Chapter 04: Trophy Wife

Chapter 04: Trophy Wife

Aria’s POV

I wake up in the morning, familiarizing myself with the things inside the room. Still unsure if I made the right decision—though I was left with no choice.

I already signed the contract, and there's no turning back. While I’m in the middle of thinking, someone knocks on the door.

A maid enters the room. “Mrs. Montez, your husband is waiting for you at the dining table for breakfast,” she informs me. The word makes me feel uneasy. However, I play along because that’s what I’m supposed to do.

“I’ll just clean myself up,” I answer. I walk into the shower room after she leaves.

Aria, I just hope you made the right choice. You have your reasons for accepting this deal. It’s only for one year, and after that, you’re free. You can leave this mansion and live the life you wanted.

After I’m done, I walk down the stairs. As I arrive at the dining area, he is already waiting—calm and composed in his tailored suit, reading the newspaper like nothing unusual had happened.

The maid starts serving the food. The atmosphere is quiet, almost suffocating.

“How was your sleep?” he asks out of nowhere. I’m surprised he initiated the conversation.

“Comfortable enough to sleep,” I reply without looking at him.

“From now on, treat this as your own house,” he says before eating. I gaze at him. Until now, I still have no idea who the man I agreed to marry really is.

His posture makes me think he’s some kind of powerful man in the city. However, I can sense something different about him.

We have a chilling, formal breakfast as a married couple. He asks various questions politely, and I respond with equal charm.

Every word he says feels like a test, which is why I keep my guard up. He speaks differently.

Before breakfast ends, he carefully slides a platinum credit card toward me.

“You are Mrs. Montez now. I expect you to look the part,” he says before getting up.

My gaze sticks to the card in front of me, still processing his words. The way he uttered Mrs. Montez was… different.

A while later, Mr. Montez schedules a designer shopping spree for me. The driver and a personal shopper arrive to accompany me.

“Mrs. Montez, I’ll escort you to pick some designer dresses. Mr. Montez told me you can have whatever you like,” Glen, my personal shopper, says as we walk into the boutique.

My eyes are glued to the various dresses inside. These dresses are worth thousands—some even millions. I gulp while staring at the prices.

“This one is actually good. It suits your skin tone, Mrs. Montez,” Glen compliments the one I’m holding.

“We’ll get this one. Can you show us the limited dresses you have?” Glen says to the saleslady. “And also limited bags and jewelry,” she adds.

I almost want to stop her because I’m not a materialistic person. But I remember what Mr. Montez said earlier.

I start trying on different dresses, buying luxurious bags and jewelry.

While being dressed and pampered, I feel disgusted—like a doll being polished for display.

Is this really what it feels like to be married to a wealthy man?

“That girl over there is familiar… she’s the girl from the scandal… the one who was sold,” I overhear a saleswoman whisper to her co-worker.

I remember that night. I was standing on that stage, blindfolded, being bid on like an item—like those whores eager for money. I’ll never forget that night.

My gaze shifts to the woman. When she realizes I’m looking at her, she quickly looks away, pretending to be busy.

She’s right. I became a media sensation because of that scandal. But did she really need to remind others of it—and remind me of my place?

I clench my fist, trying to calm myself.

“Glen, I want to buy the most expensive dresses they have. Bring me everything,” I tell her. She speaks to the manager, and they show me everything.

The prices are outrageous, but without hesitation, I buy them all. Not to please Mr. Montez—but to show that saleswoman the power of being Mrs. Montez.

After shopping, I return to Mr. Montez’s place. It’s already late at night when I arrive at the mansion.

I enter the living room, and Mr. Montez steps out of his study. He seems to be waiting for me. His gaze scans me from head to toe.

I feel uncomfortable under his stare, but I keep my composure.

“Not bad. You look expensive tonight,” he utters while looking at me. I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.

“Do I pass your trophy wife test?” I challenge him with a sarcastic smile.

His expression turns serious, and it makes me feel threatened.

He slowly walks toward me until we’re inches apart. Then he whispers in my ear. Being this close to him makes me feel weak.

“Be careful not to mistake kindness for weakness. I bought you, remember? That means I own your secrets too.”

I gulp. His voice is calm, but his words are sharp. Indeed, he sounds powerful—and I know he’s warning me.

But I also learn something else: he’s not entirely emotionless.

After saying those words, he returns to his study. I’m left speechless. His words are enough to silence me.

I decide to go back to my room. Sitting on the chair, I start writing down their names—

My stepmother.

My ex-fiancé.

My ex-best friend.

My step-siblings.

I circle their names. You all made my life miserable.

I considered you all as my family. But you betrayed me, hurt me, cheated on me, and pushed me to sell myself to the devil.

You’ll regret this. One day, I’ll take revenge on everyone who wronged me.

“I sold myself to the devil to survive. Now, I’ll use the devil’s name to bury you all.”

I stare at the list of names, my fingers tightening around the pen until my knuckles turn white. Just writing them down feels like summoning ghosts I swore I’d never see again.

They thought I’d vanish. That I’d crumble.

But I’m still here. And I’ve aligned myself with a monster far more dangerous than any of them.

A knock on the door breaks my thoughts. I quickly fold the paper and slip it into the drawer.

“Come in,” I say, straightening up.

It’s another maid. “Mr. Montez asked me to tell you that there’s a charity gala tomorrow evening. You’re expected to attend as his wife.”

A gala. Public appearance.

So soon?

“I understand,” I reply, dismissing her with a nod.

As the door closes behind her, I take a deep breath. This is the life I signed up for. Not just the luxury—but the performance. I’ll wear the gown, smile for the cameras, and stand beside the devil himself.

But tomorrow, they’ll all see me. The world. The people who tried to destroy me.

Not as the girl who was sold.

But as Mrs. Aria Montez.