Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 69: I’m Learning

"Have you taken a moment to consider that you might be the problem?" Maya panted, her chest heaving, the adrenaline of her own boldness making her eyes wild. "You are letting your emotions control you! After everything I have done to show you your place, you still stand there acting like a queen. Are you perhaps jealous? Because if you are, it’s not looking good on you."

The humiliation of being physically dragged and thrown out of the master suite by "the stray" was a bitter pill that refused to go down. Instead of breaking her, it acted like a catalyst, turning her fear into a frantic, desperate kind of arrogance.

Eloise stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the amber glow of the bedroom lamps behind her. She looked down at Maya not with anger, but with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.

​A headache was beginning to bloom behind Eloise’s eyes, a rhythmic pounding that matched her heartbeat.

​"Jealous?" Eloise scoffed, a short, dry sound that carried no humor. "Of who, Maya? Of you? Of a woman who spends her afternoons hiding in corners and whispering poison because she has nothing of her own? You’re being delusional. I’m too exhausted to waste another second of my life on you. Please, leave before things get messy. For your own sake."

​"Jealous of Marcia, of course," Maya countered, her voice gaining a shrill edge. "Let me tell you a secret: this... whatever this is between you and Luciano... it won’t work. You’re a placeholder. A distrac—"

​"It’s Mr. De La Vega," Eloise interrupted, her voice dropping into a register that was eerily reminiscent of the man she was defending.

​Maya blinked, startled. "What?"

​"It is Mr. De La Vega to you," Eloise repeated, stepping forward into the hallway. "He is the man who employs you. He is the man who owns the roof over your head. He is not your equal, and he certainly isn’t someone you refer to by his first name. And honestly? I don’t care what secrets you think you have. Get out of my sight before you find yourself on the streets, wondering where your next meal is coming from because you no longer have a job."

The mention of the "streets" hit Maya like a physical blow. For a second, the mask of the smug spy slipped, revealing the terrified girl underneath. But then, she remembered the promises. The Davises had told her she was untouchable. They had whispered that once Marcia was Lady of the House, she would be her right hand.

​"You can’t fire me," Maya said, her voice trembling but defiant.

​Eloise said, tilting her head. "You think the Davises will shield you? You think they have some invisible hand that reaches into this estate and stays my decision? Look around, Maya. They aren’t here. They have no say in who works here and who is discarded like yesterday’s trash. If you’re so loyal to them, why don’t you go back to them? Because as of this moment, you are no longer needed here."

​Maya let out a shrill, hysterical laugh. "You really think that red diamond on your finger has changed your blood, don’t you? You think you’re the real fiancée. Don’t make me laugh! I cannot be fired because my position is secured by the woman who actually belongs in that bed."

Eloise didn’t even look at her. She began checking her nails, buffing a non-existent speck of dust from her thumb as if Maya were nothing more than a buzzing insect. The silence was a weapon, and Eloise was learning how to wield it with terrifying precision.

​"Enjoy what you can while it lasts, Eloise," Maya snarled, stepping closer, her face contorted. "Once the Starlings realize that you are the reason the leash on their throats is tightening... once they realize Luciano is burning bridges for you... there will be nothing left of you to bury. But hey, play Queen for a day. I’m sure the fall will be spectacular."

"Oh, how I regret leaving my phone on the bed," Eloise murmured. "Music would be nice right now. Silence the noise of this housefly."

She sighed, the sound heavy with boredom. "Are you done? Because I hear footsteps approaching, and I’d really hate for you to be seen in a hallway you were explicitly banned from entering."

Eloise said that because she had noticed one of the maids lingering nearby—the girl’s wide eyes darting between them before she quietly slipped away toward the foyer, no doubt to fetch help or summon a superior.

And she was certain someone was coming—the hurried echo of footsteps carried faintly through the corridor, growing louder with every passing second.

She wasn’t warning Maya out of kindness... at least, that’s what she told herself. But truthfully, she was offering her a way out—a narrow window to leave with her pride and skin intact before things escalated beyond words.

​​"Oh, stop playing nice!" Maya screamed, the last of her composure snapping. "You’re dying to see me punished! You feel excited at the thought of me being thrown out! Quit the ’good girl’ act and admit what you are!"

​Eloise tilted her head slightly, her expression calm, almost indifferent. "I don’t have time for this," she said, turning back toward her room. "As you can see, I need my re—"

The slap echoed through the vaulted hallway like a gunshot, the sound vibrating against the cold marble and the heavy oak of the master suite doors. For a split second, time itself seemed to snag on the jagged edge of the violence.

Eloise’s head snapped to the side. The sting was immediate, a blooming heat on her cheek that made her vision swim for a fraction of a second. She stood perfectly still, her hand slowly rising to touch the skin that was already beginning to swell.

​"Step back."

​The voice didn’t come from Eloise. It was deep, guttural, and carried the weight of a death sentence.

Listo appeared first, ears pricked, tail low and stiff. He trotted straight to Eloise and planted himself in front of her legs, body angled protectively, teeth bared at Maya. Hackles raised, a soft growl rumbling in his throat.

Luciano had given one command regarding Eloise:

Protect her.

​Marcos rounded the corner next, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the entire hallway.

He stopped when he saw Maya—uniform askew, face flushed, standing too close to Eloise.

His hand rested lightly on the holster at his hip.

​"One of the maids came to tell me you were thrown out of a room you weren’t supposed to enter," Marcos said, his eyes fixed on Maya with a terrifying lack of emotion. "And I walk in to see you slap a woman you aren’t even supposed to breathe near. How bold of you, Maya. Or perhaps, how incredibly stupid."

Maya stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth. The sight of Marcos was one thing, but the primal, predatory gaze of the fox made her knees buckle.

Eloise blinked, her hand still on her burning cheek. A strange, hollow feeling settling in her chest. Why does this always happen? she wondered. She had tried to be kind. She had tried to give Maya a way out. But it seemed the world didn’t want her kindness; it wanted her teeth.

​"Marcos," Eloise said, her voice flat and cold. She didn’t look at Maya. She didn’t even look at the guard. She looked at the wall, her expression unreadable. "I am done with her."

​"I see that, Miss," Marcos replied.

​"She is no longer needed here," Eloise continued, her words falling like stones into a well. "But she won’t be leaving just yet. Since she thinks lifting flour is a punishment for ’nobodies,’ she can spend some more time with it. Have her kneel outside the gates. Give her two heavy bags of flour to balance on her head. She stays there for five hours. No water. No shade."

Maya’s eyes widened. "What? No! You can’t—"

​"And after that," Eloise added, finally turning to look at Maya with eyes that were as hard as the diamond on her finger, "if Luciano has a place where he keeps the disobedient and the broken... throw her in there. I want her gone from this house, but I want her to remember exactly whose hand signed her dismissal."

The cruelty of the sentence was far worse than a slap or a shout. It was a slow, public humiliation—a physical manifestation of the burden Maya had tried to mock.

​"Immediately, Miss," Marcos said. He stepped forward, his hand like a vice around Maya’s arm.

Listo stayed, circling Eloise’s legs once, twice—making sure she was unharmed—then sat at her feet, tail thumping once against the floor.

Eloise exhaled, shaky.

She crouched, scratching behind the fox’s ears. "I’m okay, Listo. Thank you for coming to protect me."

Listo huffed, leaned into her hand, then trotted off toward the stairs—job done.

Marcos lingered.

"You all right?" he asked quietly.

Eloise nodded. "Just... tired of people thinking they can speak to me like that."

He studied her for a moment—really looked.

"You handled it," he said. "Better than most would."

She gave a small, tired smile. "I’m learning."

Marcos nodded once. "If anyone comes near you, you call. Immediately."

"I will."

He turned to leave, then paused. "The pastries smell good. The staff won’t stop talking about them."

Eloise’s smile grew—small, real. "Tell them there’s more tomorrow."

He dipped his chin and didn’t even look at Maya as he began to drag her down the hallway, her protests muffled by the sheer terror of his grip.

Eloise closed the door. She leaned her forehead against the wood, breathing hard. Her hands shook—not with fear, but with the effort of holding back everything she wanted to say. Maya’s words had landed like knives: nobody, thief, harlot. They echoed the worst whispers she’d ever aimed at herself in the dark.

But she hadn’t broken.

She hadn’t cried.

She’d acted.

And that felt like power.

Eloise took three slow, deliberate breaths, watching the dust motes dance in the sliver of light. Finally, the tremor in her hands subsided. She pushed off the heavy oak door—the wood still cool against her back—and crossed the plush carpet toward the bed.

​The mattress had barely dipped under her weight when her phone erupted into a frantic vibration on the silk duvet.

​Jayla.

​Eloise didn’t wait for the third ring. She swiped the screen, the blue light reflecting in her tired eyes.

​"What happened?" Jayla’s voice didn’t just ask; it demanded, sharp enough to cut through the lingering tension in the room. There was the faint sound of city traffic in the background—Jayla was likely pacing on her balcony, already halfway to an adrenaline rush.

​Eloise exhaled, the sound a long, weary whistle. Her gaze drifted to the nightstand, where the small, white pastry box sat. The ribbon was frayed, a silent witness to the confrontation that had just unfolded.

​"Just... estate politics," Eloise said, the words feeling like dry salt on her tongue.

​A dramatic groan echoed through the receiver. "God, do I need to get in the car? Do I need to fight someone? Because I will put on boots and handle this, Eloise. Just give me a name."

​Despite the hollow ache in her chest, a genuine laugh bubbled up—small and jagged, but real. Jayla’s brand of loyalty was a blunt instrument, and right now, it was exactly what she needed.

​"No," Eloise said, her voice firming up. "No boots required. I handled it."

​There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. She could almost see Jayla leaning back, crossing her arms, and nodding in satisfaction. When she spoke again, the sharpness had melted into a warm, prideful glow.

​"That’s my girl."

​The words acted like a final anchor. Eloise shifted her gaze toward the bedroom door—the barrier between her and the shark downstairs. Her eyes weren’t just calmer; they were steeled. The estate might have the history, but she had the floor.