Chapter 3

“You’re… you’re marrying me off to the governor?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, but it cracked under the weight of disbelief. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

My father’s jaw clenched.

“Lower your voice, Lorelie.”

“You never told me—”

“Enough,” my mother hissed under her breath, her nails pressing into my arm again, a warning masked by a smile.

And then, across the room, Sylvia’s smile vanished. Her eyes locked on mine—no longer polite. No longer charming. What stared back at me was the real woman. The one who is cold and ruthless.

“I see,” Sylvia said, her tone dipped in ice. “So, the Montgomery daughter does have a voice. I’d wondered.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument. I made the mistake of letting my emotions show.

The room went still. My father’s face twitched once, then he forced a tight smile and stood.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” he said to the others.

He gripped my arm with authority and guided me out of the room. Down the hall. Around the corner. Into one of the sitting rooms—one of the ones guests never used. He pushed me inside and the door clicked shut behind us.

I turned, only to feel the sting a second later. His palm against my cheek. I stumbled a step back, shocked more by the speed than the pain. My father—always calm in front of cameras—was anything but calm now.

“What were you thinking?!” he hissed, “Embarrassing us like that in front of Governor’s mother?”

“You didn’t even tell me!” I snapped back. “You planned to sell me off again, and I was just supposed to smile and nod—like I always do?”

His jaw clenched. “This was decided for you. Just like every opportunity you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t want this, Dad. That is marriage we are talking about, it is not something so simple—”

“You don’t get to want,” he said, stepping closer, voice lowering with venom. “You’re not my firstborn. You’re not the heir. You’re the mistake I kept quiet, the child I paid to educate and house so you wouldn’t stain my name. Now it’s time for you to pay that back.”

My throat tightened. “Dad, I followed every single thing you ordered me to but can’t you spare me this time? Just this once?”

He watched me carefully. Then—slowly—he pulled out the card he knew would silence me.

“Your mother’s treatments… You know they’re not cheap. The ones keeping her alive?” He let the pause stretch. “I’m footing the bill.”

I froze. “W-what?”

“You want to keep her breathing?” he continued. “Then sit back down in that room, apologize, and agree to the arrangement.”

A part of me shattered right there. Not because I didn’t expect it—but because I did. He stepped back, straightened his jacket, and unlocked the door.

“You’re a Montgomery,” he said without looking at me. “Start acting like one.”

And just like that, he left me in that room—alone and cornered. I pressed my palm to my cheek, still burning, and closed my eyes. I had no choice. Not if I wanted to keep the one person who ever showed me real kindness alive. I bit my lip so hard it started to sting to stop the tears coming.

And just like that, I was left with no choice.

When we returned to the room, the atmosphere was unchanged—pleasant smiles, wine glasses half-full, and polite murmurs of success. As if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t just been locked in a room and slapped.

My cheek throbbed, already swollen. I could feel the sting every time I moved my jaw. But I held my head high. This is nothing because clearly this is not the first time.

Sylvia smiled when she saw me return. The mask was back on.

“Welcome back, dear,” she said with a tone so falsely warm it almost chilled me. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”

She reached into her handbag—an elegant emerald leather clutch with gold clasps—and pulled out a thick envelope, the kind that already felt heavy with finality.

“Here’s the engagement contract. It says there that you’ll be legally married to my son, Sebastian Kingston, by next week. The ceremony will be private limited to family and selected media. Public announcements will follow once the narrative is finalized.”

She didn’t pause to gauge my reaction. Just kept going.

“Your duties will include appearances at charity events, formal interviews, and joint functions once the campaign begins. You’ll wear the family name, you’ll keep your personal opinions to yourself, and in return, the Kingstons’ will secure your family’s position in the next election cycle.”

Then she put her perfect smile on again.

“It’s a fair exchange, Lorelie. You bring beauty, name, and obedience. We bring power, protection, and purpose.”

I opened my mouth to speak, my hands clenching tightly in my lap. “I am—”

“And,” she cut in smoothly, “the other conditions would depend on my son.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the room grow colder. “M-May I ask…who proposed this arrangement?”

Sylvia’s eyes sparkled—not with warmth, but with amusement.

“Hmm… my son mentioned something about Victor’s youngest daughter. Your name came up, and your father grabbed the opportunity instantly. That’s why we’re here.” She chuckled softly, sipping her tea like this was nothing more than afternoon gossip. “What can I say? You have a very ambitious father.”

My father laughed, as if that comment was a medal pinned to his chest.

“I’m guilty of that,” he said proudly.

Sylvia turned back to me, a smile widening as she pointed at the contract. Then she sat back, crossing her legs elegantly. “Sign at the bottom. Your marriage will take place next week. As for the photos to present you as a long-time couple? We’ll settle that once you’re married. People don’t need the truth. They need an image. A congressman rising to power with a graceful, loyal wife by his side—it’s an easy sell. The kind voters cling to.”

Her voice lowered just enough to feel like a warning disguised as advice.

“Don’t overcomplicate it, Lorelie. Just play your part—and you’ll be taken care of.”

I stared at the papers. My hands didn’t move. I didn’t reach for the pen as if it would burn me. My father stepped in before I even blinked. He grabbed my wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough to remind me it wasn’t a request.

“Sign it, Lorelie,” he said low, so the others wouldn’t hear the threat behind his voice. “Now.”

My hand trembled as I picked up the pen. And with one stroke of ink, I gave them everything. Sylvia stood, smiling again as if everything was perfectly civil.

“Thank you,” she said with a graceful nod toward my parents and siblings. “This union will strengthen both our names.”

And then she walked out—heels clicking, chin high, and satisfied followed by my parents and siblings.

I stood there, frozen. Only Venice came back. She said nothing as she handed me a cold compress.

“For your face,” she murmured. Her voice was flat, but her eyes lingered for a moment too long before she turned and left again.

Soon after, I heard the cars outside, engines starting and leaving one by one. They were gone. Just like that—every single one of them I am sure my parents will go to another place, my siblings going to their own house and spouses. I walked up the stairs slowly, alone.

My room was tucked in the east wing—far enough from the main halls that no one ever came near unless summoned. It was large, tastefully decorated, untouched by warmth. White walls. Pale gold curtains. A queen-sized bed with soft gray linens that always smelled like lavender. Everything in its place, arranged to look like a magazine cover.

But the walls were mine. Every inch of them. Canvas after canvas leaned against the floor, some mounted, others half-finished. My secret life—my real one.

Long, endless coastlines where no one was watching. Countryside houses. Stone walls and wide porches where women wore no masks. Fields under peach-colored skies. Places that didn’t exist here—only in the corners of my mind.

I closed the door gently behind me, dropped the compress on the nightstand, and finally let myself fall onto the edge of the bed. And I cried.

Not like the women in movies—no sobs, no screaming. Just tears sliding down, silently. A slow leak of everything I’d held in for years.

Because no matter how beautiful the mansion was…none of it was mine but those paintings—those were the only places I ever truly lived and hold my dream.