Chapter 4 - The Closing Circle
Weeks rolled by, and the subtle shift in Dante’s demeanor did not go unnoticed by the people whose entire lives revolved around him.
Celeste Bowmont’s visits to the penthouse became more frequent, and her velvet smiles grew noticeably sharper whenever she found me standing near Dante’s study or assisting Valentina with her afternoon tea. She began leaving deliberate messes in her wake—shattered wine glasses, discarded designer coats tossed across clean sofas—just to remind me of my place.
I cleaned them up without a word, keeping my head down, but I could feel the rising tension beneath the surface of the household like a tectonic plate shifting underground.
One afternoon, while organizing the antique desk in the second-floor library, I overheard raised voices coming from the private drawing room down the hall.
“You are spending far too much time looking at the kitchen help, Dante!” Celeste’s voice hissed, sharp with aristocratic fury. “Everyone at the charity gala last night was whispering about it. It’s humiliating!”
“Watch your tone, Celeste,” Dante replied, his voice chillingly calm and flat. “Who I look at, and who I keep in this house, is none of your concern.”
“She is a nobody! A charity case keeping your mother company!” Celeste slammed her hand against the wall. “If you think for a second that our engagement is going to survive you dragging some nameless maid into our social circles—”
“Our engagement,” Dante interrupted coldly, “was arranged by our families on paper. Do not mistake it for a leash.”
I froze behind the mahogany bookshelf, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had known that Celeste and Dante were tied together by bloodlines and corporate mergers, but hearing the absolute contempt in Dante’s voice made my stomach twist.
By then, I had no idea how deeply Celeste resented my existence—nor did I know the dark, venomous lengths she was willing to go to protect her status in the Moretti empire.
That realization wouldn't hit me until months later, when the snow outside melted into freezing spring rain, and Valentina suddenly fell deathly ill after drinking a cup of tea I had supposedly prepared.
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By then, I would discover what Celeste had done in the shadows.
And when I finally confronted her in the shattered, glass-strewn quiet of the penthouse, Dante would walk through the doors, see his mother lying motionless behind me, and reach instantly for the gun at his hip.
