The lunch finally came to a close, the air in the dining hall still heavy with the scent of roasted meat and expensive wine.
Servants moved like ghosts, their gloved hands clearing the silver utensils and crystal glasses with practiced silence. Elva barely tasted a single bite of the food that had been placed before her. Her mind was a storm of static—worrying about Matthew's cold stares, calculating her escape, and suffocating under the weight of the lie.
She placed her linen napkin on the table, her movements stiff. Just as the last of the plates vanished, Matthew's mother Elizabeth Salvatore rose from her seat. She stood with the effortless grace of a woman who had ruled the Salvatore household for decades.
"Matthew," she said, her voice calm but carrying the unmistakable ring of authority. Her gaze shifted to Elva. "And Victoria."
Elva's shoulders tightened. She felt as if a cold breeze had just swept through the room.
"Join me in the grand hall," the matriarch commanded, a small, unreadable smile playing on her lips. "There is something I wish to discuss with the two of you."
Matthew stood instantly, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the table. "Yes, Mother."
Elva followed a moment later, her legs feeling like lead. "Yes..." she whispered.
The other relatives began to filter out, their casual chatter echoing in the hallway as they moved toward the gardens or the library. Within minutes, the dining hall was empty, leaving only the 'happy couple' to follow the Lady of the house.
Matthew didn't look at Elva. He walked with a brisk, military stride toward the grand hall—a room so large it felt like a cathedral. Tall marble pillars lined the walls, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling like a glittering crown.
Matthew's mother was waiting for them by a velvet sofa. She turned, her sharp eyes scanning their faces with a curiosity that made Elva's skin crawl.
"Sit," she said.
Matthew took his place on one end of the sofa, his posture perfect. Elva sat on the very edge of the opposite side, keeping as much distance between them as the cushions would allow.
The older woman observed them in silence for a long, agonizing minute. Then, she spoke. "The head maid brought an interesting detail to my attention this morning."
Elva's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers dug into the sapphire silk of her dress, her knuckles turning white. Matthew remained perfectly still, his face a mask of iron.
"She informed me," his mother Elizabeth continued, crossing her arms lightly, "that the traditional first-night rituals were not completed."
The heat rushed to Elva's face so fast it made her dizzy. She dropped her head, staring intently at the pattern of the rug, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow her whole. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on her neck.
"In the Salvatore family," his mother said, her voice gaining a touch of sternness, "the first night of a marriage carries great significance. It is the foundation of the union. I would like to know why it was ignored."
The silence in the hall was deafening. Elva's heart hammered against her ribs, the sound echoing in her own ears. She had no answer. She couldn't tell the woman that her son had spent the night threatening her, or that she was a seventeen-year-old orphan who shouldn't be in this bed at all.
Beside her, Matthew leaned back. He was the picture of composure. He knew the truth that his mother did not. He knew the girl sitting next to him was an orphan girl—seventeen, not twenty. He knew she was Elva Williams, not the woman on the marriage certificate. And despite his cold fury at the deception, Matthew Salvatore was a man of discipline. He would not let a family scandal erupt in his mother's drawing room.
He finally spoke, his voice steady and low. "We were both exhausted after the ceremony, Mother."
His mother raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
Matthew continued, his tone carrying a quiet finality that invited no further questions. "There was no need to rush. A marriage is not a sprint."
The matriarch studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his for any sign of a lie. Finally, a small, knowing smile touched her lips. "Hmm. I suppose that is a reasonable explanation."
She waved a hand dismissively, her gaze softening as she looked at Elva's bowed head. "Well, do not be in such a hurry. You are newly married, after all. Take the time you need. I was just asking!"
Elva gave a small, shaky nod. "Yes..."
But as she sat there, she could feel the heat of Matthew's presence beside her. She realized something terrifying: even though he had protected the secret with a calm lie, he held every string of her life in his hands. He was the master of this house, and she was merely a bird waiting to see if he would open the cage or tighten the lock.