The air in Elva's bedroom, once a sanctuary of quiet study, had curdled into something thick and suffocating.
Elva sat on the edge of her mattress, her knuckles white as she gripped her medical entrance preparatory book. The fading amber of the sunset bled through the window, casting a deceptive, angelic glow over her features and catching the dark silk of her hair.
"I want to be a doctor," she whispered, the words vibrating with a decade of quiet defiance. "I have to be ready for the entrance exams. I've worked too hard to stop now."
For Elva, the thick volume in her lap wasn't just a textbook; it was a lifeline. It was the physical manifestation of a promise whispered into the wind at thirteen, standing before two fresh graves. It was a vow to become the healer she hadn't been able to find for her parents.
Victoria stood before her, a silhouette against the grander architecture of the Rodriguez estate. Usually, Victoria's presence brought a sense of playful rebellion, but now, she was uncharacteristically still. A ghost of a memory—her father's frigid, gravelly voice—echoed in her mind: "The Salvatore family will never allow their daughter-in-law to work."
Victoria's practiced smile didn't just fade; it vanished, replaced by a mask of somber gravity. She stepped forward, her shadow stretching over Elva's lap, blotting out the light on the pages.
"You need to give up your dream, Elva."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The distant chirp of evening birds fell silent. Elva blinked, her long lashes fluttering in confusion. "…What?"
Victoria looked away, her gaze landing on the expensive Persian rug. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice laced with a genuine, sharp-edged guilt. "But the Salvatores… they're old world. Powerful. They won't allow a wife of their bloodline to have a career. I can't change their rules."
Elva scrambled to her feet, the textbook thudding onto the floor—a hollow, final sound. "No!" her voice trembled, a mix of disbelief and rising panic. "I just finished high school, Victoria! This is my life. I have a dream—I can't just throw it away because of some… some contract!"
Before the protest could escalate, a sharp wrap-tap-tap echoed against the heavy oak door.
It swung open to reveal the Rodriguez family manager. He was a man carved out of gray suits and professional indifference, a permanent fixture of Victoria's father's shadow. He bowed, his movement precise. "Miss Victoria. Miss Elva. The Master has requested your presence in the main hall immediately."
Victoria's brow furrowed. "Both of us? He's never called Elva for family business."
"Immediately, Miss," the manager repeated.
The walk to the main hall felt like a procession. The Rodriguez mansion, with its soaring pillars and crystal chandeliers that dripped like frozen rain, usually felt like a palace. Tonight, it felt like a courthouse.
As they descended the grand staircase, Elva felt the weight of the house pressing in on her. In the center of the hall, framed by gold-leafed moldings, sat Victoria's parents. Her father, Marcus Rodriguez, looked like a king weighing a sentence. Her mother sat beside him, twisting a diamond ring around her finger with nervous agitation.
"You called for us?" Victoria asked, her voice regaining its habitual edge of defiance.
Marcus Rodriguez didn't look at his daughter first. His sharp, predatory gaze landed on Elva. She felt a cold shiver trace her spine and instinctively lowered her head.
"I heard about your... little suggestion," Marcus said, his voice a low rumble.
Victoria crossed her arms. "My suggestion?"
"That Elva marries Matthew Salvatore in your place." Marcus stood up slowly, his presence filling the room. "Do you truly think the Salvatore family are fools? They asked for a daughter of the Rodriguez bloodline. Not a ward. Not a middle-class girl with no pedigree."
Elva winced at the word middle-class. It was a reminder of the invisible wall that had always existed between her and this world of gold and glass.
"If they realize we've attempted a bait-and-switch," Marcus continued, his eyes flashing, "it won't just be an insult. it will be a declaration of war. You will marry Matthew Salvatore, Victoria."
"I told you!" Victoria's voice rose, cracking the heavy silence. "I need seven months to finish my training abroad! I won't give that up!"
"And you won't have to," Marcus said, his tone suddenly shifting to something smoother, more calculating. "There is a middle ground."
Both girls froze.
"The Salvatores are private. They will only meet the bride officially during the formal engagement ceremony in a few months," Marcus explained, pacing the length of the sofa. "Until then, we need a representative. A placeholder."
He turned his gaze back to Elva. "For the next few months, Elva will act as the bride-to-be. She will attend the preliminary meetings, handle the correspondence, and keep the seat warm."
"Act?" Elva whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"And when the engagement is finalized and your training is complete," Marcus looked at Victoria, "you will step back into your rightful place. The marriage will proceed as planned, with the real Rodriguez heir."
The room grew icy. Victoria stared at her father, her mind racing through the logistics of the deception. "You want Elva to play a part? To lie to the most dangerous man in the country?"
"I want her to ensure this family's future," Marcus replied coldly.
Elva looked at Victoria. She saw the desperation in her friend's eyes—the same hunger for a dream that she herself felt. Victoria had rescued her from the wreckage of her old life. She had given her a roof, clothes, and a sense of belonging when the world was empty.
If Elva did this, Victoria could finish her training. And maybe, just maybe, Elva could find a way to navigate her own future in the shadows of this lie.
"I'll do it," Elva said, her voice small but steady.
Victoria turned to her, eyes wide. "Elva, no. You don't know what you're saying. Matthew Salvatore is—"
"It's okay," Elva interrupted, offering a fragile, sincere smile. "You've done everything for me, Victoria. If playing this part helps you reach your goal... then it's the least I can do."
Marcus Rodriguez nodded, his expression devoid of gratitude, seeing only a successful transaction. "Good. Prepare yourselves. The Salvatores arrive in three days."
The Salvatore Estate
While the air in the Rodriguez home was thick with desperation, the air in the Salvatore estate was simply cold.
Matthew Salvatore stood in an office that looked more like a command center than a study. He was a pillar of shadow, his 194\text{ cm} frame casting a long, intimidating silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He didn't look up when his assistant entered. His focus remained on a classified military dossier on his desk, his sharp blue eyes—the color of glacial ice—scanning the data with terrifying efficiency.
"Sir," the assistant murmured. "The Rodriguez family has confirmed. The meeting for the engagement is set."
Matthew finally closed the file, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the quiet room. "Fine."
He stood up, his presence radiating a controlled, lethal energy. He was a man who moved through the world with the expectation of total obedience.
"I'll meet the girl," he said, his voice a deep, emotionless baritone. He paused, his gaze turning toward the dark horizon outside. "But make it clear to them: when she enters this house, she follows my rules. There will be no exceptions."
He had no way of knowing that the "Rodriguez daughter" he was about to meet was an innocent girl with the heart of a healer and a secret that could burn both their worlds to the ground.
The sunflower was about to be transplanted into a garden of thorns.