Chapter 19 Lia
LIA
The dresser is not how I left it.
The thought hits me fast and hard. I freeze at the sight, my stomach clenching, blood rushing to my ears.
The change is barely noticeable, but I notice it.
I keep staring at the slightly opened drawer, trying to tell myself that I might have forgotten to shut it all the way.
But I know that is a lie. I always close it flush. Always.
My hand trembles as I slowly reach for the drawer handle and pull. Someone has been here.
“God, please,” I mutter under my breath as I pull the cloth I used to wrap the test.
The pink box is gone.
Gone.
A cold shiver rattles down my spine. My knees nearly give out, and I catch myself on the edge of the dresser. My breath shortens and becomes shallow, like I’m drowning.
I close the drawer and open it again. It’s still gone.
Oh god. Someone knows. Someone else in this house knows I’m pregnant.
“No, no, no!” I groan, burying my hands in my hair and tugging at the roots. “What am I going to do?”
I should be in the kitchen now. The Romanos came back some minutes ago, and the maids were making their dinner when I slipped out to use the bathroom.
But I can’t leave this room. I can’t. If one person knows, then…
“No.” I shake my head, pacing around the room.
My mind races, running through all the possibilities. Did one of the maids see me that day when I stole the kit? Who would take the kit from my room, and why now? Have they told Dante already? Do they know?
I pace the length of the small room over and over, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. My hand keeps running over my belly. This tiny, invisible thing I haven’t even begun to understand yet, let alone protect.
I sit on the edge of the bed, then spring up again.
I should leave, but how? How am I supposed to escape?
The security in this estate is tight. I might have been able to sneak around a few times because I work as a maid and have gotten used to some hidden corners, but leaving the estate entirely is a different ballgame.
There is only one entrance and one exit—the large estate gate.
And unlike other maids who sometimes leave to go on errands, I am protected property. I can’t go anywhere.
A breath rushes out of my mouth.
That’s it!
I can disguise myself as one of the other maids, act like I’m going on a house errand, and set myself free. I can—
A heavy knock at the door makes me jump.
Before I can ask who it is, the door slams open so hard that the handle dents the wall. I jolt, heart lurching into my throat. Two estate guards storm in. Renzo—I think that’s his name—is in front, flanked by a younger one I don’t recognize.
Renzo’s eyes sweep the room once before landing on me. And the way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. It’s not the wary glance I used to get as the new maid, or even the suspicious side-eyes he gave me when he saw me with Marco once.
This is colder. Sharper. Like my fate has already been decided. Like I’m not a person anymore.
“What… what is this?” I ask in an attempt to sound brave, but my voice comes out smaller than I want.
“Come with us,” he says.
My legs are locked in place. “Why?”
Neither of them answers. Renzo only nods at the other guard, and they both step forward in sync, their boots thudding heavily against the floor.
I step back instinctively. My heel bumps the edge of the bed. “You can’t just ask me to come with you without any reason. Did… did any of the masters ask for me?”
I realize how bad that might have sounded when the second guard scoffs humorlessly. But still, he doesn’t say a word.
He takes two big steps toward me and grabs my arm roughly. His grip is like steel.
“Wait! Stop!” I twist, trying to pull back. “Tell me what’s happening!”
But they don’t.
“Let go of me!” I yell, my voice breaking. “I didn’t do anything!”
Renzo’s hands close around my other arm like I’m some kind of criminal. Panic flares in my chest. I twist, kick, anything to stop them.
“Get your hands off me!” I scream now, louder and more desperate. “What are you doing?!”
Renzo just tightens his grip until pain shoots up my arm, and the younger one pins me by the shoulders. I struggle—god, I fight with everything I have—but it’s like being trapped between two stone pillars. Their strength dwarfs mine. Every move I make is swallowed by their brute force.
Renzo yanks me forward so hard my feet stumble, and my knee bangs against the edge of the dresser. The pain shoots through me like fire, but I barely register it. I’m too focused on the sheer terror threatening to bubble up my throat.
But I stop fighting. I know it’s useless. I’m breathing hard, my face flushed with exertion, shame burning across my cheeks.
I want to cry. I want to scream until my voice breaks.
But I don’t.
I will not cry.
Not for them.
Not for this cursed house.
I’m yanked out of the room like a ragdoll, my bare feet dragging against the marble floor as I fight their grip. We pass a group of maids down the hallway, and I see them freeze. Their eyes are wide, their mouths parted in whispered gasps. One of them grabs another’s arm. They know.
Doors creak open. Whispers and muttering float through the air as we walk by. Some maids pretend not to see me, their eyes wide and frightened. Others speak out more boldly.
“She’s the one, isn’t she?”
“I didn’t know it was her. She always seemed so quiet.”
One of the older cooks spits in my direction as I’m dragged past. “Shameful girl,” she mutters.
Another woman sneers, “You thought you were special, didn’t you?”
A few others just stare. Not with pity or concern. With hunger, like they’ve been waiting for this, like my downfall is their entertainment.
My legs finally move on their own, but only because I want to stand tall. I refuse to let them see me broken. Even as I’m shoved through the narrow back hall, past the servants’ quarters, and toward the main house, I hold my head up. My chin shakes, but I keep it raised.
I don’t know where they’re taking me.
But I know I won’t beg.
We reach the stairs. I stumble down them, almost falling, my breath ragged and my hair loose around my face.
The air thickens as we near the entrance of the main house. The murmurs behind us are louder now.
“What will they do to her?”
“She should have just closed her legs.”
“There’s something terribly wrong with this house.”
The whispers crawl over my skin like insects, each one more cutting than the last. Every step I take feels like a death sentence. I glance over my shoulder, just once. The maids following us have doubled in number.
The hallway opens into the atrium, and that’s when I see them.
More staff. More eyes.
I spot the butlers standing rigid near the marble pillars. My eyes meet those of the gardener. He’s seen me with Marco in the garden a few times. Now he leans against the wall, arms crossed like he’s been expecting this moment.
More guards stand at the base of the grand staircase. Some look impassive; others have their lips curled in disapproval.
Renzo yanks me forward, and I stumble again. My leg is still aching from earlier, but I don’t dare show pain.
There’s a hush as I’m dragged through the main entrance hall into the main living room, where we meet more people and eyes. I didn’t even know the house held this many staff.
That’s when I spot Marta. She’s standing near a wall, her hand clutched around the locket she always wears.
Her eyes lock with mine, and the soft and stricken look on her face almost breaks me.
She doesn’t move or say a word, but I see the slight tremble in her mouth and the way her eyes are glossed over.
I look away with a clench of my jaw.
Standing a few feet away from her is Allegra. Her mouth twists into a cruel little smile when I am dragged past her. “All that pride, Lia. Pretending like you’re better than us.” She shakes her head. “Turns out you’re just like the rest of the whores.”
Her words hit harder than they should. Allegra, who used to borrow my lotion and my comb, who used to sneak sweets into my apron pocket when I had long shifts. I thought I knew her.
Betrayal burns in my throat.
Paula stands silently behind Allegra. Her eyes narrow when they meet mine, and for a second, I brace myself for whatever venom she’ll spill from her lips.
But what I find there isn’t hate exactly. It’s… something else. A look I can’t read. A twitch in her jaw, a tightness in her expression that makes her look uncertain. Like she doesn’t know what to feel. Like a part of her wishes this wasn’t happening.
I wonder if she knows the test kit belonged to her, but I can’t think about what she might feel about that.
I feel the eyes of the entire house press in from every direction.
Judging.
Watching.
Waiting to watch me fall apart.
The crowd parts as I’m taken to the center of the living room.
Everyone lines up along the sides like spectators at an execution.
I spot Zia Clara seated near the front of the room, a smug expression on her face.
Three other aunts, distant relatives of the Romanos, stand just beside her, their expressions venomous.
And there’s Olga, standing beside them with a cold and murderous look on her face.
The Romanos aren’t here. So who summoned me?
I’m flung onto the cold marble floor. The impact sends a crack of pain through my elbow. I scramble up onto my knees, my heart pounding so hard I feel sick. The room bursts into accusations, with me on my knees before everyone.
“She seduced the masters.”
“She planned this.”
“She’s a snake!”
“Just like her father. Filthy traitor.”
“A whore!”
“Kill her just like her father!”
I grit my teeth painfully before rising to my feet. That makes the crowd even angrier.
“She doesn’t know her place.”
“She should be killed!”
“How dare she?”
I place a protective hand over my belly as the small crowd comes nearer, closing in around me. I keep my head high, not looking at anyone in particular.
“Who is the father?” Olga asks over the whispers.
“Speak, whore,” Zia Clara spits.
I resist the urge to laugh in her face. She has been out for me ever since I came under this roof. It got worse when Francesco saved me from one of her bullying attempts.
I stare directly into her eyes until she gets uncomfortable.
“She needs to be taught a lesson!” She looks at the others around her. “It’s obvious she still has her pride.”
Olga opens her mouth to say something else, and that is when Dante walks in.
Everyone gives way as he comes in. Dante heads to the front of the living room and takes a seat like the king he is. He holds something in a silk handkerchief like it’s tainted, unfolding it just enough for me to see.
The test.
My chest caves in. I look up, barely able to breathe.
“You came here with nothing,” he says in a cold voice, “and now you think you can stay and stain this family with a bastard child?”
I glare at him with all the hate I can muster, the only act of defiance I have left.
“She won’t even say who the father is,” Zia Clara says beside him.
“Of course she can’t. It’s shameful,” another aunt speaks.
“Or maybe she doesn’t know and thinks she can pin it on one of the masters after seduction plans worked,” someone says in the crowd.
Laughter breaks out. It’s mocking, loud, and humiliating. My legs are wobbling a little, but I keep my head high. I will not cower.
“Tell us who it is, and maybe your punishment won’t be so bad,” one of the aunts with a birdlike voice says.
“It’s obvious that the whore doesn’t know who it is,” Zia Clara speaks again. “Is it Francesco or Marco?”
“I saw her with Elio once,” a voice from the crowd speaks up.
I shut my eyes tightly.
Broken gasps, laughter, and more whispers fill the air.
“Come forward and tell us what you saw,” Zia Clara says with a chuckle.
Dante remains seated, a bitter look of displeasure crossing his face.
Someone pushes forward, and it’s…
Paula.
“I-It was in the servants’ quarters. It was dark, and I was returning to my room when I saw them. She was c-caressing his chest and whispering something in his ear, but he pushed her away and walked off.”
Something bitter burns down my throat as more laughter rings out. I raise my head to look at her, but she avoids my gaze. What did I ever do to her? Why would she lie so blatantly in front of everyone?
A dark part of me considers revealing that I stole the test kit from her, and she’s probably pregnant with someone in this house, but I say nothing.
“At least we know Master Elio is not one of the suspects,” someone mutters, and more people chuckle.
The laughter dies down when Marco and Elio walk into the room. I ignore all the emotions swirling in my chest, and I do well to avoid Marco’s gaze.
Dante speaks again.
“You will tell everyone who the father of your bastard child is,” he spits.
There’s no doubt what he plans to do to me. If I don’t speak, he’ll torture me until I do. If I reveal the truth, they will kill me and my unborn child. Or worse, they’ll kill me after I’ve given birth and keep the baby for themselves, knowing it has the Romano blood running through its veins.
Another part of me refuses to admit I’m also scared for Francesco.
If they find out the baby is his, it would ruin not only his engagement but also the decades-long relationship between the Romano and Moretti families.
And it will all be Francesco’s fault. He, whose job as the heir is to keep the families and legacy together, would be the one to destroy it.
I should not be worried about him right now, but my heart can’t help but tug in that direction.
My silence thickens the air as everyone waits for an answer. I feel Marco’s heavy stare on me. Something twists in my stomach. A delusional part of me hopes Francesco will come in and bring an end to this.
My heart skips when Dante rises from his seat and storms toward me.
My breath hitches when he grabs my chin roughly and forces my face up to his. “Who is it?” he snarls. “This is the last time I’ll ask.”
I see the fury burning behind his eyes just as I see a shadow of his other hand nearing my face.
“I am the father.”
Marco’s voice cuts through the tense air just as Francesco walks into the room.