Chapter 3
Only one day left until the royal party.
I sat before the mirror, gazing at my reflection—my face looked a bit pale.
Three years ago, it was a snowy day just like this.
Ignoring my father's objections, I insisted on marrying Paul, who was still just a deputy general back then.
My father was so furious that he smashed his favorite vase, saying Paul looked cold and unfeeling, not the right man for me.
But I didn't believe him.
I believed in the boy who saved my life on the battlefield and carried me three miles through the snow—he had a heart of gold.
To protect his ridiculous sense of pride, I hid the fact that I was the Prime Minister's daughter.
I told him I was just an orphaned girl, barely scraping by with a bit of property.
Three years after we got married.
He couldn't understand the military strategy books, so I'd stay up all night breaking them down for him, telling him they were just notes I'd copied from old books.
He was clueless about court politics, so I'd write him letters under my father's name, giving him hints about which faction to support.
Every time he had a close call with death, it was me, behind the scenes, begging Will to save him.
Will once asked me, "Is it worth it?"
At the time, I smiled and said, "He's my husband. Of course it's worth it."
Thinking about it now, I was utterly foolish.
Paul climbed the ladder so quickly, he actually started to believe it was all thanks to his own skills.
He began to resent me for not being educated, for only knowing how to run the household, and for lacking the talent and wit that Vanessa had.
Did he love Vanessa?
Not necessarily.
What he really loved was the idea of a fragile woman who needed him to rescue her, someone who could stroke his ego and let him play the hero.
As for me, I guess I was just too "tough," too "reasonable"—and in the end, I only ended up being more trouble than he ever wanted.
"My lady, the tiara..." My maid entered, cradling a dazzling tiara in her hands.
My father had it commissioned especially for me, each pearl embedded in it worth more than gold.
This was who Belinda Parham was meant to be.
Not that wife in coarse linen, pinching pennies just to buy Paul a suit of armor.
"Put it on," I told her.
I traced the icy gold with my fingertips, feeling my resolve harden with every touch.
Three years of devotion—guess I just fed it all to the ingrates.
The woman in the mirror had features as delicate as a painting, yet her eyes held a sharp, icy edge.
The golden pedals stitched into her scarlet dress made her look every bit the royalty.
I picked up a golden hair ornament and slowly tucked it into my hair.
Paul, isn't it those delicate, helpless women you adore?
Don't you think I'd be nothing without you?
Well, this lesson—I'll make sure you remember it for the rest of your life.
Footsteps echoed outside the door.
Will leaned against the doorway, dressed in a regal purple and gold robe, his eyes lingering on me for a long moment.
"Looks like my woman is ready to take on the world," he said.
He walked over and gently wrapped his arms around me from behind, gazing at our reflections in the mirror.
"If Paul could see you now, he'd be sick with regret; he'd never forgive himself for letting you slip away."
I looked at the man standing beside me in the mirror, a cold smirk curling at my lips.
"Even if he regrets it, it's useless," I said, my voice icy.
"What I want is for him to be damned beyond redemption."
Will leaned down and whispered softly in my ear, "As you wish."