The moment Shontelle noticed me standing there, panic flashed across her face.
Her eyes welled with tears as she stammered, "M-Mr. Perez, didn't you say Miss Marichelle wasn't home? That's the only reason I dared to come... What if she misunderstands? What should I do?"
And just like that, before I even opened my mouth, she had flipped the situation—casting herself as the victim.
As expected, Yves' gaze immediately softened with concern for her. If not for my presence, he probably would've pulled her into his arms right then and there.
"Marichelle, don't give Shontelle that look. This was my idea. Her family has been pressuring her to get married, so I agreed to pose as her boyfriend for some photos to send them. That way, they'll feel reassured."
"She's working all alone in a strange city. It was only because I overheard her family on the phone that I thought of helping her this way. Don't blame her—she's just a young girl."
With a few words, Yves painted me as the petty, jealous, narrow-minded wife.
I let out a cold laugh.
However, he mistook it for anger, and a sudden realization dawned on him. His lips curved into a smile, as though he had solved the problem.
"Mari, I know it's always been your regret that we never had proper wedding photos taken. Tell you what—after I finish the shoot with Shontelle, you can put on this gown and we'll take some together. That way, it'll make up for your old regret."
I was struck speechless by the absurdity of his words.
So, he did know that the canceled outdoor wedding shoot—ruined by a sudden thunderstorm—was a regret I had carried for years. And yet, now he could commission a custom gown for Shontelle, redecorate our home for her photos, while for me? I was expected to tag along for a few leftover shots.
Even my regret was only worthy of being patched up in Shontelle's shadow.
"Mr. Perez," Shontelle's soft voice floated over, "these days, photos can all be edited. If it's just pictures, my family may not believe it..." She clutched the edge of her gown, feigning hesitation.
"Then what else do you need me to do? I'll cooperate," Yves answered without missing a beat.
"And don't call me Mr. Perez in front of Marichelle—she's not an outsider. Just call me like you used to."
Shontelle's cheeks turned pink as she nodded obediently.
"Well, I'd like to stay the night. Later, you can pretend to be my boyfriend and video-call my family with me. That's all."
Her ridiculous request barely stirred me anymore—I was numb to it. Yves, though, looked briefly uneasy.
It was really hard to fathom this man.
But Shontelle was quick. Seeing his hesitation, she instantly turned her tearful gaze at me.
"Miss Marichelle, I know it's a lot to ask, but I have no choice. My family is forcing me to go back. If I can't convince them, I'll lose my chance to survive here in the city. I just want to rely on my own efforts, not go home and be caged..."
She wept pitifully, as though I were the one forcing her into marriage.
"I never said I wouldn't agree," I replied coolly.
Her tears stopped immediately, replaced by a bright smile.
"Thank you, Miss Marichelle!"
But I caught the flicker of triumph in her expression, the smugness of someone who believed she had won.
Yves clearly wasn't as pleased. He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside.
"Mari, what do you mean by this? You're just handing me over to another woman?"
I shook off his grip, my gaze was icy. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted? Don't worry—I'll pack up soon. After all, this house needs to be cleared for its new mistress."
