~Elsie's POV
I stayed in the water until my body felt tired, until my hands slowed down, until the strength in me started to fade.
But even then… I didn't feel clean. I just felt… empty.
After I finished bathing, I stepped out of the bathroom slowly, my movements quiet and almost mechanical, like my body was moving but my mind was somewhere else entirely.
The warm air from the room touched my damp skin, but I barely reacted to it. Instead, I just stood there for a moment, staring ahead without really seeing anything, my thoughts dull and distant, as if everything inside me had gone still.
I didn't say a word.
I didn't ask anything.
I just… let it happen.
The maids moved toward me gently, their presence calm and practiced, and before I could even think about it, they had already begun. One of them brought a soft towel and carefully dried my body, making sure no part was left damp, while another reached for a jar of cream.
Their hands were light as they applied it to my skin, rubbing it in slowly, carefully, like they were used to handling something delicate, something that needed to be treated with care.
I didn't react.
I didn't pull away.
I just stood there, allowing them to do what they needed to do, my arms resting loosely by my sides, my eyes fixed somewhere far ahead.
Then they brought out a dress. It was expensive, even without touching it.
They helped me into it gently, adjusting it around my shoulders and waist, smoothing it down until it sat perfectly on my body, as if it belonged there, as if I belonged there too.
But I didn't feel that way.
I just watched. Light and careful touches moved across my face as they began with the makeup, their movements slow and precise, making sure every detail was just right without overdoing anything. The brush felt soft against my skin, almost like it wasn't even there, and yet I could feel the difference as they worked, the way they were shaping me into something I didn't fully recognize.
I sat down when they guided me to, my hands resting in my lap, my fingers loosely intertwined, my posture still and obedient. When they finally stepped back, the room went a little quieter, like they were waiting for my reaction.
"Please look, ma'am," one of them said softly.
I hesitated for a second before turning slowly.
And then I faced the mirror.
I paused immediately.
For a moment, I couldn't even move, because the girl staring back at me didn't feel familiar. She looked composed, her hair neatly styled, her skin glowing softly under the light, her dress sitting perfectly on her body as if she had always belonged in it.
She looked… right. Inside, everything was still unsettled, still messy, still full of questions I couldn't answer. My chest felt tight, my thoughts scattered, and no matter how calm I looked on the outside, I could still feel the fear sitting quietly beneath it all.
I stared at my reflection a little longer, trying to connect with it, trying to see myself in it, but it felt distant somehow.
Before I could think any further, the door opened.
The sound alone made my heart jump, sharp and sudden, like I had been caught doing something I shouldn't. I turned immediately, my body reacting before my mind could even catch up.
And he walked in.
Salvatore.
The room shifted instantly.
It wasn't something I could explain properly, but it was there. The air felt heavier, tighter, like everything adjusted itself the moment he stepped in. The maids all straightened at once, their movements quick but controlled as they bowed their heads.
"Good afternoon, sir."
Their voices came out low and respectful, almost in unison, and I could hear the caution in them, like they were careful not to get anything wrong.
He didn't respond.
He didn't even spare them more than a brief glance before speaking.
"Leave."
His tone was cold, flat, and completely emotionless, and it wasn't loud, yet it carried enough weight to fill the entire room.
There was no hesitatio as they all moved at once, filing out quickly and quietly, their steps light but fast, like they didn't want to linger even for a second longer than necessary.
And just like that, it was only the two of us.
The silence that followed felt different. And suddenly… the room felt smaller.
I became aware of everything at once, the sound of my own breathing, the slight movement of my fingers, the way my heart refused to slow down.
He stood there for a moment, his eyes fixed on me, and then he stepped closer.
Each step measured, like he wasn't in a hurry, like he already knew I wasn't going anywhere.
There was something in the way he looked at me that made my chest tighten.
His gaze moved from my face, steady and unreadable, then slowly down to the dress I was wearing, taking in every detail, before returning to my eyes again.
It didn't feel like a normal look.
It felt like he was studying me and I didn't move.
I couldn't.
My fingers tightened slightly at my sides, and I tried to steady my breathing, but it wasn't working the way I wanted it to.
Then he spoke.
"My name is Salvatore Vitale," he said, his voice low and controlled. "I believe I didn't introduce myself properly earlier."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, as if even that simple act took effort.
He took another step closer, closing the distance even more.
"The man you spent the night with… two months ago."
My heart didn't just slow down; it felt like it stopped completely, as if everything inside me paused at once, leaving me stuck in that moment with no way to move forward. I could feel it, that sudden stillness that spread through my chest and up into my throat, making it hard to even breathe properly.
Everything around me seemed to fade for a second.
The room, the air, even my own thoughts felt distant, like I was no longer fully present in my own body.
"What…?" I whispered, but even that sounded strange to my ears, like the voice didn't belong to me anymore.
That night came rushing back, not clearly, not in a way I could hold onto, but in broken pieces that didn't fully connect. I remembered the room, the way my head had felt heavy, the dizziness that made everything spin, and the unsettling feeling of not being in control of myself.
And now he was standing right in front of me, looking at me like he already knew everything I was trying to understand.
He watched my reaction closely, his face calm and unchanged, like none of this was surprising to him, like he had already accepted it long before this moment.
Then he spoke again.
"And now," he said, his voice still low, still steady, "your husband."
The word didn't just hang in the air; it settled between us slowly, pressing down on me in a way that made it hard to think straight. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out, and I just stood there, frozen, trying to understand how my life had changed so completely without me even realizing it.
My mind felt full and yet empty at the same time, like it was trying desperately to catch up with reality but kept tripping over itself and failing, leaving me staggered, confused, and rooted to the spot.
Before I could even gather a thought, before I could find the strength to speak, to demand some kind of explanation, he spoke again. His voice, calm, measured, and utterly cold, cut through the heavy air like steel, and somehow it made my chest tighten even more. I felt it physically, like my ribs had contracted under an invisible grip, forcing me to take shallow breaths.
"There is something else you should know about your husband," he said slowly, deliberately, letting each word land like a weight on my shoulders. My stomach turned over at the certainty in his tone, at the absolute calm he carried even while dropping words that felt like explosives. I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to cover my ears, to run, to scream, to pretend none of this was happening, but I had no choice. My gaze was locked on him, my hands clenching at my sides, and I had to listen, because refusing wasn't an option.
"I don't just own this place," he continued, his eyes piercing mine, his voice dropping to something lower, darker, and more dangerous. "I rule it."
A shiver ran down my spine, crawling up the back of my neck, twisting through my chest, and I felt cold, not from the air, but from the sheer weight of his words.
"I rule the mafia world," he said finally, and the last thread of security I thought I had shattered completely, leaving me trembling in a strange mixture of awe, fear, and the undeniable realization that my life had changed in ways I could never undo.