Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 64: Mosquito Bite

Morning came to the estate like a cautious visitor—birds daring to sing where silence usually ruled.

Usually, the mornings here were clinical—the sound of silent vacuums in distant rooms, the rhythmic clink of silver being polished by invisible hands, and the oppressive weight of a house waiting for its master to dictate the temperature of the day.

​But today, the air in the grand kitchen was thick with the scent of caramelized onions, roasted bell peppers, and smoky cumin. It was a smell that didn’t belong in a museum; it belonged in a home.

Eloise was already awake.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair loosely tied back, wearing one of the new casual outfits she had bought the day before—a soft oversized sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder and fitted pants rolled at the ankles. Nothing extravagant. Nothing designed to impress. And yet, the kitchen felt fuller with her in it, warmer in a way the estate had never learned to replicate with architecture alone.

She was making Shakshuka. It was a dish of survival and soul—eggs poached in a simmering sea of spiced tomato sauce, dotted with creamy feta and fresh cilantro. It was the kind of meal that required patience and a gentle hand, two things that were often in short supply in this house.

​The kitchen staff hovered in the periphery, watching her with a mix of awe and terror. After the "Pizza Insurgency" of the previous night, they didn’t know whether to help her or stay out of the blast zone. Eloise ignored them, her focus entirely on the rhythmic bubbling of the sauce.

The heavy footsteps of Luciano De La Vega echoed in the hallway. He didn’t enter the room so much as he reclaimed it. He was dressed for the city—a navy three-piece suit that made him look like a billionaire deity—but his eyes immediately sought out the girl by the stove.

​He walked straight to her, ignoring the "Good mornings" from the staff. He stood behind her, his presence a warm, solid wall against her back.

​"The rule," he murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

​Eloise didn’t turn around. She merely lifted a wooden spoon, blowing softly on a small pool of the vibrant red sauce before holding it back over her shoulder. Luciano leaned in, his hand steadying her wrist as he took the taste.

​The flavors exploded—tangy, smoky, and rich. He swallowed, his eyes darkening with a satisfaction that had nothing to do with hunger. He was the first. The boundary had been set, and the "offense" of the previous night was, for now, forgiven.

​"Perfect," he whispered into her ear.

​"It’s just breakfast, Luciano," she teased, though her heart was doing a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

​"It is an exclusive right," he countered, stepping back just as the sound of whistling drifted into the room.

Andrés sauntered in, looking entirely too energetic for eight in the morning. He was dressed in a silk robe over lounge pants, his hair a mess of calculated chaos. He made a beeline for the coffee pot, but his eyes were already scanning the room for drama.

​"Smells like heaven and looks like a crime scene in here," Andrés noted, leaning against the counter. He looked at the Shakshuka, then at Luciano, and finally, his gaze settled on Eloise.

​He froze. His eyes zeroed in on her lower lip—specifically, the small, dark mark where Luciano’s teeth had made their claim the night before.

​A slow, predatory smirk spread across Andrés’s face. He looked at his brother, then back to Eloise, his eyebrows dancing in a silent, mocking applause.

​"My, my, Eloise," Andrés drawled, his voice dripping with faux concern. "That’s quite a nasty mark on your lip. It looks painful. Did you have a run-in with a particularly aggressive piece of kitchen equipment?"

​Eloise felt the heat climb up her neck. She busied herself with crumbling the feta over the pan, refusing to look up. "It’s nothing, Andrés."

​"Nothing?" Andrés stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look. "It looks like a bite. A very specific, very deliberate bite. Was there a wild animal in the bedroom last night? A wolf, perhaps? Or a very large, territorial... bat?"

​Luciano didn’t look up from his coffee, but the corners of his mouth twitched in a way that was almost—but not quite—a smile.

​Eloise finally looked at Andrés, her expression a mask of flat, unbothered calm. "It was a mosquito."

​Andrés let out a bark of laughter that echoed off the high ceilings. "A mosquito? In February? In a house with a multi-million dollar climate control system?"

​"It was a very persistent, very Mediterranean mosquito," Eloise replied, her voice steady. "It didn’t like being ignored."

​"I see," Andrés said, his eyes dancing with mischief. "And did this mosquito happen to have a name? Perhaps one that starts with ’L’ and ends with ’insufferable’?"

​"Andrés," Luciano warned, his voice a low vibration. "Drink your coffee and keep your tongue behind your teeth before I decide you don’t need it anymore."

​"Just checking on the wildlife, Brother," Andrés said, sliding into a chair. "It seems the ecosystem in this house is becoming quite... interactive."

Luciano finally turned his head—just enough to glance at his brother. "If you’re done inspecting what doesn’t concern you, Andrés, there’s breakfast."

​

​Andrés raised both hands in mock surrender, still laughing. "Hey, I’m just saying. If the mosquitoes are this bad, maybe invest in a net. Or—" he glanced at Eloise, eyes twinkling "—maybe the lady likes the bites."

Eloise rolled her eyes, but the flush stayed. She turned back to the stove, plating another serving for Andrés and sliding it across the island. "Eat. Before I feed it to Listo."

Andrés took the plate with exaggerated gratitude. "See? She’s already domesticating the whole house. Next she’ll have us all wearing matching pajamas."

The rest of breakfast was a tense, quiet affair. Eloise moved between them like a mediator, her mind racing. She could feel Luciano’s gaze on her every time she moved, a heavy, tethering weight. He wasn’t just looking at her; he was checking the "mosquito bite," ensuring it was still visible, a silent warning to the world that she belonged him.

Luciano finished his last bite, set the fork down with a quiet clink, and stood. He rounded the island, coming up behind Eloise. His hands settled on her hips—gentle but unmistakably claiming—and he pressed a kiss to the bite mark on her lip, deliberate, lingering.

Andrés whistled low. "Subtle."

​Luciano ignored him and reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a slim, black piece of titanium.

​It wasn’t a gift box. It wasn’t a piece of jewelry.

​It was a piece of matte-black titanium. No numbers on the front. Just her name embossed in silver and the unmistakable logo of the world’s most exclusive credit line.

​"What is this?" Eloise asked, looking at the card as if it might bite her.

​"A Black Card," Luciano said simply. "It has no limit. It is tied to my primary accounts."

​"I don’t need this," she said, trying to press it back into his hand. "I have my own money. I have the savings from—"

​"You are the woman of this house," Luciano interrupted, his hand closing over hers, forcing her to hold the card. "You need resources. If you want to buy a dress, buy a dress. If you want to buy a fleet of cars, buy them. If you want to buy the very position Maya has so you can fire her—do it."

​He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers for a fleeting, intimate second. "Consider it a tool. Not a gift. I don’t want you ever feeling like you have to ask for permission to exist in this world."

​Eloise looked down at the card. It felt heavy—much heavier than the plastic one in her backpack. It wasn’t just money; it was a weapon. It was Luciano’s way of leveling the playing field before she stepped into the den of snakes.

​She closed her fingers around it, the plastic cool against her palm. "Thank you."

He kissed her again—slow this time, unhurried—then straightened. "I have meetings. I’ll be back before dinner."

Andrés snorted around a mouthful of food. "Don’t rush on our account. We’re enjoying the show." 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Luciano shot him a look that could’ve frozen fire. "Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll feed you to Listo."

Andrés grinned wider. "Love you too, brother."

​Eloise watched him leave, black card still warm beneath her fingers, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

​As the sound of his car faded down the long driveway, Eloise stood in the center of the kitchen, the Black Card clutched in her hand and the sting of the "mosquito" bite still humming on her lip.

​She looked at Andrés, who was currently trying to feed a piece of feta to Listo.

​"He really is a lot to handle, isn’t he?" Andrés asked, not looking up.

​"You have no idea," Eloise sighed.

​"Oh, I think I do," Andrés murmured, finally looking at her. "But for what it’s worth... I’ve never seen him give anyone a Black Card."

​He stood up, stretching like a cat. "Enjoy spending his money."