The morning after the storm of whiskey and words, Ervin woke with a pounding head—and a heart that felt even heavier. Sunlight pierced through the curtains like knives, but it wasn't the hangover that haunted him.
It was her face.
Leigh.
The way her eyes widened in disbelief. The tremble in her voice. That flicker of betrayal he swore didn't matter—but somehow, it wouldn't leave him alone.
He told himself it had to be said. That she needed to hear the truth. That she needed to understand her place in all of this.
But the truth?
He wasn't finished with her. Not yet.
Downstairs, the Montemayor estate exhaled wealth in silence. Staff moved like shadows. Breakfast sat untouched.
He couldn't eat. Not with the noise in his head.
By the time he opened the door to her room that afternoon, he'd rehearsed the cruelty in his mind like a script he was determined to deliver.
She wasn't prepared.
Leigh was folding linens—a task beneath her title, but fitting in his eyes. Her hands froze when she saw him.
"Ervin?" she asked, softly. Cautious.
He stared at her like she was filth on his shoe.
"We're talking," he said coldly.
She nodded, voice trembling. "About last night?"
"No. About this lie we're stuck in."
He stepped inside, the air tightening.
"Tell me, Leigh—when did you find out this marriage was a joke? When did you realize you were just a pawn in a rich man's game?"
"I don't understand—"
"My grandfather chose you," he snarled. "Do you get that? You were never mine to choose. You were handed to me like a dirty bribe. A leash. A Montemayor wife—just what the board wanted. Just what he ordered."
"Ervin, I didn't know. I swear—"
"Don't insult me," he snapped. "You walked into this mansion with fake innocence and a real agenda. You played sweet. Silent. Perfect. Convenient. You knew what this was."
Her voice cracked. "I thought... I thought you agreed—"
"I wasn't in anything with you," he growled. "I was blackmailed. Cornered. You were the hook baited with a wedding dress."
"I never wanted to trap you," she whispered.
"But you did," he spat. "Maybe not on purpose, but that doesn't make it better. You're not some lost little girl. You're a transaction. A signed contract with pretty eyes."
Leigh flinched. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want you to get it. You don't belong here. You were bought. You were delivered. You weren't chosen—you were placed."
Tears filled her eyes, but he didn't stop.
"You think this is about love? Don't be stupid. You're not someone I could love. You're... forgettable. Bland."
"That's not fair—"
"You're not fair. Life isn't fair. Do you know what it's like to work your whole life to build something, only to be told the final piece is a woman you didn't even pick? Do you know what it's like to be forced to feed and dress someone you can't stand—because when my grandfather speaks, no one disobeys? Not even me."
She shook her head, sobbing now. "Please stop..."
"Stop? I haven't even started," he hissed. "You come from nothing. A nobody with a pretty face. Your family probably begged to sell you off. You were probably the best bargain they ever made. 'Send her to the Montemayors. She'll eat three times a day and wear silk. Who cares if she's unwanted?'"
"Stop it—"
"You were a stray they dressed up to look expensive," he growled. "But I see through it. Every fake smile. Every forced courtesy. You're not my wife, Leigh. You're my sentence. A punishment. And I've done nothing to deserve you."
"I didn't ask for this either!"
"Oh, shut up!" he exploded. "You benefited! Don't pretend you hated the mansion. The staff. The money. Don't pretend you didn't like wearing the Montemayor name. It was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you know it."
She looked at him, shattered. "You don't even know who I am."
"And I never wanted to. I didn't choose you, Leigh. And I never, ever would've."
He turned his back, hand on the doorknob—but then paused. Looked over his shoulder one last time.
His voice cut like shattered glass.
"And don't even think about telling my grandfather about this," he said quietly, dangerously. "You breathe a word to him, and you'll regret it more than you already do."
He slammed the door behind him.
Leigh dropped to the bed, as if his words had knocked the breath from her lungs. She curled in on herself, sobbing—not graceful tears, but ugly, soul-deep cries that tore through the silence of the room she was never truly welcome in.
And as the silence rang louder than her sobs, a single thought tormented her:
"I thought this was all his plan. I thought he was the one who chose me."
She clutched her chest, breathing ragged.
But why does it feel like I'm the one who deceived him?
She remembered that afternoon—when she spoke with Ervin's grandfather. It was a short, respectful conversation. They didn't talk about marriage or arrangements. He simply told her about Ervin—about his accomplishments, his drive, his burdens. There was no coldness in his voice, no sign of cruelty. Just quiet pride, and something almost tender.
And then he said it.
"Ervin chose you."
That line had stayed with her ever since. It didn't sound like a command. It didn't sound like a scheme. It sounded... genuine.
But now, with Ervin's words still echoing in her mind—"I never chose you"—Leigh couldn't help but question everything.
Why would his grandfather say that?
Why tell her Ervin chose her if that wasn't the truth?
Ervin made it sound like his grandfather had complete control over him. Like he had no say, no freedom. But to Leigh, the man never seemed that overbearing. Strict, maybe—but never unkind. Never the tyrant Ervin made him out to be.
So what was the truth?
Why was Ervin so convinced he was forced into this?
And why did she feel like she was the one being punished?
There was no comfort in the silence now.
Only a growing storm in her chest.
It's strange, she thought bitterly. I used to crave a home. But ever since I entered this one… I've never felt more lost.
And deep down, something told her—
This wasn't the end of her confusion.
It was only the beginning.