My Billionaire Husband Killed My Mother to Keep Me Caged

There had been too many incidents like that to count. To keep my mother alive, I'd swallowed every humiliation he threw at me. But seven days ago, my mother desperately needed five hundred thousand dollars for surgery. Benedict agreed without hesitation, promised it like it was nothing. Then he never paid. My mother died. I had nothing left to lose. This deformed excuse for a marriage? I was done with it. Three years of marriage. Three years without freedom. Now, I was leaving this cage. I didn't waste words arguing with Benedict. I would let my actions speak. While he took Abigail to the hospital, I quietly packed my things. Standing before the mirror, I cleaned the wound on my forehead. I couldn't afford a doctor, so I pressed a large bandage over it and sealed it shut. My phone buzzed. Abigail played the sweet, docile darling whenever she was around Benedict. But in private, she made a point of posting on social media and tagging me. This time was no different. It feels so good to be loved. The photo showed Benedict holding her hand, surrounded by over a dozen specialists he'd hired just for her. My fingers tightened around the phone. Tears spilled before I could stop them. When my mother was on her deathbed, Benedict wouldn't spend a cent to save her. But Abigail got slapped once, and he spared no expense flying in a team of specialists for a consultation. The irony was almost poetic. I'd never understood why Benedict married me when he didn't love me. I still didn't understand. But I no longer cared to know the answer. If he didn't love me, I'd simply leave. After tending to my wound, I started gathering my belongings. That was when I realized how pitifully little I actually owned. I took off the jewelry he'd given me, and a dull ache spread through my chest. When my mother was dying, Benedict refused to help. I'd planned to sell the jewelry and designer bags he'd gifted me to cover the cost. They were all fake. Every last designer bag was a knockoff. The jewelry was costume. Worthless. And the car I'd been driving was registered under Barnes Group, not my name. I couldn't sell that either. Three years of marriage, and all I had to show for it was a body covered in scars. Once I finished packing, I drafted the divorce papers. That night, Benedict didn't come home. The next morning, I took the papers to his office at Barnes Group. I wanted this marriage over. The sooner, the better. When I walked in, Abigail was perched on his lap, the two of them flirting and laughing. The moment she saw me, she jumped up, her voice dripping with concern. "Amanda, does your forehead still hurt?" "Abby, you're always so thoughtful." Benedict caught her hand and pulled her back into his arms. He looked at me. "Finally come to your senses? Here to apologize?" I set the divorce papers on his desk, my expression calm. "I already signed." Benedict frowned. He picked up the agreement. "You're walking away with nothing?" He looked up at me. "What do you even have without me?" "You think you can survive on your own?" He hurled the papers at my face. "Now that your mother's better, you've forgotten your place?" He pulled out a pen. "Fine. I'll sign. Pay back every dollar I spent on her medical bills first." "You're sure you want me to do that? Want to push this?" "Benedict, as your wife, I'm legally entitled to half of everything you own." "Right now, I'm asking for nothing. Just sign, and we go our separate ways." "Don't push your luck." "Sure, we can split assets. Or I can walk away with nothing." He stared at me, a cold smile forming. "Go ahead. Take me to court." "But just so you know, my monthly salary is one dollar. My personal savings are under a hundred." "The house, the cars, everything is in the company's name."

"The company belongs to my father. What exactly do you think you'd walk away with?" "How about I give you all the savings?" Benedict pulled out a contract as he spoke. "You signed this yourself. It states that Barnes Group covers your mother's medical expenses." "On the condition that you fulfill your role as Mrs. Barnes. If you file for divorce, the company has every right to terminate payment for your mother's treatment and recoup every cent already spent on you." He walked up to me and slapped the contract against my face. "Leaving with nothing and calling yourself noble? Is that it?" "If we actually divorce, you won't just leave with nothing. You'll owe us. You won't see a single dollar. You'll be paying us back." "Now, get on your knees in front of Abigail and apologize. Do that, and I might forgive you this once." "Benedict, let it go." Abigail stepped forward. "She's probably just upset because you haven't spent time with her lately." "Women just want their men around more, that's all." "Why don't you spend the next few days with her instead?" "Abigail, you're too understanding for your own good. She's not worth a fraction of you." Abigail smiled coyly. "Different strokes for different folks. If every woman were the same, how boring would that be?" Benedict tapped the tip of Abigail's nose. "You little temptress." He turned and glared at me. "Get out. If it weren't for Abigail putting in a good word, I wouldn't have let this slide." I looked at him. "Benedict, calculate exactly how much I owe the company." "Have it sent to me before tonight." Benedict's expression darkened. He took a step toward me. I opened the camera on my phone. "Go ahead. Try hitting me again. I'll make sure you learn exactly how expensive every bruise costs." "Don't look at me like that. The moment I decided to divorce you, it stopped mattering who you are out there or how much power you hold." "To me, you're nothing." "Benedict, I am getting this divorce." By the time I reached the lobby of the building, my back was soaked through with sweat. Years of being beaten down and humiliated had left me terrified he would hurt me again. I hadn't expected that when I actually stood up to him face-to-face, he wasn't nearly as powerful as I'd imagined. Freedom felt closer than ever. But I hadn't expected that the moment I got home, the people Benedict sent were already there. "Ma'am, Mr. Barnes had this gown prepared especially for you." "He mentioned you rescued a drowning child and hit your forehead in the process. How brave of you." The same routine, all over again. Every time Benedict hit me, if I ended up injured or visibly bruised, he'd put on a show like this. He called it compensation. But every gown was the wrong size. This one, like the others, was clearly too small. It was cut for Abigail's frame. The jewelry that came with it looked familiar too. Before I left the office, it had been draped around Abigail's neck. I sent Benedict's people away, and then I laughed. In the first two years of our marriage, I'd fought back against his humiliation. His first response was to have bodyguards put me under house arrest. I kept fighting. Then he started using my mother's safety as leverage. I'd been worried just moments ago that bodyguards would show up to restrict my movements. It seemed I'd been overthinking it. In Benedict's mind, the woman I was now would never dare defy him. Even after I'd stood my ground today, he still held the trump card: my mother. As long as he had that, he could act without fear. He believed he could control me whenever he pleased. My laughter turned to tears. I cried until I couldn't breathe. The old me had been so desperate for freedom. But I had never wanted to buy that freedom with my mother's life. It turned out grief had a way of arriving late. But now wasn't the time to let sorrow consume me. I had to leave. Benedict wouldn't sign the divorce papers willingly, and filing for divorce right now would only create more complications. So I'd disappear completely. Go somewhere he'd never find me, then file after six months of separation. My mind was made up. I gathered the few things that were truly mine and walked out of that cage. Benedict, the son of the city's wealthiest man, was busy preparing for that evening's gala when I left. As dusk settled, the Barnes estate glittered with lights and overflowed with distinguished guests. Benedict was the center of it all, the star around which everyone orbited. In public, I'd always been the one on his arm. His reputation in the outside world had always been sterling. Only I knew how filthy and disgusting he truly was. Benedict kept glancing at his watch. "Where's Mrs. Barnes?" "She said she was coming. Should I run by the house and check?" Soon his phone rang. The assistant on the other end could barely string a sentence together, stammering several times before finally getting the words out. "Mrs. Barnes isn't home. She never touched the gown." "There's a divorce agreement on the table." His phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor. In that instant, it hit him that this time, I was really leaving. His chest seized. For the first time in his life, he understood that a person could actually suffocate from the pain of a single moment. The color drained from his face, and his body swayed sideways before he could stop it. Gasps erupted around him.