The morning sunlight spilled across the expansive master suite of the Salvatore Mansion, painting the silk curtains in shades of pale gold. Elva had barely pushed herself upright when a rhythmic, soft knock echoed against the heavy oak door.
Before she could even find her voice to answer, the door swung open.
Three maids stepped into the room in perfect unison, their movements as synchronized as a clock. They stopped at the foot of the bed and bowed their heads with practiced precision.
"Good morning, Madam Victoria," they said together.
The title struck Elva like a physical weight. Her fingers knotted into the expensive duvet, her knuckles turning white. To these women, she was the powerful heiress of the Rodriguez empire. To herself, she was a girl drowning in a sea of lies.
One of the maids, a woman with a kind smile and sharp eyes, stepped forward. "Madam Victoria, it is time for your morning preparations. We are here to assist you with your bath."
Elva blinked, her eyes wide with surprise. "Oh... no, thank you. I can do it myself. I've always done it myself."
The maid shook her head gently, her smile never wavering. "It is our duty, Madam. The Salvatore family expects nothing less than perfection for the Young Master's wife."
Elva hesitated. Her mind flickered back to the life she once knew—a small, drafty house filled with her father's laughter and the simple smell of her mother's cooking. Even during her years as a ward in the Rodriguez mansion, she had been a shadow, a girl who did her own laundry and stayed out of the way.
Now, she was "Madam." She had servants waiting to scrub her skin and comb her hair. It felt like a dream that was slowly turning into a nightmare.
"Okay," she whispered, lowering her gaze.
The maids guided her into the adjoining bathroom, a room so large it felt like a private spa. The walls were made of seamless white marble, and the fixtures glittered with real gold. At the center of the room sat a sunken bathtub, already steaming and overflowing with hundreds of fresh, crimson rose petals.
The warmth of the water seeped into her bones, momentarily easing the tension that had gripped her since the wedding ceremony. She sat quietly, the scent of roses filling her lungs.
However, the peace didn't last long.
One of the older maids, who was busy organizing the silk towels, paused. She exchanged a meaningful look with the others before turning toward Elva with a thoughtful expression.
"Madam Victoria..." she started, her voice dropping to a respectful whisper. "The staff noticed that the traditional... first-night rituals... were not completed."
Elva's face went from pale to a deep, burning scarlet in an instant. She felt the heat rise from her neck to her forehead. "I... I don't..."
The maid gave her a small, sympathetic nod. "Do not be discouraged, Madam. The Young Master has many responsibilities. Perhaps the exhaustion of the wedding was simply too much for him."
Elva looked down at the swirling rose petals, her heart hammering against her ribs. They didn't know. They thought he was tired. They didn't realize that the "first night" had been a battlefield where her true identity had been stripped away. They didn't know that Matthew Salvatore had spent the night realizing his wife was an imposter.
What will he do to me now? she wondered, her fingers trembling beneath the water.
Suddenly, the heavy door to the bathroom opened again. A younger maid rushed in, her face flushed with excitement and a touch of fear. She bowed quickly toward the bathtub.
"Madam Victoria," she panted. "The Young Master has returned to the mansion. He is on his way up."
Elva froze. The warmth of the bath suddenly felt like ice. Matthew was back. He had met the real Victoria, and now he was coming for her.