Chapter 2

ISLA

After the formalities ended, my mother didn't say much.

There was no advice, or even just a parting embrace—just a quick nod and a half-hearted goodbye.

And then she was gone.

Right. They already got what they wanted. Why bother faking anything now?

As her silhouette completely gone on the hallway, housekeeper Xia stepped forward, composed and polite.

"Young madam, the old lady instructed me to escort you to the master's bedroom."

I drew in one final breath before nodding slightly.

"This way, Madam," he said.

I followed him through the long, quiet hallway of the Montgomery mansion.

The polished floors of Montgomery mansion echoed faintly beneath our steps, chandeliers glittering overhead and reflecting across the pristine tiles. The whole place screamed of power and elegance.

Everything here felt untouchable—like I was intruding on a world not meant for people like me.

We reached the elevator at the end of the corridor. Xia pressed the button for the fourth floor.

"This entire level belongs to Master Alistair," he explained as the lift moved. "You'll be staying here until the master wakes up."

The doors opened with a soft chime.

The fourth floor was quieter than the rest of the house—colder, yet no less luxurious. Expensive decor lined the halls, heavy with silence.

"This floor consists of the master's study, gym and lounge area, library, entertainment room, and the large balcony connected to the master's bedroom," Xia continued explaining as we marched.

I only nodded. The sheer size of it all was overwhelming. Our home could probably fit into this one floor alone.

My legs ached by the time we reached the tall set of double doors.

"The master bedroom has already been arranged. Your wardrobe was brought in this morning. All your personal care needs are in the ensuite. From this day forward, you are expected to share the room with Master Alistair," he said carefully.

I swallowed hard. "Even though he's—?"

"In a coma, yes," he replied gently. "Still, the arrangement must appear accordingly."

I could only nod.

Xia pushed the doors open. "I'll leave this to your care now, Madam."

With a small bow, he slipped away, leaving me standing at the threshold of the master's bedroom.

I inhaled deeply before stepping inside.

The room was lavish—spacious and meticulously designed. White and gray tones dominated, from the wallpaper to the drapes to the plush sofas. It was elegant, but icy.

And then, at the center, the king-sized bed.

Where Alistair Montgomery lay like some sleeping heir—untouchable, timeless, as though he was waiting for his true love to wake him.

Only... that wasn't me.

He lay still, dressed in silk pajamas, fine gray linen sheets pulled over his abdomen.

The afternoon light spilled across his face, illuminating his sharp features that almost didn't seem real.

He looked like a painting—something from another century.

His jet-black hair was neatly swept back, as if he could wake any second and walk into a boardroom. His skin was pale, but not lifeless. His jawline was sharp, his lashes long, his lips perfectly shaped, parted slightly with each steady breath.

Even unconscious, he was unnervingly beautiful.

I stepped further into the room, my chest tightening with the weight of it all.

There were no wires attached to him, no signs of deterioration either.

As a doctor, I could tell his vitals were stable. His body had healed.

But his mind remained locked away. Just like a door waiting for the right key.

I stood there for minutes, simply staring.

This was the man who had ruled headlines, who commanded boardrooms... who had once, allegedly, been in love with my sister.

And now... he was my husband?

The thought sent a shiver crawling over my skin.

Drawn closer, I reached for his wrist, almost without thinking.

His pulse was strong.

But the moment my skin brushed his... A jolt shot through me.

I froze, my heart stuttering before racing wildly in my chest.

"What... was that?" I whispered to myself.

I pulled away quickly, shaken, and sank onto the edge of the bed.

For a long while, I studied his face before finally speaking.

"I don't know why I'm talking to you," I admitted softly. "Maybe because no one else ever really listens."

My voice wavered.

"My name's Isla. Your...contracted wife. I guess you never knew that. I was never supposed to be part of your story. That was always my sister."

I let out a bitter laugh.

I knew why Liana had broken up with him. She was selfish, always chasing something "better." Back then, Alistair had been dismissed as the illegitimate heir of the Montgomerys.

My sister left for France, chasing her dreams of fashion design. Alistair followed, but instead of fighting for him, she cast him aside.

A year later, he rose to power, seizing control of the Montgomery Group. No one dared doubt him again.

And from then on, his name became synonymous with ice—ruthless and unforgiving.

I twisted my fingers together nervously.

"I don't know if you can hear me," I whispered. "But I hope you do. And... I'm sorry. For what my sister did to you. I hope you'll heal in time."

Truth was, I had never met him properly, not even during their relationship. Liana and I went to different universities—she, in her world of prestige; me, in medical school on scholarship, juggling part-time jobs and living mostly with Grandma in the outskirts of town.

The only glimpses I ever got of Alistair were through social media.

Except for that one day.

The day they broke up.

I saw him, standing alone in an alley—broken. I'd wanted to go to him, say something, anything. But I was timid.

And he was Alistair Montgomery.

So I'd stayed frozen, watching.

I sighed. "Anyway... I just thought I should introduce myself. Since we're kind of together now, apparently."

Another laugh escaped me—dry, humorless.

I turned back to him, studying his stillness, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. I had so much on my mind, and one thought was terrifying—what would happen once he woke up?

Just the thought of it sent shivers through me.

I released a long sigh for the second time.

"I don't know how you'll react to this, but I hope you wake up soon," I whispered, the words slipping from the deepest part of me.

This time, my hand lifted again—hesitant, yet determined—as I reached out to feel the breath under his nose.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamped around my wrist—followed by a pair of cold, piercing gray eyes—burned into mine.

"Who are you?"