Mathilda’s POV

I’m weak.

Yes. I did it.

The shouting, the anger, the pain—everything blurred together when Fredric pressed his body against mine, and I lost all sense of reason.

I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

“The deal’s done, Mathilda,” he said afterward, his tone cold and detached. “There’s nothing you need to do now. This little drama will keep going until I’ve secured everything my grandmother promised me.”

Just like that, Fredric turned back into the same icy man I’d always known.

He got out of bed, his expression cynical, almost disgusted.

And I felt small—pathetic, humiliated, filthy.

Why?

Why did I give my body to a man who never loved me?

He isn’t my husband. He never wanted me.

To him, I’m nothing but a pawn in this twisted charade.

God, how stupid I am.

But what’s done is done.

I can’t erase it. I can’t wash it away.

All I can do is live with it.

My conscience screamed inside me again, telling me to leave him, to end this before I lost the last pieces o