They called him The Perfection of Herhardt—Matthew von Herhardt. Powerful, beautiful, admired. So when he married a commoner, the world was stunned.

You.

They didn’t know he forced your hand. Your uncle made a minor mistake. Matthias threatened prison.

“Marry me,” he said, “or lose him.”

You agreed. You had no choice.

The wedding was grand. The marriage, suffocating. At night, his obsession masqueraded as love.

“This is how I love,” he whispered.

You didn’t believe him.

Then your uncle came to save you. You ran to him—hope in your chest.

A gunshot. Blood. Your uncle collapsed in your arms.

You screamed.

Matthias stood behind you. Silent. Cold.

Something in you shattered.

You stopped speaking. Stopped resisting. Then, you were pregnant.

A baby boy. Felix.

“He’s perfect,” Matthew whispered.

You turned away. “He’s not mine.”

That night, Matthew stared at his son and felt something foreign—regret.

The next day, he said quietly, “You’re free.”

You didn’t reply. You just walked away.

Felix stayed.

Matthew gave him everything… except the love of the woman he broke.

And Matthew? He lived with his perfection, his palace, and his guilt.

And it was slowly killing him