Elva stood by the massive window, her eyes darting between the stone pillars and the shadowed corners of the garden. She was trying to memorize the rhythm of the security—the way the guards turned at the edge of the fountain, the sharp metallic click of the gates as they locked.
Maybe at night, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. Maybe when the moon is hidden by the clouds...
The sudden, sharp rap of a knuckle against wood made her jump.
"Madam Victoria?"
Before she could pull her hand away from the glass, the bedroom door swung open. Elva spun around, quickly pulling the heavy silk curtains shut to hide her wandering gaze. Her pulse was a frantic drumbeat in her ears as she stepped back into the center of the room.
Three maids filed in, their heads bowed. This time, they weren't carrying towels or tea. They held a long, black garment bag as if it contained something sacred.
"We have brought your attire for the afternoon," the head maid said softly.
Elva blinked, her voice small. "Attire? For what?"
The maid reached for the silver zipper and slowly pulled it down. Elva's breath caught in her throat.
Inside was a gown of deep sapphire blue, the color of the ocean at midnight. Delicate silver embroidery wound its way across the bodice like frozen vines, catching the morning light. The sleeves were long and sheer, ending in pointed cuffs, and the skirt was a heavy, shimmering silk that looked like it belonged in a museum.
It was a royal dress. A dress meant for a woman who commanded respect, not a girl who spent her nights crying into her pillow.
"Madam Salvatore is hosting a private family luncheon today," the maid explained with a warm smile. "It is her wish that you are presented to the inner circle."
Another maid added, her tone respectful but firm, "As the Young Master's wife, you must look the part. The Salvatore name demands perfection."
The Young Master's wife. The title felt like a brand. Elva lowered her eyes, the sapphire fabric blurring before her. She thought of the medical books hidden under the wardrobe—the only things she actually wanted to "look like."
"Okay," she whispered.
The maids moved with practiced efficiency. They sat her down before the vanity, brushing her dark hair until it shone like silk and pinning it into a soft, elegant style. They helped her into the gown, the fabric cool and heavy as it slid over her skin. It fit her perfectly, hugging her slender waist before flowing out onto the carpet in a wave of blue.
When they were finished, they stepped back. "Please, Madam. Look."
Elva slowly lifted her gaze to the tall mirror.
For a heartbeat, she didn't recognize herself. The girl in the glass had glowing, pale skin and a regal posture. The sapphire dress made her look like she had been born into this world of gold and marble. She looked graceful. She looked powerful.
But when she looked into her own eyes, the illusion shattered. There, beneath the silver embroidery and the styled hair, was the same frightened orphan. The sadness and the fear were still there, flickering in the shadows of her pupils.
"You look breathtaking, Madam Victoria," the maid said, her voice filled with genuine pride. "The Young Master will surely be pleased."
Elva's fingers knotted into the silk of her skirt. She remembered Matthew's cold, cruel words from the bathroom: A middle-class girl would never be my wife.
The memory stung more than she wanted to admit. She took a shallow breath and forced a small, tight nod. "Thank you."
"The family is gathered in the dining hall," the head maid announced, holding the door open. "They are waiting for you."
Elva's gaze flickered toward the closed curtains one last time. The window. Her path to freedom. But for now, that path was blocked by duty and sapphire silk.
She walked toward the door, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor. Each step felt like she was walking on thin ice, waiting for the moment the world of the Salvatores would finally break beneath her.