Remarried To My Dangerous Mafia Husband

Chapter 5

A soft knock at the bathroom door broke the silence Peggy was drowning in before. A young maid in a neat black-and-white uniform stepped inside, holding a stack of fluffy white towels and a bottle of expensive bath oils. She looked at Peggy with a mixture of curiosity and deep caution, keeping her eyes lowered.

"Good evening, madam," the maid said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "My name is Marta. Mr. De la Vega instructed me to draw a bath for you and help you wash."

Peggy was initially sitting in the bathtub, deep in thought, before Marta walked in.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her skin still feeling raw and sensitive. The thought of anyone touching her right now made her stomach turn. "No," she said, her voice hoarse but firm. "Thank you, Marta. But I can bathe myself. Just leave the towels."

Marta hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if terrified of disobeying any order from Ramiro, but she quickly bowed her head. "Of course, madam. I will wait out here with your clothes."

Once the bathroom door locked behind her, Peggy finally let out a breath. She soaked inside the steaming water for a long time, and scrubbed her skin until it was flushed red.

When she finally stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in a large towel, Marta was waiting exactly where she had left her. Laid out on the bed was a beautiful, emerald-green silk lounge set.

This time, Peggy did not struggle and let Marta help her dress.

Now that the initial shock had worn off and her vision was clear, Peggy finally looked around the massive bedroom.

She could tell it had been meticulously prepared in advance of her arrival.

To the left stood a massive, gilded dressing mirror that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Resting on the marble vanity table beneath it were rows of luxury skincare brands, expensive perfumes, and high-end makeup palettes, all completely untouched.

"Mr. De la Vega ordered everything to be ready this morning," Marta murmured, noticing Peggy’s stunned gaze.

Marta walked over to a set of frosted glass doors and slid them open, revealing a walk-in closet the size of Peggy's entire old living room. Rows of designer dresses, tailored pantsuits, silk blouses, and winter coats hung under soft, warm lighting.

On the opposite wall, shelves were stacked with luxury handbags, diamond jewelry cases, and rows of pristine shoes.

Everything was in her exact size.

Peggy walked to the entrance of the closet, staring at the sheer wealth displayed before her.

Just twenty-four hours ago, she had been stripped down to her underwear, mocked by her mother-in-law, and kicked into the mud.

Now, she was surrounded by a fortune of luxury.

But she wasn't foolish enough to think this was a grand romantic gesture. Ramiro didn't care about her comfort. He was a powerful man, and she was now his possession. If she was going to play the role of his wife, she had to look the part.

If Ramiro wanted a perfect, obedient wife, she would give him exactly that. The most important thing to her was to live long enough to see the Devereux destroyed in her hands.

She would enjoy Ramiro's wealth and use his resources. And when the time was right, the Devereux family wouldn't even see her coming.

"Dinner is served, madam," Marta said, bowing her head as she stood near the closet door.

"Mr. De la Vega is waiting for you downstairs."

Peggy took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of the emerald-green silk lounge set.

She slipped her feet into a pair of soft, expensive slippers Marta put in front of her and followed Marta down the wide, cold corridors of the fortress-like mansion.

The dining hall was massive. High, arched ceilings made every footstep echo, and a long, polished mahogany table stretched across the center of the room. It was large enough to seat thirty people, but it was completely empty except for Ramiro.

He sat at the head of the table, already dressed in a fresh dark shirt, calmly cutting into a steak. Two maids stood silently against the wall, their hands folded. At the entrance of the room and near the large glass windows stood three men in tailored suits, their jackets slightly open to reveal the holstered handguns beneath.

Peggy stopped at the entrance for a brief second. She still wasn't used to this. The Devereux family was wealthy, but their wealth was just a fraction of Ramiro's wealth.

"Sit," Ramiro said, not looking up from his plate.

Marta quickly pulled out the heavy chair to Ramiro's right. Peggy sat down slowly. Immediately, a maid stepped forward and placed a perfectly prepared plate of food in front of her. The smell made Peggy’s stomach rumble, reminding her she hadn't eaten a real meal since yesterday afternoon.

Ramiro set his knife and fork down. He took a sip of red wine from a crystal glass, his dark, unfriendly eyes finally locking onto her face.

"We will be attending a public charity gala in three days. The media will be there, and the Devereux family will be there."

Peggy’s fingers tightened around her cloth napkin. "They will see me with you."

"They will see my wife," Ramiro corrected coldly. "And because you are my wife, you will hold your head up. I do not tolerate weakness, Peggy.”

Peggy swallowed hard. "I understand."

"And there are rules you must follow under my roof," Ramiro continued, leaning back in his chair. "First, you do not question my business. You do not ask where I go, who I meet, or what happens outside this house. Second, you do not speak to the staff about anything other than your daily needs. You represent the De la Vega name now. If you look small, I look small. And I do not look small."

Peggy looked at her plate, the weight of his words pressing down on her.

To Ramiro, she was a reflection of his status, a piece of property that needed to be polished for public display.

"And when we are alone?" Peggy asked quietly, looking back up into his dark eyes.

"You will be an obedient wife," Ramiro said flatly, his expression unyielding. "You will provide the heir required of my position when the time comes.”

"I understand, Ramiro," Peggy said, her voice dropping into a steady, quiet calm. She picked up her fork. Ramiro did not feel sorry for her, there was no need to wallow in her misery either.

She had chosen this life when she chose Ramiro, and she would lie on her bed just as she has laid it.

Ramiro watched her for a silent moment, his sharp eyes evaluating the sudden shift in her posture. He didn't smile, but he gave a single, slow nod before picking up his knife to resume his dinner.