Chapter 11
Elora
Lucien gripped his wine glass. Said nothing.
I lowered my head. "Natalie, that's Anthony's job."
"Anthony's the butler. You're the wife. There's a difference."
"I don't need it." Lucien's tone was flat, cold as stone. "It's pointless anyway."
Under the table, my hand clenched. A dull ache stabbed through my chest.
"Right. Pointless." I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and echoed him quietly.
Lucien snorted, drained the rest of his wine, and slammed the glass down hard on the table.
The air froze. Natalie sighed, about to speak, when Rocco strode in from the entrance hall.
"Boss, Carlo insists you and am'am attend Saturday's party." Rocco held out a heavy gold-embossed invitation with both hands.
Lucien took it, barely glanced at it, and tossed it on the table. Then he turned to me. Pure command in his voice. "Saturday. We leave at seven."
I straightened in my chair, met his gaze. "I'm not going."
"What did you say?"
"I'm not going." I gripped the napkin on my lap. "I have clients booked that day."
"You're Mrs. Genovese now. You have to go." His voice stayed calm. "I'm not asking."
Every hair on my body stood on end. The pain in my palm reminded me exactly where I stood.
"...Fine." I slowly released the crumpled napkin. "I'll go."
Before he could respond, I got up and went upstairs. I pushed open the bedroom door and caught sight of my laptop screen—still showing the calming vetiver oil formula I'd searched that afternoon. My chest tightened. I snapped the laptop shut.
That night, Lucien didn't come to the bedroom. I lay alone in the vast, cold bed, staring at the carved ceiling, sleepless till dawn.
Saturday evening, the maid Sarah brought in a deep red velvet gown. Long sleeves, high neck, sharp tailoring that followed naturally from shoulder to waist. No bare back. No slit.
"Ma'am, the dress—Mr. Genovese had it sent specially." Sarah spoke carefully. I stared at the gown. My fingertips went numb.
He remembered I didn't like backless styles in public. Remembered I hated tight waists.
Something stirred deep in my chest. Then the next second, his eyes forcing me to apologize to Serena crashed down like ice water.
Elora, stop fooling yourself. He just needs a presentable prop who won't embarrass him.
At seven sharp, I came downstairs in the gown.
Lucien stood in the entrance hall in a full suit. When he saw me, his gaze paused on the deep red velvet, then dropped to the jade necklace at my throat.
His face kept that same hard, indifferent expression. He just raised his arm slightly, waiting for me to come to him. That controlling posture dragged up all the hurt I'd been forcing down. Of course. All in my head. I dug my nails into my palm, clenched my jaw, and took his arm.
"Let's go."
The forty minutes in the car dragged endlessly. Neither of us spoke. Freezing rain drummed against the windows. The road had a thin sheet of ice. Past the toll plaza, Lucien—eyes closed the whole time—suddenly spoke. "Stay with me or Rocco tonight. Don't wander off alone."
"Got it." I turned to watch the passing night scenery and answered flatly—just afraid I'd make a scene at some high society event and embarrass him.
The car stopped. Before us stood Casalesi Manor. Gold-carved gates, towering marble portico, ceiling painted with a massive mural of angels holding grapes.
I took Lucien's arm and walked into the ballroom. The roar of noise swallowed me instantly. String quartet, hundreds of conversations, crystal glasses clinking.
The air was thick with suffocating perfume—rose, iris, ambergris all mixed together, making my temples throb. Facing the floor-to-ceiling windows stood a champagne tower nearly two stories tall. Hundreds of crystal glasses stacked in layers, a white orchid at the top glowing under cold lights.
"Lucien." Carlo emerged from the crowd, expression serious. "Red Hook deal hit a snag. Before we sit down, let's talk in the study."
Lucien glanced at me. "Back in half an hour. Stay here. Don't move."
Before I could nod, he'd already turned and disappeared down the corridor with Carlo.
The second he left, Serena floated over from the crowd. She linked her arm through mine, smile a little too sweet. "Elora, you're finally here. Come on, I'll introduce you to some friends."
She pulled me to a circle of leather sofas. "This is Elora, Lucien's wife."
Veronica, seated in the center, looked up lazily and gave me a dismissive glance. "Oh. The candle girl."
"Aromatherapy." I corrected her flatly.
"Is there a difference?"
"Yes." I met her eyes. "Candles just need to smell nice. Therapy requires understanding the nervous system."
Veronica snorted. "Sit down, sweetie." The brunette next to her shifted half an inch, leaving an impossibly narrow gap. "Though you probably won't fit."
A ripple of malicious laughter went around the circle.
I'd endured this kind of cheap mockery plenty at the Vance house. I ignored their childishness and just looked coldly at Serena.
Serena covered her mouth, coughing to hide her laughter, and made introductions. "This is Camilla, and that's Bianca."
Bianca held her wine glass and looked me up and down several times, finally stopping at the jade necklace.
"That jade... God," she raised an eyebrow, "such an old-fashioned style."
"It was my grandmother's. She left it to me." My voice was cold. "Problem?"
The atmosphere turned icy. Serena jumped in to smooth things over. "Elora's always this direct. Don't take it personally."
"Right." Veronica sipped her wine. "But seriously, Elora, how exactly did you land Lucien? He never goes to charity galas or social events."
"That's my business. I don't need to report to you."
"True." Camilla dragged out the word, eyes full of jealousy. "A trade secret that jumps you twenty social classes in one night—how could you share that?"
"Camilla," Serena scolded halfheartedly, "don't say that."
"Am I wrong?" Camilla rolled her eyes. "Women trying to climb into the Mrs. Genovese position could stretch from Long Island to Manhattan. Why you? Because... you've got a nice body?"
"Well, you might've actually guessed it." Veronica chimed in. They all dissolved into laughter.
Once, maybe their vicious humiliation would've made me cry. But now, watching their twisted faces, I only felt tired and disgusted.
"The more people mock others' looks or backgrounds, the more insecure and terrified they are inside."
Lucien had said that to me. He'd given me confidence. Now he'd stripped that trust away himself.
"Excuse me." I couldn't stand looking at them anymore. I picked up my glass and walked away.
The perfume and venom in the ballroom were suffocating. I needed air.
I remembered Lucien's warning in the car. I scanned the room—no sign of Rocco. I figured this was a heavily secured private party anyway. I pulled my shawl tight and headed for the outdoor terrace behind the champagne tower.
The moment I pushed open the glass door, freezing wind hit my face, instantly clearing the fog from my head. I exhaled deeply.
"Had enough already?" A soft but icy voice came from behind. Serena had followed me out.
"What are you doing here?" I frowned.
Serena smirked. "This is my house. Why wouldn't I be here?"
"Great. It's all yours then." I didn't want to waste time on her. I turned to go back inside.
"Stop!" Serena grabbed my arm, grip surprisingly strong. The fragility vanished from her face, leaving only rage and jealousy. "You think Lucien actually loves you? The family forced him into marriage. He was desperate and you were convenient!"
My wrist burned from her grip. I looked at her unhinged face, pushed down my own insecurity and doubt, and met her eyes.
"Even if this marriage has no love, I'm the one in the family records. I'm the one standing next to him. Serena, you can play all the games you want. It won't change that."
"You—!" That struck a nerve. She screamed, "What makes you worthy? No family, no background, you're nothing but a pathetic hanger-on! Why do you get that position?"
"None of your business." I yanked my arm away.
"Ha! None of my business!" Serena let out a chilling laugh. "Elora, I'll make sure you see exactly what you mean to Lucien!"
Before I could react, Serena grabbed my wrist and forced her wine glass into my hand!
"Let go! What are you doing?" Panic shot through me. I tried to pull away.
But she'd lost it completely. She grabbed my hand and flipped it toward herself! The entire glass of thick red wine splashed across her expensive ivory satin gown, spreading in a horrifying bloodlike stain!
The next second, before I could process it, Serena yanked my wrist and shoved me backward through the terrace door, stumbling hard into the ballroom!
"Elora! Don't—"
Serena let out a piercing, agonized shriek! She clutched my dress, used the momentum from the shove, and threw herself with desperate force into the towering crystal champagne tower!
A deafening crash exploded through the hall. Over three hundred crystal glasses collapsed from the top, layer crushing layer! Champagne sprayed like rain. The expensive white orchid was crushed in the shards.
Sharp crystal fragments flew everywhere, cutting through my shoes and hem.
The entire ballroom went deathly silent. Then erupted in screams and panic.
"Oh my God—"
"Serena!!"
I stood frozen, mind blank. It happened too fast. I was still in the position she'd forced me into.
Countless shocked, furious, accusing stares stabbed into me like blades. Veronica and the others screamed and rushed over.
Serena lay in a pool of broken glass and champagne. Her ivory satin dress soaked through with wine and champagne, clinging to her body. Glass shards had pierced her shoulders and back. Fine streams of blood seeped out, blooming into vivid red flowers on the white fabric.
She pressed one hand hard against her left chest, body convulsing violently. Her face turned ashen in seconds. Purplish lips opened and closed. Bloodshot whites filled her eyes. "Medicine... my... medicine..." Her voice shattered.
Veronica fumbled frantically through her bag and shoved emergency pills into Serena's mouth. Serena caught her breath. With immense effort, she turned her head. Those tear-filled, desperate eyes locked directly onto me, standing not far away.
The entire hall fell silent. She used every ounce of strength to raise her blood-stained hand and point at me. Her voice trembled with despair.
"Elora... why did you... push me?"