CHAPTER 3: THE PROMISE

Three days passed before Sofia saw Ethan again. She’d thrown herself into her work, taking extra shifts in the kitchen, cleaning rooms that didn’t need cleaning—anything to keep her mind from wandering to that small sitting room, to his blue eyes and the promise in his voice.

She was in the greenhouse, pruning the orchids that grew in rows along the glass walls, when he found her. The morning light streamed through the ceiling, making the air glow green and warm.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Sofia didn’t look up from her work. “I’m working, sir.”

“Ethan.” He stepped into the room, the floorboards creaking under his polished shoes. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About your mother.”

She finally turned to look at him, her pruning shears still in her hand. “And?”

“I talked to my grandfather,” he said. “The one who runs the family trust. I told him I wanted to marry you.”

Sofia dropped the shears. They clattered against the stone floor, startling a butterfly from a nearby hibiscus. “You what?”

“He wasn’t happy,” Ethan continued, moving closer. “In fact, he threatened to cut me off completely—take away my position at the company, my share of the fortune, everything. He said a Hawthorne doesn’t marry a servant.”

Fear twisted in Sofia’s stomach. “Ethan, you shouldn’t have—”

“But I told him I didn’t care,” he interrupted, taking her face in his hands. “I told him that if I can’t have you, I don’t want any of it. I’d rather work in a factory, live in a small apartment, have nothing at all than spend my life with someone I don’t love.”

Tears streamed down Sofia’s cheeks now, hot and unchecked. “You’d really give up everything for me?”

“Everything,” he repeated firmly. “But there’s something else. My grandfather made a deal with me.”

She pulled back slightly, her heart already sinking. “What kind of deal?”

“He’ll let us marry—let us stay in the manor, let me keep my position—if you agree to one condition.” He paused, his jaw tight. “You have to give up your old life completely. No contact with anyone from your past. No going back to your neighborhood, no talking to your friends. You’ll become a Hawthorne in every way—learn our customs, our rules, take on our name and our responsibilities. You’ll be cut off from everything you’ve ever known.”

Sofia stared at him, her mind reeling. No contact with anyone from her past. That meant no more visits to Mrs. Domingo, the woman who’d taken her in after her mother died. No more late-night calls with Marco, her best friend since childhood. No more walking through the streets where she’d grown up, where every corner held a memory of her mother.

“It’s for our own good,” Ethan said, as if reading her mind. “My family will never accept you if you hold onto your old life. They need to see that you’re committed to us, to this family. And once they do, once they get to know you—”

“Once they get to know the version of me you want them to see,” Sofia finished quietly. She stepped away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. “You say you want me to be with you, but you’re asking me to give up everything that makes me me. That’s not love—that’s… that’s building a cage and asking me to live in it.”

“It’s a sacrifice,” Ethan said, his voice gentle but firm. “Love requires sacrifice, Sofia. Don’t you see? I’m willing to risk losing everything for you. The least you can do is give up your past to keep us together.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “My mother… she gave up so much, and what did she get? Heartbreak and a life of struggle. I promised myself I’d never let anyone ask me to give up who I am.”

Ethan took her hand again, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’m not asking you to give up who you are. I’m asking you to grow with me, to build a new life together. One where you’ll never have to worry about money, about where your next meal is coming from, about working yourself to the bone just to survive. You’ll have everything you’ve ever dreamed of—travel, books, art. All you have to do is say yes.”

Sofia thought of Mrs. Domingo’s small apartment, with its worn couches and walls covered in family photos. She thought of Marco, who’d walked her home from school every day after her mother died, who’d shared his lunch with her when she had none. She thought of the library where she’d spent hours reading, of the park where she’d first learned to ride a bike, of every place that had shaped her into the woman she was.

And then she thought of Ethan—of the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the world, of how he’d sat with her in the garden talking about books, of the promise of a life where she’d never have to struggle again.

“I need time,” she said finally. “I can’t decide right now.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ethan said, kissing her forehead. “But please… don’t let fear make your choice for you. I love you, Sofia. More than anything.”

He left her alone in the greenhouse, surrounded by flowers that had been carefully cultivated to grow in perfect conditions—protected from the wind, the rain, the harshness of the world outside. She looked at the orchids, their petals smooth and flawless, and wondered if that was what she’d become if she said yes: beautiful, but trapped.

That evening, she called Marco from the pay phone at the corner store down the road from the manor. He picked up on the second ring.

“Sofia! I’ve been worried about you—you haven’t called in weeks.”

“I know,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “Marco, I need to talk to you.”

She told him everything—about Ethan, about the proposal, about the deal his grandfather had made. He was quiet for a long time when she finished speaking.

“He wants you to cut us all off?” he asked finally, his voice tight with anger. “That’s not love, Sofia. That’s obsession. He wants to own you, not be with you.”

“But he says it’s the only way we can be together,” she whispered. “He says he’d give up everything for me.”

“Would he?” Marco asked. “Or is he just saying that because he knows you’d never ask him to actually do it? Sofia, you know what your mother went through. Don’t let history repeat itself.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I love him, Marco. I really do. But I love you too, and Mrs. Domingo, and everything we’ve built together.”

“I know, mija,” he said softly. “And we love you too. Whatever you decide, we’ll be here for you. But please—don’t give up yourself for anyone. Not even him.”

They talked for another hour, until the store owner told her she had to hang up. As she walked back toward the manor, the iron gates looming ahead like the bars of a prison, she knew she had to make a choice. But she also knew that no matter what she decided, someone would get hurt.

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