“If this comes out, you won’t just lose your job—you’ll ruin your entire reputation. You could even end up in jail. Dude! Are you crazy?”
Monty chuckled like he didn’t care.
“Crazy? Maybe. Love doesn’t follow logic. That case is over. Don’t bring it up again.”
“What about Verity? You brought her into your home, made her live with her parents’ murderer. Didn’t you think about what that would do to her? She loves you—”
Before he could finish, Monty’s voice turned cold.
“Enough. I told you, Sylvie is not the murderer. If someone has to take the blame, I’ll die for her if I have to.”
“I just don’t get you. You had motive and evidence. You had everything. And yet… Ugh! Whatever, man. If you think this is fine, then go ahead.”
Next thing I heard were footsteps approaching, and I rushed back to my room in a panic.
All those haunting memories of my parents’ deaths came rushing back.
I also remember the company crumbling right after.
It was Monty who saved me. Paid off all the debt. Took me in. Married me.
I thought I’d found real love. God, I was so lost in happiness!
But I didn’t realize—everything was a carefully crafted fucking lie!
Bringing me back was never about love. It was about keeping me under his watch. So he could monitor me. So he could protect Sylvie—that murderer!
This marriage was nothing but guilt disguised as love.
And I… I took his pitiful charity and flaunted it like it was the happiest thing in the world!
‘Absolutely pathetic!’
Just then, I heard the door shut. His buddy must’ve left.
Verity's POV
Monty stumbled into the room, cupped my face, and kissed me on the forehead.
His drunken eyes were full of worry.
“Why are you standing at the door?”
“Nothing. I was gonna bring you some hangover soup, but I spilled it.”
“Let the housekeeper take care of stuff like that. You’ve been way too tired lately. Get some rest, okay? Or I’ll feel bad.”
After saying that, he kissed me again.
Just like before—gentle, loving.
But I couldn’t feel his warmth anymore.
‘Can one person really go that far for someone else?’
I closed my eyes, and the tears slipped down.
I helped him onto the bed and pulled the blanket over him.
The alcohol hit fast—he passed out in no time.
I sat at the bedside and quietly picked up his phone.
Ha. The password? Sylvie’s birthday.
Once it unlocked, it switched into another system.
The home screen was clean, barely anything on it—except for the photo album, packed full.