Chapter 21 Lia
LIA
The air in the dressing room is thick with perfume, and a heavy pressure weighs down my shoulders.
“A Romano bride,” the designer mutters, stepping back to admire the work she’s done on me. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You wear the look well.”
I don’t answer. I’m too focused on the way my reflection looks nothing like me.
My hair is pinned into elegant waves. A cream silk dress clings to my skin in the right places. Soft makeup hides the sleepless nights and the guilt sitting like a stone in my chest, making my skin supple and more polished than I’ve looked in the past two years.
I look like the kind of woman they expect Marco’s fiancée to be.
Behind me, Marco is leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed over his chest as he watches me with a soft expression. “You okay?” he asks.
I give him the smallest nod. “Yes.”
No.
I am not okay.
The events of yesterday have been playing over and over again in my head.
I was humiliated, scorned, and possibly almost killed before Marco intervened. I should be grateful to him. I am, but it doesn’t mean that I am happy or okay.
I don’t remember walking back to my room after Marco lied that he was the father of my unborn child.
All I remember is Marco’s hand curled tightly around mine, some minutes later, as he told me that we had to get married in order for his family to keep me alive. I remember how certain he sounded as he murmured that everything would be fine now. That I’m safe. That I’ll never have to fear again.
But I don’t feel safe. I feel cornered. Repackaged. Rewritten.
Yesterday morning, I woke up with a secret. I woke up a mistake, someone expendable.
Now, I’m the fiancée of Marco Romano. A symbol of alliance. A pawn in a game I can’t even see the whole board of.
The shift happened overnight, and I’m struggling to adjust to it.
But I’m not the only one struggling.
The servants who spat at me, cursed, and lied against me yesterday now bow their heads when I walk past. The ones who were in charge of taking my things from the servants’ quarters to my new room called me Signorina.
But not all of them hide their disgust. One maid avoids my eyes completely when she hands me my folded clothes. Another whispers something behind my back when they see me.
I pretend like I don’t care, but I do.
It doesn’t matter that I am a soon-to-be Romano. I am still a servant, a prisoner, and a whore in their eyes.
But I will keep my head held high no matter what. I never asked for their acceptance. I don’t need it.
“Earth to Lia.”
Marco’s voice causes me to snap out of my thoughts.
I look up to see a questioning look on his face. “I asked if you liked the dress.”
“I do,” I mutter, and he smiles.
“Good.”
The designer bows before leaving the room. Marco comes to stand directly behind me. I resist the urge to flinch when his hands settle on my shoulders.
“You look tense.”
“I am tense.”
He chuckles. “Don’t be. It’s just a luncheon to ease you into your rightful place as my fiancée. You don’t have to say anything. Just look beautiful and keep that gorgeous smile of yours on your face.”
And that is exactly what I do.
The Society luncheon is a polished, lavish affair.
It is held in one of the estate’s grand halls, decorated with white orchids and ornate chandeliers.
Wealthy, power-hungry men and their bored wives sit at long white tables under hanging glass chandeliers.
Servers float between the tables, serving sparkling wine and delicious food.
But today feels different. There’s an undercurrent of tension, whispered conversations that stop abruptly when Marco and I enter the room. Eyes follow us with barely concealed curiosity and suspicion.
Dante watches everything from the head of the table. He hasn’t spoken directly to me since the announcement. But today, I’m his polished centerpiece. His pretty little pawn, dressed up and displayed like some rare ornament that proves the Romano name is still strong.
Marco never leaves my side. His hand stays on the small of my back like he’s reminding everyone watching—and there are a lot watching—that I belong to him and no one can do a thing about it.
I can feel the weight of their stares, the questions burning behind their polite smiles. A Romano marrying someone like me doesn’t just break tradition—it shatters it completely.
“Is it true?” I catch an older lady, whom I’ve learned is called Mrs. Benedetti, whispering to her husband. “A servant girl?”
“The Romanos must be more desperate than we thought,” another voice murmurs.
The conversations halt when Dante stands, his glass raised. The room falls silent instantly.
“Before we proceed with today’s celebration,” Dante begins, his voice carrying the authority that commands respect from every family represented here, “I believe some explanation is warranted.”
He pauses, letting his gaze sweep across the room. “I’m sure many of you are… surprised by my son’s choice of bride.”
A few uncomfortable shifts in seats. Someone clears their throat.
“Let me be clear,” Dante continues, his tone growing harder.
“This union has been approved by the Council of Elders. And they sent a representative today. A former Elder who has retired from his role as one of the six and is now just one of the advising council. Elder Vescovi, would you like to address our concerns?”
An elderly man with silver hair and sharp eyes stands from his seat at the high table. Elder Vescovi. His presence here means this is more than just a family announcement.
“Thank you, Don Romano,” Elder Vescovi says, his voice carrying decades of authority. “What we witness today is not a breach of our traditions, but an act taken to preserve them.”
The room falls silent now.
“The girl carries a Romano heir,” he announces, his tone flat and final. “And while our founding laws state, ‘You marry who you’re told. You have children only with those approved,’ they also demand we preserve the bloodlines that secure our future.”
My heart pounds. My cheeks burn. Every eye in the room is on me now, calculating, reassessing.
“This child—conceived by a made man,” he continues, “fulfills a condition described in a prophecy the Elders have guarded for generations.
“He broke no law. At the time of conception, he had not yet been initiated, nor was he bound to another founding family. The bloodline remains unclaimed, unentangled—exactly as the prophecy foretold.
“A child born of unbound blood, carrying the mark of both worlds, destined to either dismantle our order from within… or lead it into an era of unshakable dominance.
“That child is no longer legend. He exists. Here. Among us.
“And if we fail to protect him—if we treat this moment as anything less than what it is—we risk unraveling everything this Council was built to preserve. This marriage does not exist to legitimize a mistake. It is a strategic act—to ensure that what’s coming belongs to us.”
“But she’s a servant,” someone from the Castellano table objects. “Surely there are other ways to—”
“Are you questioning the Council’s decision?” Dante’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
The man looks down immediately. “No, Don Romano. Of course not.”
Elder Vescovi nods once. “Then let it be recorded: The child she carries must be protected. Lia Romano is to receive all rights and protections of a Romano wife. This union ensures our legacy. It reminds every man in this room that prophecy is not ignored.”
Marco’s hand tightens slightly on my back. I can feel the shift in the room’s energy—from skepticism to calculated acceptance.
“Any family that objects to this arrangement,” Dante adds, his tone deadly quiet, “is free to voice their concerns directly to me. I assure you, I will give such concerns my… personal attention.”
The threat hangs in the air like smoke.
Elder Vescovi raises his glass. “To unity. To loyalty. To the future of our families.”
“To unity,” the room echoes, though some voices are more enthusiastic than others.
As the Elder sits down, I catch fragments of whispered conversations:
“Well, if the Council approved it… who are we to question it?”
“The prophecy… it makes sense now.”
“She carries the future. That’s all that matters now.”
“Looks like the maid just became the most protected woman in the room.”
Marco finally raises his own glass and introduces me formally as his bride-to-be. This time, the applause is more genuine, though I can still see calculation in many eyes.
They’re not clapping for me; they’re clapping for the politics of it, for the way the Romanos have managed to turn a potential scandal into a demonstration of power.
After that, no one makes any further comment about the sudden engagement or the fact that a Romano is marrying a lowlife like me. But I see the questions in their eyes, the way their gazes dart between us and then to Dante, trying to read something deeper than what is displayed on the surface.
Neither of the other Romano brothers is here. Elio left this morning and Francesco…
I haven’t seen him since I walked out of the living room yesterday, and I heard he didn’t sleep at the estate. I wish we had the liberty to talk. I wish I could have told him myself that the child belongs to him.
Does he think I had sex with Marco? Does he think I have feelings for Marco? Does he think I’m happy with Marco?
The questions repeat themselves on a loop. I don’t know what to think about the whole situation, so I don’t think about it at all.
Marco stands up and moves behind my chair. I feel something cold settle on the skin around my neck. A soft gasp leaves my lips as I glance down.
It’s pure emerald, held with a silver band that rests just above my collarbone. It’s worth my entire life and almost too heavy for my neck.
“A family heirloom,” Marco tells the room, not just me. “To mark her place as a member of our family.”
“You are now one of us,” Dante says, but his words are directed at the room as much as at me.