When Love Becomes a Cage by Nora

Chapter 3

Chapter 3



Before we walked down the aisle, Clyde and I had a prenup. He wanted a partner, and I was more interested in financial security. Each month, Clyde would transfer $200,000 into my account, assuring me I could ask for more if necessary.

He often remarked that he knew my love for him was conditional on financial comforts. Otherwise, why would I have left him years ago for that wealthy heir from Silicon Valley, only to return after a two-year hiatus?-

Clyde remained clueless about the true identity of the "wealthy heir" everyone discussed until then, but he believed I was just another gold digger. Despite the monthly allowance, I rarely asked for money. Yet, even with $200,000 a month, I often scraped by. To prevent my cancer from returning, I relied on expensive medication and tests, which drained my finances.

Today marked only the second time I'd asked Clyde for money since my mother's funeral.

Back then, he didn't hesitate to hand over one million dollars.

But this time, he gently brushed Kayla's hair as if he hadn't heard my request, soothing her with tender words. After Kayla calmed down, he looked up at me with a cold smirk and said, "Want money? Fine, but first, apologize on your knees. You hurt Kayla. You owe her an apology!"

Faking surprise at first, Kayla quickly switched to a smug smile. She tugged at Clyde's sleeve, acting coy. "Oh, come on, Clyde, let it go. I'm not that hurt. Maybe Melanie didn't mean it."

"It doesn't matter. Melanie needs to apologize. You're my priority," Clyde said, placing Kayla gently on the couch before pulling out his checkbook and scribbling a figure. "Apologize, and this five million dollars is yours."

check, feeling momentarily relieved from the pain. Clyde had a history of inviting women over to humiliate me, but that was always behind closed doors. In public,

knew I wouldn't ask unless it was

everyone's eyes on

her earlier words,

was in was blasting

I said, turning to leave the office and their

to torment me because he hated me. But it was about more than just my pride

on the brink of collapse. The pain from my cancer

Remembering my mother's ste

some melatonin, hoping for even

to .Org

buzzed with a message

can schedule your surgery for the next Monday. Please come by to make the payment in the

no bank alerts or incoming funds. Closing my eyes,

sensing my silence, the doctor sent another message, suggesting a deposit to secure the surgery date. I didn't respond. Without money, how could

tried to empty my mind, planning to sell my designer bags the following day if necessary. Right then, I

and Clyde was just an orphan boy. I had convinced my father to

despite his coldness and repeated