Evangeline, meanwhile, remained in the dank, cold confines of the mansion's basement. She had long ago lost track of time.
The wound on her neck had crusted over, a macabre necklace of dried blood that served as a constant reminder of her captor's cruelty.
Her once luscious chest now bore the grim stains of her own lifeblood, a grim reminder of the brutal reality she now faced.
Her long hair, once a cascade of raven waves that shimmered in the moonlight, was now a tangled mess, matted with sweat and grime.
Her lips, were now chapped and cracked from dehydration, her tongue swollen from the lack of moisture.
Each breath she took was a silent scream of pain, her throat raw from screaming for mercy that never came.
Her eyes, were now sunken and dull. The only sounds that echoed through the concrete walls were her labored breaths and the distant hum of the mansion's life above her.
Then, the sudden sound of footsteps on the stairs, the clank of a key in the lock, and the door to her prison cell swung open.
A sliver of light cut through the darkness, blinding her for a moment. She squinted into the light, expecting to see the cruel kidnapper but instead, the figure that emerged was that of a young woman.
The woman seemed to be wearing maid's uniform a pristine white apron tied neatly around her waist, her black hair pulled into a tight bun, the hem brushing against the cold concrete floor.
Her eyes, though filled with pity, remained firm as she approached Evangeline, the chair creaking with the shift in weight as she knelt before her.
The rope was tight, the fibers embedded into her skin, leaving deep grooves. The woman's touch was gentle, almost tender, as she began to work at the knots.
"Why?" Evangeline croaked out, her voice hoarse from screaming.
The woman's eyes met hers, filled with a mix of pity "The Don wants your presence at dinner," she said softly.
Evangeline's mind raced. Dinner? Why now? Why me? Her voice was barely a whisper as she croaked out the words. "What does he want with me?"
The maid paused, her hands hovering over the knots. "I don't know, Miss," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of sympathy and fear. "But it is not for us to question the Don's wishes." She finished untying the last knot and helped Evangeline to her feet, her legs wobbly from disuse.
Evangeline's wrists were a horror to behold, a mottled mess of bruises and welts.
The ropes had bitten deep, leaving behind a ring of raw flesh that was sticky with blood and sweat. Each movement sent waves of pain through her.
The maid, whose name was Sara, led Evangeline upstairs with a gentle yet firm grip, her eyes filled with a silent sympathy.
"You must come with me, to shower" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "We don't have much time to get you ready."
The maid, had led her to a small bathroom adjacent to her cell, the porcelain tub filled to the brim with steaming water.
She had been instructed to strip, and as Sara helped her into the tub, Evangeline couldn't help but feel a pang of humiliation at her own vulnerability.
The warm water washed over her. Sara's hands were gentle as they scrubbed the grime from her skin, the soap smelling faintly of lavender.
Her wounds burned. The water grew murky as it washed away the layers of dirt and blood.
The sting of the soap on her cuts and bruises brought tears to her eyes, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Sara, the maid, had been kind to her. Once she was clean, Sara helped her out of the tub with a firm yet gentle grip. A towel was wrapped around her, and she was led to a chair in the corner of the room.
The pink dress was brought by sara. It was made of a soft, almost silky material that whispered against her skin as she slid it on.
The fabric clung to her curves in all the right places, the color a stark reminder of innocence lost.
The neckline was modest, but the way it cinched at her waist made her feel exposed. The dress was simple yet elegant, with a touch of lace that ran along the hem and the neckline.
It had short sleeves that ended just above her elbows, leaving her bruises hidden.
"You look...different," Sara said, her voice tentative. Evangeline's eyes met hers in the mirror, and she knew the woman was trying to be kind.
The bruises and the haunted look in her eyes were impossible to completely conceal, no matter how much makeup was applied.
"Thank you," Evangeline managed to murmur, her voice still hoarse.
The maid nodded, her eyes filled with a silent apology. "It's time, Miss."
Evangeline took a deep, shaky breath and followed her out of the room. Each step felt like a march towards the gallows, her heart hammering in her chest.
The corridors of the mansion were a blur of opulence.
The plush carpets muffled their footsteps as they approached the grand dining room.
The room was lit, the chandeliers casting long, dramatic shadows across the gleaming mahogany table.
The smell of roasting meats and fresh bread filled the air, making her stomach growl despite her fear. She had not eaten properly since her capture.
Sara had shown her to a chair at table, instructing her to wait.
The chair was high-backed and unyielding, the fabric a deep red that matched the blood staining her soul.
She felt like a lamb dressed for slaughter, but she knew better than to argue.
She sat, her back straight, her hands in her lap, and waited for the man who had stolen her life.
The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat and polished wood.
After waiting for what felt like an eternity, the doors to the grand dining hall swung open, and a hush fell over the room.
The maids, who had been bustling about, setting the table and arranging the silverware, all lined up along the walls, their eyes cast down in respect.
The man who had kidnapped her and abused her stepped into the room, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space.
Evangeline also stood up in fear and looked down, her heart racing like a wild stallion.
The dress that clung to her body felt like a prison, the fabric suffocating her.
She could feel his gaze on her, a cold, assessing look that sent shivers down her spine.
His tall frame was wrapped in a tailored tuxedo, the fabric hugging his muscular form like a second skin.
His dark hair was slicked back, not a single strand out of place, and his face was a chiseled masterpiece of sharp angles and brooding beauty.
His eyes, a piercing blue, had the power to cut through any facade and peer into the very depths of a person's soul.
Vincent Castellanos sat at the head of the table, his presence dominating the grand dining hall.
"Sit," he ordered with a voice that was colder than the marble floors beneath her bare feet.
Evangeline obeyed, her trembling legs barely holding her up as she lowered herself into the chair.
She couldn't help but flinch at the sound of his voice, the power it held.
The maids began to serve dinner, moving with the grace of ballet dancers as they placed steaming dishes on the table.
The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the tense silence.
Evangeline's stomach growled in protest, the smell of the food both tantalizing and nauseating.
The sight of the rich, flavorful dishes made her mouth water, but she knew better than to reach for them before the master of this mansion himself.
Vincente Castellanos picked up his fork, his movements deliberate and precise. His eyes remained on her.
He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving hers.
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