Chapter 19
Elora
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you." Serena pushed through the door. "I've got fifteen minutes."
"Then save yourself the trip." I turned my face away.
Serena didn't leave. She just closed the door behind her and sat down in the chair across from me. I didn't know what she was thinking, and I didn't care to guess. From the moment Lucien suspected me—locked me in this room—every tie I had to this family had already been severed.
Was I heartbroken? Desperate? Maybe for a moment. But after days locked up, everything had gone quiet. I didn't care about anything anymore.
"Does your face still hurt?" Serena studied the bruise on my forehead. "I brought some ointment for the swelling."
"Don't bother." I let out a cold laugh. "Me locked up in here, branded a murderer—isn't that exactly what you wanted?"
"Look at you, all prickly." Serena shook her head, her lips curling into something like pity. "Elora, you've been married to Lucien this long—did you really think he was just some businessman or real estate mogul?"
I said nothing. Just tightened my fingers where they rested on my knees.
"What this family controls is darker than you can imagine." Serena leaned in closer, her voice dropping to something like a devil's curse. "The Red Hook docks, the Atlantic City operations—it's all blood money and dirty deals."
"So—" I looked up at her. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Elora, in this empire, a 'wife' was never a lover. She's an asset. A marriage alliance. That contract you signed? Just a rental agreement they can tear up anytime."
I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting copper.
"Besides, do you know how he got his insomnia?" Serena raised an eyebrow. "When he was nineteen, there was a woman. She went through hell with him, even remembered how he took his coffee—no sugar. In the end, she sold out a core shipping route to his enemies. Nineteen people died that night."
Each word was a dull blade, carving open the reality I didn't want to face.
"That's not true." I covered my ears. "He's not—he got my grandmother's necklace back, he bought me the shop, he protected me from Marco—"
"Yes. All gifts from him." Serena's voice dripped with false sympathy. "But Elora, have you ever once stood in this house because he trusted you?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
"What he needs now isn't a woman who can blend his fragrances. He needs the Casalesi family's support." Serena's expression was shockingly frank. "There's a mole inside. The council's pressuring him to hand you over. His only way out? Marry me."
"You?"
"Me." She nodded. "So you're still breathing—not because he's gone soft, not because he's still looking for the truth.
" Serena leaned close to my ear, her breath like ice.
"It's because until everything's settled, he can't let word get out that he dealt with his own wife.
But once the dust settles—how long do you think the council will let you live? "
A wave of violent nausea surged through my stomach.
I shoved her away, stumbled to the sink, and dry-heaved.
"Elora—" Serena caught me from the side. "Sit down. Deep breaths."
I did. After three rounds, the spinning lights finally steadied.
"You look awful." Serena crouched in front of me, unscrewed her thermos, poured warm water into a cup, and handed it to me. "Drink."
I didn't move. She pressed the cup into my hands. "If I wanted you dead, I'd just do nothing. Three weeks would be enough."
The logic was airtight. I took a sip.
"Why help me?"
"I'm not helping you." Serena stood up, smoothing her skirt. "I'm helping myself."
"What does that mean?"
"I want that position. I've known since I was a kid that I had to stand there. I just don't want you dying in this house. Every time I sit at the same table with him for the rest of my life, I'd think of you."
"So?"
"I'll help you." She whispered in my ear like the devil's temptation. "I'll set you free."
I started vomiting for no reason.
This wasn't the first time.
These past three days, every meal Enzo brought in—tomato pasta, salted green beans, even a cup of warm water in the morning—the moment it came near, my stomach would cramp and reject it. I thought it was just stress, the fragility from sleepless nights and confinement.
But in this moment, looking at my pale, cracked lips in the bathroom mirror, a memory slammed into my brain without warning.
Mrs. Ramirez next door—a Colombian woman who loved to laugh. That fall she got pregnant with her second child. I'd run into her on the steps almost every afternoon. She couldn't carry things, so I'd help haul her grocery bags upstairs.
Once after I carried her stuff up, she invited me in for a drink.
She'd just set out the coffee when she bolted for the bathroom.
When she came out, she laughed sheepishly, one hand on her waist, the other covering her nose.
"Don't mind me, honey. These past two months, even the smell of coffee makes me sick.
Same with the first one—first thing to go is your nose, then your stomach, then you find yourself awake all night, exhausted like a truck ran over you, but your eyes just won't close. "
I'd said something back—I don't remember what. Just remember the expression on her face as she rubbed her belly, helpless and happy at the same time.
I looked up at the face in the mirror. Slowly pressed my hand to my abdomen.
How long has it been? Lucien's birthday night?
I counted back the days. By the time I reached the last number, my hand was shaking so hard I couldn't hold it steady. The timing matched.
I slid down to the tile floor, face buried in my knees.
Oh God.
There might be... a little life inside me.
Elora, calm down.
If it was just me, I could stay here. Wait for Lucien to find the truth, or wait for that cold verdict.
But not now. My belly might be carrying an innocent child.
Its father was caught in gunfire and betrayal, surrounded by predatory elders.
Once my pregnancy was discovered, this child would either become a sacrifice in the family war or be born into a bargaining chip in a cold transaction.
I would never let my child grow up in this devouring abyss.
I had to leave. Right now. Immediately.
I forced myself up against the wall, walked to the door, and banged twice.
"Enzo."
"Elora?"
"I need to see Serena."
Serena came that night.
"You've made up your mind?"
I grabbed her hand.
"Serena, help me leave," I begged. "Please."
"Why did you change your mind?"
"Does it matter?"
Serena looked me up and down with a strange, searching expression, her gaze even lingering on my abdomen for a second.
"Smart choice." She smiled. "I'll help you."
"When?" I asked.
"Saturday morning, before dawn. I need time to get you a servant's uniform and a pass." Serena adjusted her cloak. "Eat and drink normally the next few days. Don't make Enzo suspicious."
"Okay." I steadied myself. "One more thing. I need you to pass a message."
"To Julian Moretti?"
"No." I refused flatly.
I knew perfectly well that contacting Julian now would only confirm Lucien's suspicions and bring disaster down on my friend.
"Contact Maya Rossi for me," I said. "Bushwick, Brooklyn. A tattoo shop called Ink Soul. She's my best friend. Tell her to meet me Saturday morning at the Oyster Bay station."
Serena nodded.
"Also, I need money."
"Naturally." She smiled. "Wait and see."
"Thank you."
The door closed. The room sank back into dead silence.
I slumped against the door, palm resting gently on my abdomen. In that moment, though the road ahead was completely unknown, I felt something I'd never felt before: certainty.
Baby, don't be afraid. Mama's taking you home.
Saturday. Four fifty in the morning.
Wind slipped through the window crack, bringing bone-cutting cold.
The lock gave a soft click. Serena slipped inside and handed me a heavy canvas bag.
"Change. Fast."
Inside the bag: a black servant's dress, a white apron, and a pair of worn black shoes. I didn't hesitate. Quickly stripped off my clothes and pulled on the maid's uniform.
Serena handed me a pair of black-framed glasses to put on, then stuffed a bulging envelope into my arms. "Three thousand in cash and an anonymous transit card. Get to Oyster Bay station and get on the train. Don't go back to the Greenwich Village shop—Enzo will check there first."
"I know."
I tucked away the envelope, then touched the jade necklace hidden under my clothes—the last thing my grandmother left me, and my hope for the future.
Serena led me out of the east wing, through the dim servants' stairwell and the laundry room. Because of the dock conflict these past days, most of the guards had been reassigned to the perimeter. The corridors were empty.
Soon we reached the service corridor behind the kitchen. A gray-white delivery van was already waiting, engine humming softly.
"Get in." Serena's voice was low.
I lifted my skirt and climbed in fast.
The door slammed shut. The van pulled forward slowly, heading for the manor gates.
I sat in the shadows, watching the black pines and castle retreat past the window.
As the van rounded the curve past the main building, I couldn't help it. I lifted the curtain slightly and looked up.
Second floor of the main building, east side. The fourth arched window. That faint yellow light was still burning quietly.
That was Lucien's study.
I knew in that moment he was still sitting under that desk lamp, bearing endless rage and loneliness.
"Goodbye, Lucien," I whispered toward that tiny light.
I loved your tenderness. I hated your coldness and mistrust. But now, for me and this child, I'm not looking back.
The van roared through the gates, leaving behind the vast night and that one fragile point of light.