Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 68: You All Did Incredible

The kitchen had finally quieted.

Where there had once been clattering bowls, laughter, and the hum of mixers, there now lingered only the warm scent of butter, caramelized sugar, and baked fruit. The counters were lined with the results of hours of work—golden pastries glazed to perfection, delicate fruit tarts shining under the lights, rows of cookies dusted with powdered sugar like fresh snow.

Eloise stood in the center of it all, flour dusting her cheek like faint constellations, apron tied crookedly over her linen shirt. Her hands ached pleasantly from kneading, rolling, shaping. Around her, the team she’d accidentally assembled looked just as wrecked and just as proud.

She looked at what they had made.

Not just her.

They.

Mary’s careful fruit slicing. Leo, the man who could disassemble a sniper rifle in pitch darkness, was currently staring in awe at a blueberry muffin he had helped fold. Marcos, whose usual expression was that of a stone wall, was meticulously wiping flour off a digital scale. Even the maids, who had initially been terrified, were now giggling softly, their aprons stained with berry juice.

Mary wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, eyes shining. "They’re beautiful, Miss Eloise."

And for the first time since she entered the estate, Eloise felt something warm settle in her chest.

Satisfaction.

Pride.

This... was hers.

Not bought.

Not given.

Earned.

A small smile curved her lips. She clapped her hands lightly.

"Everyone, come."

They moved like children at Christmas—careful at first, then delighted, murmuring thanks and compliments. Even the ones who’d been wary of her at first now smiled openly.

​"You all did incredible," Eloise said, her voice warm but commanding. She began packing small boxes, handing one to each person.

"To you—for slicing all the strawberries perfectly," she told Mary.

Mary’s eyes lit up as she accepted it with both hands. "Thank you, Miss Eloise."

"To you—for not burning the croissants," Eloise teased Leo.

Leo scoffed but grinned. "Hey, that was one time." But he took his box as if it contained a delicate explosive. "If the Boss asks, I was... tactical testing the structural integrity of the crumb, Miss."

​"Your secret is safe with me, Leo," she winked.

Marcos accepted his pastry with a respectful nod, though Eloise caught the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Even the maids received theirs—some shy, some excited.

Maya was not there.

Eloise noticed.

She said nothing.

When everyone had been served, she picked up a small box she had prepared earlier—an assortment she had chosen carefully for Luciano. She didn’t want another "mosquito bite".

Then she wiped her hands, removed her apron.

"I’m heading up," she said. "We start at six tomorrow. Get some rest."

They chorused have a good rest, voices soft and warm.

She climbed the grand staircase slowly, pastries cradled against her chest like treasure. The house felt different tonight—less like a museum of marble and menace, more like a place people lived in. Laughed in. Ate in.

She wanted to share that feeling.

With Jayla.

After Eric’s betrayal, Jayla had been quieter. Not broken—never broken—but dimmed. She laughed less. Her texts were shorter. She needed this.

In the bedroom, she dropped onto the bed, kicked off her shoes, and pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. The screen lit her face in soft blue as she dialed Jayla.

​Jayla picked up on the second ring. "El? Is that you? Are you still alive, or has the Prince Mafia finally turned you into a marble statue?" Jayla’s voice was a burst of technicolor energy in the gray-scale reality of the estate.

​"I’m alive, Jay," Eloise laughed, staring up at the intricate crown molding on the ceiling. "Better than alive. You wouldn’t believe it—I’ve started my own business."

​"Shut up! No way!" Jayla’s excitement was palpable. "The girl who was afraid to ask for a refill at a diner is now an entrepreneur? Tell me everything!"

"Partnership with this little coffee shop downtown. The owner—Ethan—he makes incredible coffee and shakes, but no pastries. I’m handling the baking. We split profits fifty-fifty."

Bakery, huh?" Jayla’s voice softened. "Well, your pastries always were the best. It’s no wonder. But El... I have to say it. Don’t give up on the music. The bakery is great, but that voice of yours? It’s meant for more than singing to sourdough. It’s not too late. You just need a little training to shake off the rust."

​The air in the room suddenly felt very cold. The joy that had been radiant in Eloise’s chest withered, replaced by a familiar, jagged stone of guilt.

​"How can I, Jay?" Eloise whispered, her voice cracking. "How can I pursue the very thing that killed them? The music school... the reason they were on that road... it was all for me."

​"El, listen to me, you didn’t—"

​"No," Eloise cut her off, her eyes stinging. "My mother was right. I should have kept my mouth shut. If I hadn’t been so obsessed with that school, Dad and Drake wouldn’t have been in that car. They’d still be here."

​The silence on the line was heavy with the weight of a decade of grief.

​"I’m sorry, El," Jayla said quietly. "I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just... I hate seeing you bury such a beautiful part of yourself because of a tragedy you couldn’t control."

Eloise took a shuddering breath, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. "It’s fine. Let’s talk about something else."

Jayla pivoted quickly, gentler now.

"So—tell me more about the business. What does Prince Mafia think of it?"

The nickname pulled a small laugh from Eloise despite the heaviness lingering.

"I haven’t told him yet," she admitted. "But I’m sure he already knows."

Jayla snorted.

"Of course he does. That man probably has satellites tracking your heartbeat."

Eloise rolled her eyes.

"Probably."

A beat of quiet. Then Jayla’s voice softened.

"I’m proud of you, El. Really."

Eloise’s throat tightened.

"Thanks, Jay."

"I’m thinking of having an opening ceremony at the cafe," Eloise continued, sitting up. "Free pastries, music—not me, obviously—introduce the place to people, build customers. I was hoping—"

She stopped.

The door to the bedroom—the door that was never supposed to open without an invitation—creaked.

Jayla’s voice crackled through the phone. "Hoping what?"

​"You are not allowed to be in here," Eloise said, her voice instantly dropping into a sharp, icy register. She sat up, her eyes narrowing as she saw the figure standing in the doorway. "No one is allowed in this room."

Maya stood there, her arms crossed over her chest. She was still wearing her maid’s uniform, though it was stained with the flour Eloise had forced her to carry earlier. Her face wasn’t pale anymore; it was twisted into a mask of pure, ugly arrogance.

Jayla’s tone sharpened instantly. "Who’s there?" 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Jay, let me call you back." Eloise said, hanging up before her friend could protest.

She stood up from the bed, her height and posture commanding the space. "Get out."

​"Why should I get out?" Maya asked, a sneer twisting her lips. "When the only person who is eventually going to be thrown out of this house is you. You’re a placeholder, Eloise. A distraction."

​"I will tell you once more," Eloise said, her voice low and dangerous. "No one is allowed in here. Luciano made that clear."

Maya didn’t move. Instead, she took a step further into the room, her eyes roaming over the luxury—the velvet curtains, the gold-leaf accents, the sheer scale of the wealth.

​"Ah, yes. The big, bad Master and his rules," Maya mocked, waving a hand dismissively. "Ah, I see now why the ’Master’ forbids entry. It’s beautiful in here. But look at you. You really think you’re something, don’t you? With your little ’bakery’ and your flour-covered apron."

Eloise stared at her, a cold fury beginning to bubble in her gut. This wasn’t just about a maid being rude; this was a violation of the one place she felt safe.

She might forgive Maya for calling her a harlot...

But this?

This carved something permanent into her bones.

"Did you not hear what I said? I’m not going to repeat it again. Leave. Now."

​Maya let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "Or what? You’ll make me lift more heavy bags? If you thought that little stunt in the kitchen today was going to break me—if you thought making me play porter would have me crying and begging for your forgiveness—then you thought wr—"

​She didn’t get to finish the word.

Eloise moved with a speed that would have made Marcos proud. Before Maya could blink, Eloise had closed the distance. Her hand shot out, fist bunching into the fabric of Maya’s starched collar.

​"What are you—"

Maya’s eyes went wide, a gasp of genuine shock escaping her, but Eloise didn’t give her time to breathe. She didn’t just lead her; she dragged her. With a strength born of pure adrenaline, Eloise hauled the sputtering maid across the room and through the doorway.

She didn’t stop until they hit the hallway. With one final, powerful shove, Eloise threw Maya out into the corridor. The maid stumbled, her shoes skidding on the polished wood as she nearly fell.

​"I told you," Eloise snarled, standing in the doorway like a vengeful goddess, her voice echoing down the hall. "To fucking. Get. Out."

Servants nearby doing their work froze.

Maya scrambled to her feet, breathless, her hair disheveled and her eyes wide with a new, sharp kind of fear. She looked up at Eloise, her mouth opening to deliver another retort, but the words died in her throat.

​Eloise wasn’t looking at her like a maid anymore. She was looking at her like an obstacle.

"Let me make something clear," Eloise said quietly. "You don’t enter my room. You don’t touch my things. And you don’t speak to me like we’re equals when you can’t even respect basic boundaries."

Maya’s shock twisted into fury.

"You think you own this place because you warm his bed?"

Eloise didn’t slap her. Didn’t scream. She simply leaned down slightly and said—

"No. I don’t own this place."

Her eyes darkened.

"But I do own the consequences of what happens to you if you keep testing me."

Maya swallowed despite herself.

Eloise straightened.

​"The next time you set foot across this line," Eloise said, her voice a low, terrifying whisper that would have made Luciano proud, "I won’t just throw you out. I’ll make sure there isn’t enough of you left for Marcia Davise to recognize."