Married to the Cold Billionaire

Chapter 4

"Why are you calling me, Catherine? You have a husband for this. Tell him to buy whatever it is you and the baby are craving."

Catherine pouted at the phone, even though Brad couldn't see her. She had been scrolling through social media when a photo of a mango graham cake appeared, and the craving had hit her like a physical blow. She needed it. Every nerve in her body was screaming for that sweet, creamy layers of graham and mango.

She knew Brad’s office was right next to her favorite bakery. She didn't want to be a nuisance, but she also knew Brad was the one person who could never say no to her.

"You know how things are between us, Brad," she murmured, her voice losing its playful edge.

Brad knew everything. He and Anastacia were her only confidants, the only ones who knew that her "fairytale" marriage to Travis Ashford was actually a cold, silent prison. Brad had lectured her a dozen times, asking why she had let her parents push her into a marriage with a man who clearly despised her. Catherine never had an answer. Maybe it was a fool’s hope for a complete family, or maybe it was the secret love she still carried for him, despite his cruelty.

"Please, Brad? Do it for the baby? Don't you feel even a little bit sorry for me?"

She heard his heavy sigh on the other end, and a small, triumphant smile tugged at her lips. She had won.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But only because I like the kid."

"I love you, Brad!" she teased, laughing for the first time all day.

"Tsk. Just wait for your cake."

An hour later, her phone buzzed. Catherine scrambled off the bed, her heart lifting at the thought of her treat. She descended the stairs with measured steps—excited, but always mindful of the life she was protecting. She hurried past the security guard and out the gate, where Brad’s black sedan was idling.

As soon as he stepped out, she practically lunged for the paper bag in his hand.

"Someone’s hungry," Brad noted with a chuckle, leaning back against the car frame with his arms crossed.

Catherine didn't even wait to go back inside. She tore into the container, the first bite of chilled mango and cream melting on her tongue. She closed her eyes, letting out a small moan of delight.

"Messy eater," Brad whispered. Before she could react, he reached out, his thumb gently brushing a stray bit of cream from the corner of her lip.

The moment was warm and familiar until a deafening, aggressive blast of a car horn shattered the silence.

Catherine jumped so violently the mango graham cake slipped from her fingers, splattering onto the pavement. The hell?

She looked up, her heart dropping into her stomach. A sleek, familiar silver car was idling inches from Brad’s bumper.

Travis.

It was barely mid-afternoon. He was never home this early.

The horn blared again, sharper this time. The security guard rushed over, looking panicked. "Sir, you need to move," he told Brad. "Mr. Ashford needs to get through."

Brad’s expression shifted instantly from amusement to a cold, protective seriousness. He didn't look at the car; he looked at Catherine, gently taking her elbow to guide her out of the way. "I'll move," he said quietly.

Catherine watched as Travis’s car surged forward the second the path was clear, disappearing behind the gates like a predator returning to its den. She hurried to Brad’s window as he prepared to leave.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, clutching the remnants of the paper bag.

Brad frowned. "You don't owe me anything, Catherine. Just... be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

She waved him off and turned back toward the house, the sweetness of the cake now a bitter memory. She hadn't even reached the front door when a voice, sharp and cold as a winter wind, stopped her in her tracks.

"Catherine."

She turned. Travis was standing there, his silhouette towering and framed by the afternoon sun. He didn't just look angry; he looked lethal. He stepped into her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating. She gripped the paper bag until the handles bit into her skin.

"I don't care who you spend your time with, Catherine," he said, his baritone voice vibrating with a dangerous edge. "But do not ever bring your little flings to my property."

"Brad is just—"

"I don't care what his name is!" Travis snarled, cutting her off. "Let me make this very clear: Do not bring another man to my house again. If I see him here once more, you can pack your bags. I will personally drag you out to the street. Am I understood?"

He didn't wait for her to explain that she was just hungry, or that she was lonely, or that Brad was the only person treating her like a human being. He simply turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the driveway, trembling and alone.