Locked by the Billionaire Prince, I Married a Mad Heir

I carefully set the lipstick down, letting my fingertips tap a soft rhythm along the edge of the vanity.

On the other end of the line, Desmond spoke like he was offering me a favor, not a threat.

“How about this?” he said. “Transfer fifty percent of your shares to Gwen as a gift for the baby.”

He chuckled, smug and casual. “Anyway, once we’re married, what’s mine is yours too.”

In the background, Gwen’s voice chimed in, sugar-coated and delicate. “Desmond…”

Instantly, his tone melted like butter. “Don’t move, sweetheart. Be careful with your belly.”

Then, like flipping a switch, he was back to business, continuing, “As long as you agree, I’ll be at the wedding on time today.”

I didn’t give him a single word.

I ended the call, blocked his number, and didn’t look back.

...

When Terrence entered the hall, it was like someone had dropped a glass at a funeral. All conversation stopped, replaced by a low wave of shocked murmurs.

He was in his wheelchair, dressed in tailored black and still wearing that signature silver mask. But when his eyes met mine, they softened. They were warm and steady.

And then—boom. The doors slammed open.

Desmond barged in like the lead actor showing up late to a play, wearing a spotless white suit and flashing that same arrogant grin—until his eyes landed on Terrence beside me.

That smug expression collapsed like a house of cards.

“Cassie,” he said, his voice shaking. “What the hell is going on?”

His eyes narrowed in on Terrence, like he couldn’t believe what he saw. “Terrence?! What are you doing here?!”

The whole room had gone quiet. Of course it had.

Terrence D’Angelo didn’t go to events like this. Not ever.

I stepped forward and placed myself squarely between them.

Desmond’s face darkened, jaw tight. “Cassandra, it’s our wedding day. And you brought him here? What kind of twisted game are you playing?”

Right on cue, Gwen stepped out like she’d been waiting in the wings, one hand resting daintily on her barely-there baby bump.

“Cassie,” she said sweetly, “even if Desmond’s been spending more time with me lately, did you really need to drag a cripple here just to get back at him?”

I took a slow breath, trying not to let my temper spike. “Desmond—”

“Enough!” he snapped, grabbing my wrist like he had any right. “Starting today, I’m your husband. And this is how you behave?!”

I ripped my hand free, eyes locked on his.

Then came the emcee’s voice, booming through the speaker system:

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the wedding ceremony of Miss Cassandra Mercier and Mr. Terrence D’Angelo.”