The walk back from the garden felt like a march toward a gallows. Matthew led the way with the rhythmic, disciplined stride of a man who moved through life with a map and a mission. Elva followed, her heart a frantic percussion against her ribs, his ultimatum still ringing in her ears: "If you become my wife… you will follow my rules."
She had clung to the number seven like a lifeline. Seven months was a safety net. It was enough time for Victoria to complete her elite training, enough time for the families to grow comfortable, and enough time for Elva to study in secret before slipping away into her own life. It was a temporary mask, a seasonal play.
But as they re-entered the grand dining hall, the air felt different. It was no longer just heavy; it was electric with a new, sudden finality.
Every head turned as they took their seats. Victoria's sharp gaze darted between Matthew's unreadable mask and Elva's pale, shaken features. For a fleeting second, their eyes met, and Victoria searched for a signal—a hint of what had transpired in the dark of the garden. But Elva was too buried in her own rising panic to offer anything but a hollow stare.
The elder Mr. Salvatore cleared his throat, a sound like gravel grinding together. He leaned forward, his presence as dignified and immovable as a mountain.
"Mr. Rodriguez," he began, his voice cutting through the remnants of dinner chatter. The table fell into a respectful, terrified hush. "We are satisfied with this union. The girl is suitable."
A visible wave of relief washed over Marcus and Sofia Rodriguez. They exchanged a triumphant glance, their shoulders dropping an inch. But the victory was short-lived.
"And therefore," the Salvatore patriarch continued, his tone turning cold and decisive, "we desire the formal engagement ceremony to take place next week."
The words hit the room like a physical blow. Elva's fingers spasmed, gripping the edge of the mahogany table until her knuckles turned a ghostly white. Next week?
"Furthermore," Mr. Salvatore added, "the marriage will be solemnized one month from today."
The silence that followed was absolute, a vacuum that sucked the breath from Elva's lungs. Her world tilted. One month. The seven-month buffer—the entire foundation of their deception—had just evaporated.
Victoria's practiced composure cracked. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent gasp. This wasn't the plan. One month wasn't enough time to secure her corporate standing or finish her specialized training. It wasn't enough time for anything.
Marcus Rodriguez leaned forward, his voice tight with a forced, sweating politeness. "Mr. Salvatore… I believe there might be a slight misunderstanding. Our previous discussions indicated a seven-month period. We felt the young couple deserved time to… acquaint themselves."
"Yes," Sofia Rodriguez chimed in, her voice trembling slightly. "It is the traditional arrangement."
The elder Salvatore's expression remained a wall of granite. "We said seven months," he conceded, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "But we have reconsidered. My son's schedule does not permit unnecessary delays."
He glanced toward Matthew. The younger Salvatore sat as still as a statue, his posture a masterpiece of military indifference. He didn't look surprised. He didn't offer a protest. It was clear: this was a joint strike.
"Matthew will soon be assigned to a high-priority military operation," his father explained. "We want the union finalized and the alliance secured before his departure."
Elva felt a cold sweat break across her brow. Operation? The word sounded like a cage door slamming shut. Her mind began to spiral into a dark abyss of 'what-ifs.' How could Victoria possibly switch places in thirty days? The risk of discovery had just increased ten-fold. They were no longer playing a long game; they were sprinting through a minefield.
Victoria's jaw tightened. She looked at her father, then at the man who was supposed to be her husband. She hated how Matthew's eyes kept drifting back to Elva, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that shouldn't exist.
"Mr. Salvatore, perhaps the timing could be reviewed—" Marcus started again.
"No."
The word was a bullet. Matthew had spoken. He leaned forward, his blue eyes cutting through the air like a blade. "The date is fixed. I prefer my objectives to be met with efficiency." He turned his gaze directly onto Elva, his stare so intense she felt it in her very marrow. "I see no reason to wait."
Mr. Rodriguez looked like a man drowning in his own ambition. "This is… quite sudden."
"Our family values results over ceremony," the elder Salvatore replied. Then, he paused, his eyes landing on Elva with a chilling, predatory curiosity. "Of course, if your daughter has an objection, she may speak now."
The silence returned, heavier than before. Elva felt the weight of a dozen gazes pressing down on her. Beside her, she could feel Victoria's frantic energy, a silent plea for her to find a way out.
Elva's heart hammered against her ribs. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell them she was seventeen, that she wanted to be a surgeon, that she didn't even know this man's middle name. But she saw Marcus's warning glare and remembered the roof over her head. She remembered the girl who had called her 'sister' when she had no one.
She slowly lifted her eyes, meeting Matthew's glacial stare.
"I have no objection," she whispered, the words feeling like ash in her mouth.
Victoria's head snapped toward her, a mix of betrayal and shock flitting across her face. Matthew merely nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement.
"Good," he said. "It is settled."
One week to the engagement. One month to the wedding.
No one at that table understood the gravity of the shift. Not even Victoria, who was already plotting a way to fix the timeline. They didn't realize that for the gentle lamb they had thrown into the wolf's den, the roles were becoming dangerously blurred.
Because in thirty days, Elva wouldn't just be wearing a dress and a name. She would be bound by law to the coldest man in the country. And Matthew Salvatore was not a man who allowed his prizes to walk away once the contract was signed.