The heavy door to the marble bathroom swung open with a sharp, commanding sound. The three maids, who had been busy preparing silk towels, immediately dropped their heads in a deep bow.
"Young Master," they whispered in unison.
Matthew didn't even glance at them. He stood in the doorway, his tall frame blocking the light from the hallway. "Leave," he said. His voice wasn't raised, but it carried a weight that made the air feel heavy.
"Yes, sir." Without a second's hesitation, the maids hurried out, the click of the door signaling their departure.
Silence fell over the large room, broken only by the soft sound of water dripping from the gold faucet. Elva sat frozen in the massive bathtub. Thick white foam covered the surface of the water, and she frantically pulled the bubbles around her shoulders to hide her body. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Matthew walked toward her. He didn't rush; his steps were slow, deliberate, and entirely too calm. He stopped at the edge of the tub, looking down at her.
Elva swallowed hard, her throat feeling as tight as a knot. "I... I'm n-not your wife!" she blurted out, her voice shaking so hard it was barely a whisper. Her fingers gripped the marble edge of the tub until her knuckles turned white.
Matthew slowly crouched down until he was eye-level with her. His sharp blue eyes were like chips of ice, staring directly into hers. For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing.
Then, his voice came out cold and flat. "Of course you aren't."
The words felt like a physical blow. Elva flinched as he continued, his gaze never wavering. "A middle-class girl like you would never truly be a Salvatore wife."
Tears instantly blurred Elva's vision. She felt small and humiliated, but Matthew wasn't finished. His jaw tightened slightly, a sign of the dark anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. "But what you and the Rodriguez family did to my name... to my legacy..." His voice dropped to a low, dangerous hum. "I will have my payment for that."
Before Elva could pull away, Matthew reached forward. His large hand caught her jaw, his fingers firm and unyielding as he lifted her face. He didn't hurt her, but his grip was strong enough to keep her trapped, forcing her to look at him.
"You aren't going anywhere," he commanded. "Not until I decide your fate."
Elva's lips trembled, a single tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.
"Until then," Matthew said, his eyes narrowing, "you will play the part. You will be my wife in front of my Parents. In front of the staff. In front of the entire world."
Elva's chest tightened with a sharp, stabbing pain. But it was his next words that truly broke her.
"So, forget about your books," Matthew said, his voice devoid of any pity. "Forget about your studies. And forget about your dream."
Elva felt the air leave her lungs.
"Because you are not going to college," he continued, his gaze hard and final. "You are not becoming a doctor. That life is over."
The words felt like something precious shattering inside her chest. Matthew released her jaw and stood up to his full height. Without another look at her, he turned and walked out of the bathroom.
The door closed with a soft, final thud.
Elva sat motionless in the cooling water for several seconds, the silence of the marble room pressing in on her. Then, the first sob broke through. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking violently as she wept. Her quiet cries echoed off the cold stone walls.
Her dream. The only thing she had left of her parents. The promise she had made to herself in that small, happy house years ago—the promise to save lives, to help people, to become someone her mother and father would be proud of.
Forget about your dream.
"Mom... Dad..." she whispered, her voice breaking into a thousand pieces.
The rose-scented water slowly grew cold, but Elva didn't move. She just sat there in the fading steam, realizing that the golden walls of the Salvatore mansion weren't a palace at all.
They were the walls of a prison she might never escape.