The Womanizer's Mute Wife

“There’s nothing wrong with breaking her legs to keep her. Or chaining her to the bed. She’s mine.”

She was looking for freedom. He gave her obsession—wrapped in tenderness.

Genesis Caldwell thought escaping her abusive home meant salvation—but her arranged marriage to billionaire Kieran Blackwood might be its own kind of prison.

He’s possessive, controlling, dangerous. Yet in his own broken way… he’s gentle with her.

To Kieran, Genesis isn’t just a wife. She’s everything.

And he’ll protect what’s his. Even if it means destroying everything else.

The Cage I Call Home

GENESIS

“Wake up, you little freak.” That was my morning greeting before a bucket of freezing water drenched me, soaking my thin bedding and making me shiver uncontrollably.

“What do you think you’re doing, sleeping this late? Do you think you’re royalty while we serve you?” Mark, my stepbrother, sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. Before I could fully wipe the water off my face, he kicked my bed, sending me tumbling to the floor with a painful thud. My jaw slammed against the wooden boards, sending a jolt of pain through my skull.

But I knew better than to stay down. If I valued my life, I had to get up, quickly. Without a second thought, I pushed myself off the ground, ignoring the ache in my jaw as I stood upright.

My shoulders instinctively hunched as I faced them, bracing myself for whatever came next. Mark was bad enough, but Jimmy, the older of my stepbrothers, was far worse. His cruelty wasn’t just physical, it was insidious, calculated.

Jimmy stepped forward, and I stiffened, my stomach knotting with dread. He reached out, tucking a strand of my wet hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering far too long. My skin crawled at his touch, but I forced myself to stand still. Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I didn’t dare let them fall.

“Mother wants to see you,” Jimmy said, his tone deceptively soft. He didn’t pull his hand away, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a way that made my heart race with panic.

“And don’t keep her waiting,” he added, his voice dropping an octave, a warning I knew not to ignore.

I flinched back, slipping out of his reach as quickly as I could. The tears escaped despite my efforts, but I wiped them away furiously before descending the stairs. Monica couldn’t see them, not her.

When I entered the kitchen, I froze in the doorway. Monica, my stepmother, sat on a stool, a glass of something amber in her hand. Even from across the room, I could smell the alcohol. Her sharp eyes were fixed on a stack of papers in front of her, but the moment she noticed me, she sneered.

“What are you standing there for like a useless statue? Get over here,” she snapped.

Startled, I nodded and stepped forward, keeping my eyes on the ground.

“Pathetic,” she muttered as her gaze swept over me. “You