Someone nearby sneered, "Well, there goes the other hand. She really won't be painting anymore."

"Shut your mouth!"

Before I could say a word, Bertram's voice cracked through the room like a whip. He was on his feet in an instant, striding toward me.

The private lounge went dead silent. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

Everyone in Harbor City knew the same thing: when Bertram Edwards lost his temper, half the city felt the tremor.

He crouched down and scooped me into his arms. His gaze fell on my palm, torn and bloody from the glass.

"You're okay. I'm taking you to the hospital."

I turned my face away from his touch and said nothing.

The people in the lounge exchanged uneasy glances. Not a single one opened their mouth.

Bertram set me in the passenger seat. "Just hold on a little longer. We'll be there soon."

I leaned back against the headrest. My eyes drifted to the center console, where the edge of my identity documents peeked out from the storage compartment.

While Bertram's attention was fixed on the road, I slipped the documents out and tucked them into my pocket.

After my hand was bandaged and we were home, I texted my lawyer and told him to come pick up the documents.

"I have the identity papers. Push the divorce through. I need it done within a week."

Bertram didn't stay the night. As he left, I caught the glow of his phone screen. An incoming call from some rising young starlet.

I didn't give it a second thought. The next morning, I got up and started packing.

I hadn't expected Bertram to come back so early.

He saw the suitcase in my hand, and his expression darkened. "Cheryl, what are you doing?"

He closed the distance in one stride, and I caught it immediately the scent of another woman's perfume clinging to him.

I didn't answer.

He grabbed my wrist. "I'm talking to you. Answer me."

"Packing my things. Going home." I tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened.

"Home?" Bertram let out a cold laugh. "You have no one. No family, no connections. Where exactly would you go without me?"

He released me and tossed a document onto the table. "Read it. Then settle down and play the role of Mrs. Edwards like you're supposed to."

I opened the document, and my blood ran cold.

Bertram had relocated my parents' graves to Harbor City without my knowledge, without my consent.

My voice shook. "Bertram, have you lost your mind?"

"Those are my parents' graves. What gave you the right to move them?"

He leaned against the wall, a lazy, taunting smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "I haven't lost anything. Your parents are here now. So where exactly do you think you're going?"

Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the ashtray beside me and hurled it at his head. "You're insane!"

It struck his temple. Blood appeared instantly.

The pain turned his amusement to fury.

He stormed forward, seized my wrist, and dragged me toward the stairs. "Fine. Let's go. I'll take you to the cemetery myself. You can tell your parents to their faces that you'd rather send them to hell than stay."

I fought him with everything I had, screaming. "Let go of me! What did you do to my parents?!"

Bertram stopped. His eyes were dark, predatory. "You want to know? I'll show you."

He shoved me into the car and sped toward the outskirts of the city, toward the old temple.

When we arrived, he led me deep inside to a side hall. On a stone altar sat my parents' memorial tablets.

The moment I saw them clearly, my entire body went rigid.

The tablets were pinned beneath a slab of black iron carved with curses. Pale, ghostly lanterns flickered around them.

"You're a monster." My legs gave out. Tears streamed down my face, my voice breaking. "You're absolutely deranged."

Bertram wrapped an arm around my shoulders, but his tone softened, as if comforting a child.

"All you have to do is stay by my side. Then none of this has to be a problem."

"Stop crying. Today is my mother's birthday. You're coming with me to the banquet, and you will not upset her."

The car turned toward the Edwards family estate. Bertram glanced at me. "When we get there, keep your mouth shut. Grit your teeth and bear it. Don't make my mother angry."

My mind was still back in that temple, still on those tablets. I couldn't have cared less what Bertram was saying.

The Edwards estate was lit up like a palace, draped in silk and celebration. Tamara Edwards sat in the seat of honor, surrounded by a flock of young women from Harbor City's most prominent families.

She had never accepted me. Not once in five years. In her eyes, Bertram deserved a wife from old money someone who could give him heirs with the right bloodline.

As for pushing other women into Bertram's bed, she'd done it so many times I'd lost count.

Bertram had been raised by his mother alone. His devotion to her was absolute bordering on blind.

We walked into the main hall. Tamara's gaze swept over me and dismissed me in the same breath. She only addressed her son. "Bertram, come sit with me."

He pulled me forward with him. He wished her a happy birthday, and I murmured the same. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Tamara didn't so much as look at me. She held Bertram's arm and gestured to the young women flanking her. "These girls are all very accomplished. You should spend some time getting to know them."

The insult wasn't even veiled.

Bertram nodded. "Of course, Mom."

With Tamara's blessing, the women descended on our table like sharks scenting blood.

They exchanged glances, then circled me with wine glasses raised.

"Mrs. Edwards, it's your mother-in-law's birthday. You're not even going to have a drink?"

"What's the matter are you unhappy that we're here, or do you just not care whether she lives to see another year?"

"Come on, drink up. Stop acting so pure and innocent."

I pushed their glasses away. "I'm sorry, but I can't drink right now. My body isn't up for it."

I'd just given birth. I was still breastfeeding. Alcohol was out of the question.

But they wouldn't let it go, their voices dripping with provocation. "Are you trying to disrespect Mrs. Edwards?"

I looked to Bertram, hoping for something. Anything.

"Don't embarrass my mother," he said. "Just have a little."

Of course. His eyes held the same thing they always held: the Edwards family name. I was nothing more than a decorative piece to make it shine.

They forced the glass into my hand, their fingers closing around mine, squeezing until I had no choice but to grip it.

I was about to raise it to my lips when a sharp pain lanced through my lower abdomen. The glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

The crash cut through the banquet like a slap. Tamara's face twisted with impatience. "Cheryl Henson! After all these years, you still don't know how to behave!"

"You're a disgrace to this family! Go kneel in the ancestral hall and reflect on yourself. You are not to come out without my permission!"

"I didn't do anything wrong," I said. "I'm not feeling well. I really can't drink"

"Insolent!" Tamara's voice cracked like a whip. "When I tell you to kneel, you kneel!"

I looked at Bertram again. He frowned, but not at his mother. At me. "Cheryl, it's Mom's birthday. Don't upset her."

That was all the permission the servants needed. Two of them stepped forward, gripped my arms, and dragged me toward the ancestral hall.

The hall was bitter cold in the dead of winter, damp seeping up through the stone. The servants dropped me on the floor and left without a word. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, and I heard the lock click into place.

I lowered myself to my knees. The frozen ground bit through my clothes, and my whole body began to tremble. The pain in my abdomen grew worse, twisting deeper with every passing minute.

I knelt through the entire night. My consciousness drifted in and out like a tide pulling me under.

Just before dawn, my phone buzzed.

A message from him: "I've landed in Harbor City. I'm coming to find you."

Before I could type a reply, the doors swung open.

Bertram stood in the doorway, backlit by the pale gray light of early morning. "Cheryl. I hope you've learned your lesson."

"Come on. You need to go serve my mother her morning tea."

I lifted my head. My voice came out cold and hollow, stripped of everything. "I'm not going."

He paused.

"Bertram, I want a divorce."

"And the papers will be finalized soon."

"I came back for one reason. To divorce you."

A cold, humorless smile spread across his face. He seized my wrist, his grip bruising. "Divorce? You think you can divorce me without my consent?"

"This is Harbor City. Half this city answers to the Edwards name. Where exactly do you think you'll go?"

I wrenched my arm free. "Where I go is none of your concern. Or is it that the five-year deadline hasn't hit yet, and you can't stand the thought of losing your little bet?"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He grabbed me and hauled me to my feet. "I'm warning you. Stop this."

"What the hell are you talking about? Where did you hear that?"

He started dragging me toward the door. "Cheryl, what more do you want? Do you know how many women would kill for the title of Mrs. Edwards? And you treat it like it's beneath you"

His words came faster, hotter, his grip tightening with every step. His movements turned rough, reckless.

I fought back just as hard. We struggled against each other, pulling and pushing, and then my foot caught on nothing. I slipped.

I tumbled down the ancestral hall staircase, every stone step slamming into my body until I hit the ground at the bottom.

The pain in my abdomen exploded. Searing. Blinding. I looked down and watched blood soak through my pants, spreading fast, too fast.

The color drained from Bertram's face. He scrambled down the steps and scooped me into his arms, his hands shaking. "Cheryl! I didn't mean to Cheryl, I'm taking you to the hospital. Right now!"

He carried me out to the car and barked at the driver. "Faster. Faster!"

I lay against his chest, my vision blurring at the edges, the world going soft and dark. I watched his panicked face hovering above mine, and all I felt was the bitter taste of irony.

Too late. Everything was too late.

At the hospital, Bertram burst through the emergency room doors with me in his arms, shouting for a doctor.

They loaded me onto a gurney and rushed me into the trauma bay. Bertram stayed at the threshold, frozen, staring through the glass.

When the doors finally opened again, the doctor's expression was grim.

Bertram's face was ashen. "Doctor, how is she? What happened? Why was there so much blood?"

The doctor's gaze was sharp with reproach. "What did you do to her? She just gave birth. Emotional distress in a postpartum patient can trigger a massive hemorrhage."

Bertram went rigid, shock crashing across his face. "What did you just say?!"

"Just gave birth? How is that possible?!"