After breakfast,
"Miss, it's time for your medication," Clara said after a moment, her voice soothing. She held out a glass of water and two pills.
Evangeline took them with trembling hands, the pills feeling like lead in her mouth.
She swallowed hard, the water cool and refreshing as it slid down her throat.
The painkillers were a necessary evil, to recover her pain.
As Clara took the glass from her trembling hand, Evangeline found the courage to ask, "Where is... Mr. Castellanos?" Her voice was a mere whisper, the question heavy with fear, hoping he wasnt at home.
"Mr. Castellanos had to attend to some matters, Miss," she said, her voice a gentle lie. "He won't be back until later this evening."
Evangeline nodded, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
The thought of facing him again was almost too much to bear after last nigh'ts abuse.
Days passed in a blur of pain and isolation.
Her legs were a prison of their own, bound by plaster casts.
The painkillers Clara administered allowed her to sleep, but even in her dreams, the phantom echoes of his brutal assault haunted her.
Days ticked by, the wedding day drawing closer with each passing hour.
The doctor had come and gone, his visits as fleeting as the moments of relief his medicine brought.
Vincent's visits grew rarer. When he did come late at night and he left early in the morning.
Sometimes she would hold her breath, willing herself invisible, as he approached the bed.
Other times, she would lie there, eyes squeezed shut, and wait for the touch that never came.
The days grew shorter, the hours stretched tight with tension.
Each time Clara brought her meals or changed her bandages, Evangeline would ask about Vincente.
The maid's responses were always the same—he was busy with work.
On the evening before the wedding, her bladder protested for a release.
She waited, hoping a maid would come, but the house was eerily quiet.
Gritting her teeth, she made the decision to try and make it to the bathroom alone. Her legs felt like they were on fire as she pushed herself to the edge of the bed.
With a deep breath, she slid her legs over the side, Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the bedpost to steady herself.
Her legs trembled as she took her first then she shuffled forward, her eyes fixed on the bathroom door that seemed to loom further away with each painful inch.
Her brown long hair fell in damp tendrils around her face.
With a grimace, she took another step, the plaster was taken off since they were better.
Her legs gave way without warning.
She crumpled to the floor with a thud, sending a fresh wave of pain through her already broken body.
Her long brown hair fanned out around her face. Her cheek hit the floor first, followed by the rest of her body.
Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bit down on her lower lip to stifle the scream that threatened to tear from her chest.
"What are you doing?" His cold voice startled her, and she realized that she had never heard his footsteps approaching.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she forced her eyes open to find him standing in the doorway, his tall frame stood like a shadow against the dimly lit hall.
The muscles of his muscles of his arms flexed as he took in the sight of her on the floor.
"I-I needed to use the bathroom," she stuttered, the fear and embarassment evident in her voice.
Vincent's gaze was as cold as the marble floor she lay on, his eyes narrowing into slits of disapproval.
He signed deeply, the sound of his annoyance echoing through the silent room.
Then, without a word, he strode over and bent down, his strong arms wrapping around her.
The suddenness of his touch was both terrifying and embarrassing. She felt like a ragdoll in his embrace, her body aching with every movement.
"N-no," she tried to protest, her voice trembling, but the coldness of his grip tightened, cutting off any further sound.
"Save your strength," he said, his voice a low growl. "You'll need it for tomorrow."
Evangeline felt a cold shiver run down her spine. The wedding.
The word hung in the air between them, a specter of what was to come.
She couldn't help the whimper that escaped her as he carried her to the en-suite bathroom, his footsteps echoing in the quietness.
The bathroom's gleaming marble was cold against her bare skin as he set her down in front of the toilet.
"I can do it," she protested weakly, her face flaming with embarrassment.
Vincent set her down, his eyes never leaving hers. "Call me when you're done," he said, his voice a mix of command and indifference.
He turned and strode out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
Evangeline's cheeks flamed with humiliation as she realized she was indeed in no state to use the toilet alone.
She gingerly lowered herself onto the cold porcelain seat, her legs trembling with the effort.
Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she fumbled with her dress, trying not not think about what just happened.
Her face was a mask of mortification when she called out to him, "I'm...I'm done." Her voice low not sure if he heard her.
So, she took a deep breath to call him again, but before she could, the door handle turned, and the heavy mahogany door swung open.
Vincente stepped in, his face a mask of annoyance, his eyes sweeping over her before averting his gaze.
"Come on," he said, his voice devoid of warmth.
He scooped her up again, her body a dead weight in his arms, and carried her back to the bed.
The pain from her legs was a dull throb now, overshadowed by the humiliation that painted her cheeks a deep red.
He laid her down with the care of a man handling fine china, his eyes never meeting hers.
"You will be my wife tomorrow," he stated coldly, standing near the bed with his arms folded across his broad chest. "I have arranged for women to come and prepare you. Do not disappoint me or else your beloved old mother will be no more"
Evangeline's heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice as she stared up at him, her eyes wide with fear.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms at the threat. "I won't Sir..." she couldn't lose her mother the only family she had.
Also she lost hope and didnt dare to think to escape again.
Vincent's gaze hard, his voice remained cold as usual . "Good," he said, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
The sound of the door closing was the final nail in the coffin of her hope.
Evangeline lay there, her mind racing with thoughts of her mother.