Chapter 3 - THE UNINVITED GUESTS
"There are no secrets in this house. Only lies we haven't paid for yet."
Three days had passed. Elena was now, legally, Mrs. Elena Carranza.
The wedding had been a private affair—no guests, no flowers, just a cold-eyed judge in Matthew’s study and a heavy platinum ring that felt like a shackle on Elena’s finger.
She had been moved into the master wing of the estate. While Matthew slept in his own quarters, the proximity was suffocating. She saw him only at dinner, where they sat at opposite ends of a long mahogany table, eating in a silence that was louder than any argument.
But the illusion of safety was shattered on the fourth afternoon.
Elena was in the library, desperately searching through old archives of her father's business partners, when the heavy oak doors burst open.
"Where is she?!"
A voice she knew all too well echoed through the grand hallway. It was Isabel.
Elena froze, her blood turning to ice. She stood up, her hands gripping the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles turned white.
Isabel Vargas strode into the library, flanked by two burly men in dark suits. She looked immaculate, wearing a cream-colored designer suit, her blonde hair coiffed perfectly, not a single hair out of place. But her eyes were wild, venomous, and locked onto Elena.
"You miserable little brat," Isabel spat, stepping toward her. "You think because you climbed into a rich man's car, you can run from me? Do you have any idea the mess you've caused? Ambrose is demanding his money! The board is asking questions!"
"Get out of my house, Isabel," Elena said, trying to force her voice to remain steady, though her knees were shaking.
"Your house?" Isabel laughed, a bitter, mocking sound. "You think this man cares about you? You are a charity case to him. A charity case he will discard the second he realizes you don't know where the certificates are. Now, get your things. We are leaving. I have guards outside."
One of Isabel’s men reached out to grab Elena’s arm.
"I wouldn't do that if I valued my hand."
The voice came from the doorway. Matthew stood there, flanked by Marcus and three heavily armed security guards. He wasn't wearing his jacket, his sleeves rolled up, and his expression was entirely devoid of emotion. Yet, the air in the room instantly dropped ten degrees.
Isabel’s men hesitated, stepping back.
Isabel turned, her fake smile quickly plastered over her rage. "Matthew. Darling. There has been a misunderstanding. This girl is my stepdaughter. She has some mental instability, she ran away from home after a breakdown. I'm just here to take her back to her doctors."
Matthew walked slowly into the room, his eyes never leaving Isabel's. He didn't look at Elena, but he stood directly between her and the intruders.
"Your stepdaughter?" Matthew asked, his tone deceptively conversational.
"Yes. She's extremely unwell—"
"That is strange," Matthew interrupted, pulling a document from his pocket and tossing it onto the desk. "Because according to the state registry, she is my wife."
Isabel’s face drained of color. She looked at the paper, then at the heavy platinum band on Elena's finger. "W-wife? You married her? Matthew, you can't be serious. She has nothing! She is a penniless nobody!"
"She has fifty-one percent of your company, Isabel," Matthew said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet whisper. "And as her husband, I now have power of attorney over her assets. Which means your debt to me is no longer a civil matter. I have just purchased your outstanding loans from the bank. I own your house, Isabel. I own your cars. I own the clothes you are wearing."
Isabel took a step back, her eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. "You... you can't do this."
"I can, and I have," Matthew said. "You have twenty-four hours to vacate the Vargas mansion. If I see you, or your men, near my wife again, I will not call the police. I will handle it personally. And you know exactly what that means."
Isabel glared at Elena with pure, unadulterated hatred. "You think you've won, Elena? You think this man is protecting you? Ask him about the night your father died. Ask him why his car was parked outside your house an hour before the 'heart attack'."
With that final, poison-tipped arrow, Isabel turned and stormed out of the mansion, her guards rushing to keep up.
May you like
Elena stood frozen, the room spinning. She looked at Matthew, her voice barely a whisper.
"Matthew... what did she mean?"
