Chapter Five: Shadows of the Past

Three days passed. The estate seemed calm on the surface, but tension crackled beneath every moment—like a match waiting to be struck.

Rosie noticed changes. Guards doubled at the gates. Fewer guests arrived. Luca spent more time behind closed doors. And her mother, Maria, wore that tight, worried expression again—the same one Rosie remembered from the night they left the countryside.

Rosie had questions. Too many. But she also knew this place didn’t take kindly to curiosity.

She focused on her tasks—cleaning, organizing, helping in the kitchen—but her mind was elsewhere. Mostly on him.

Luca De Luca.

The man who ruled fear like a king. Who watched her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Who had smiled—just once—but it had unsettled her more than any threat could.

One evening, as Rosie brought fresh towels to the guest wing, she paused in the long, arched hallway lined with portraits. She stared up at a particular painting—an older man in a dark green suit, his features sharp, cold, and unmistakably familiar.

Luca’s grandfather.

“This house holds more ghosts than people,” a voice said behind her.

Rosie turned to find Luca’s grandmother, Helena De Luca, standing quietly with a silk shawl draped over her shoulders. Her silver hair was pinned neatly, her lips painted a sharp red. Elegant and watchful, Helena wasn’t seen often—but when she spoke, everyone listened.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Rosie said quickly.

Helena raised a hand. “You didn’t. You’re new. You’re allowed to wander… for now.”

Rosie wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a warning. Maybe both.

Helena stepped closer, her gaze thoughtful. “You’ve caught his attention, you know.”

Rosie blinked. “Whose?”

Helena smiled. “Luca’s. Don’t look so surprised. He notices few things outside of business. But you… you’re different.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

Helena waved her off. “Relax, dear. I’m not here to scold you. I’ve seen many women come and go through this house. Models, heiresses, dangerous women. All drawn to power like moths to flame.” She paused, tilting her head. “But you don’t seem drawn to the flame. You seem like you’d rather understand the fire.”

Rosie didn’t know what to say to that.

Helena’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Be careful, child. This family doesn’t love easily. But when it does, it’s… possessive. And painful.”

Then she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the stillness.

That night, Rosie sat by the kitchen door with her mother, peeling apples for a pie. Maria worked silently for a while before finally speaking.

“He’s not like other men, Rosie.”

Rosie didn’t need to ask who “he” was.

“I know,” she whispered.

Maria placed a hand over hers. “Please. Don’t lose yourself trying to fix someone who’s lived too long in shadows.”

Rosie nodded—but deep inside, she already knew it was too late.

She wasn’t trying to fix him.

She was trying to understand why she saw light in a man the world called darkness.

The next morning, a letter arrived at the estate. No name. No seal. Just blood on the corner of the envelope.