It had been nearly two weeks since Leigh Madrigal became Mrs. Montemayor—on paper, if not in love.
The Montemayor estate was vast and cold, draped in glass, steel, and shadows. The mansion didn't feel like a home; it felt like a vault. Airy and grand—but lifeless.
But even inside that frozen luxury, Leigh moved with quiet resolve.
Despite her new status, she swept the floors, tidied the vast living room, and often lingered in the kitchen—not out of duty, but to feel real.
Though there were people everywhere, it was only one voice that truly acknowledged her.
"Ma'am," came a gentle, aged tone, "you don't need to do this. The staff can handle it."
Santiago, the butler, was in his seventies. He walked slowly but with pride, his back straight despite the years.
He had been in the Montemayor household longer than Leigh had been alive.
Leigh gave him a small smile. "I know. But it makes me feel... less like furniture."
Santiago chuckled softly, and though his face rarely changed, his eyes held warmth. "You are nothing like furniture, Ma'am. And we're not blind. We see you try. You do more than what's expected. Not many would."
He wasn't alone in that thought.
The maids—Riza, Lanie, and Jenny—were initially timid around Leigh, unsure whether she'd act entitled. But she surprised them. She folded her own clothes. Washed her own dishes. Said thank you. Even asked how they were.
"She's too kind," Lanie whispered once in the hallway, watching Leigh dust the shelves with quiet care. "This house will break her if Sir Ervin keeps looking at her like she's dirt."
Every night at 7:15 PM, Ervin Dale Montemayor entered the mansion. His presence was a clock in itself—unshaken, cold, precise.
Dinner was always served at the massive dining table, where he and Leigh sat opposite each other. The long stretch of wood between them felt more like a chasm.
No words. No glances. Just the mechanical ritual of eating.
The first night, Leigh had tried to greet him.
He had ignored her.
Since then, silence ruled.
But Leigh still tried.
That day, she rose early, helping Lanie prepare ingredients even before the sun rose. She baked bread from scratch—her mother's old recipe. Made pumpkin soup. Roasted chicken with lemon and rosemary.
Even Santiago quietly admired her from the corner of the kitchen.
"You don't need to prove anything, Ma'am," he said gently as he poured her tea.
"I'm not trying to prove anything," she replied, voice tired but sincere. "I'm just trying to feel like I belong somewhere."
Santiago didn't answer. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes said you already do.
7:15 PM came.
Leigh stood near the dining table, heart quietly pounding as Ervin walked in, as always—perfectly dressed, detached, unreadable.
She served him personally.
"I cooked tonight," she said carefully. "Thought I'd make something... real."
Ervin said nothing. Picked up the spoon. Took one mouthful.
And stopped.
Ervin placed the spoon down slowly, the clink echoing through the silence like a warning bell.
He didn't look up right away. When he did, his eyes were dead.
"This tastes like pity."
Leigh's lips parted slightly. "I—I just wanted to—"
The bowl slid.
Then toppled.
Then shattered on the marble floor, soup spreading like a stain neither of them would acknowledge.
Ervin rose from his seat—slowly, deliberately.
"Do I look like someone who needs your scraps of effort?" he said, his tone low but venomous. "What part of this delusion made you think you could waltz into my life, serve me food, and fix what isn't yours to touch?"
Leigh froze, her breath shallow.
"You are not my wife, Leigh," he continued, stepping closer, voice rising ever so slightly. "You're a purchase. A signed inconvenience. A body to fill a legal requirement."
Her fingers trembled at her sides.
"I didn't come here to be your problem," she whispered.
He scoffed. "You are a problem. One I didn't choose. One I don't want. You smile at the staff like that makes you noble. You cook meals like it erases where you came from. You think a little kindness can earn you a place here?"
He leaned in, voice like frost.
"This house chews up the weak. And you, Leigh, are just one cracked plate away from disappearing."
Her throat burned, but she didn't cry.
"I'm trying," she said. "That's more than you've ever done."
Ervin let out a cold laugh. "You're trying for what? My attention? My affection?" He looked her over like she was a stain on glass. "You really think I'd ever want someone like you?"
Leigh took a shaky breath. "If I'm so worthless, then why do you keep paying them? My aunt and uncle—every month."
Ervin's eyes darkened.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know enough," she said. "And maybe I'm not the one pretending."
His jaw clenched. His voice dropped lower.
"You don't get to speak like that in my house. You're only here because I allow it. Don't confuse decency with obligation. You want to feel useful? Stay out of sight."
Then, with the cruelty of a blade laced in ice, he added—
"You want to feel wanted? Try another man."
The words echoed in the room like a slap.
But Leigh didn't flinch. Not visibly.
She wanted to answer—I can't. Not because he forbade her, not because he locked the doors. But because she feared him. Feared his coldness. Feared that a step outside, a single breath of disobedience, would unleash the quiet, calculated rage she'd seen behind his stillness.
He never told her she couldn't leave.
But he didn't have to.
She hadn't stepped beyond the gates since she arrived.
Not because she wasn't allowed.
Because she was afraid of what it would cost her.
And as he turned his back and walked up the stairs, she was left standing there—staring at the shattered porcelain, the spilled soup, and the impossible weight of a name she never asked to carry.
Leigh stared at the shattered bowl, her hands bloodied, pride intact.
She didn't speak, didn't move.
But deep inside, something cracked—
and something else awakened.
He wanted her invisible.
She'd make sure he'd never look away again.
Later that night, Leigh sat on her bed, staring at her hands—one of them still wearing the ring.
She could've taken it off. But she didn't.
Not because of him.
But because it was the only thing in this house that made her feel tethered to something—anything.
Downstairs, Santiago instructed the maids to leave Leigh's side of the house untouched.
"Let her be," he said gently. "Sometimes, the strongest ones are the ones holding on to nothing at all."
Make those Ervin words harsh to Leigh.