Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 40: I’ll Help

The moment Eloise stepped out of the bathroom, the warm towel wrapped snugly around her body, she didn’t look at him. Not even a glance in Luciano’s direction. He was still there, standing in the hallway, leaning slightly against the doorframe like he owned every inch of the space. She pretended he didn’t exist.

​Of course, Luciano had no intention of being ignored. He was a man who occupied space by divine right, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her silence stand.

"Paloma," he said, his voice low, teasing, familiar in the way it made her stomach twist, "I just wanted us to even the score. You don’t have to act shy. You didn’t even see anything explicit."

Eloise froze mid-step, the air leaving her lungs in a sharp puff. She turned her head slowly, her grip tightening on the knot of the towel above her breasts.

She stared at him as if he had sprouted horns overnight. His nerve. The absolute audacity. The sheer confidence to stand there in black briefs—the material hugging the lines of him, every angle impossible to ignore—and tell her she hadn’t seen anything explicit.

​"I’m not shy," she managed to say, her voice surprisingly steady despite the way her pulse was hammering against her ribs. "I’m just... not ready to see your naked body. There is a difference between modesty and fear, Luciano."

Luciano’s lips quirked into that infuriating, lopsided smirk—the one that suggested he knew her better than she knew herself.

"It’s the same thing as being shy," he countered, his tone light but his eyes dark with amusement. "But keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night, cariño."

Eloise lifted her chin, stubborn. "Won’t you go and take your bath?" she suggested, hoping to end the unnerving conversation. "I’m sure the water is waiting to cool your ego."

He paused, the mischief in his eyes flickering like a candle in a draft, clearly debating whether to push her buttons further. For a second, she thought he might cross the distance between them— but he simply nodded.

"Fine," he said, retreating into the bathroom.

Eloise let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and sank into the velvet-cushioned chair at the vanity, her heart slowly decelerating. She reached for her lotion, the glass bottle cool in her palm. The scent of cocoa butter and crisp apple filled the air as she smoothed the cream over her skin.

Luciano, she thought, would be the death of her before her time was even up. How could a man be this unashamed, this confident in his own body, and still manage to make her feel so exposed?

After letting the lotion sink in, she rose and moved to the closet, letting her fingers brush over the hangers until she found the dress she wanted: a simple, elegant red number that whispered of confidence without trying too hard. She slipped it on, the fabric skimming over her curves and settling against her skin like a second layer of armor.

She returned to the vanity, tossing her hair over one shoulder, and plugged in the hair dryer brush. The warmth that followed was comforting, ordinary, normal—something she could claim as her own in this space of domesticity.

Luciano emerged from the bathroom moments later. Water droplets still clung to the dove tattoo on his chest, sliding down the curve of his stomach in slow, torturous beads. His towel was slung dangerously low on his hip, teasing the very limit of propriety. He approached her, slow and deliberate, his presence filling the mirror until there was no room left for her own reflection.

​"I’ll help," he murmured, stepping behind her. His hands hovered near her neck, ready to guide her hair into neat strands under the dryer.

Eloise stiffened, seeing him in the mirror. "Put on some clothes first," she said firmly, though her reflection showed a flush that had nothing to do with the heat of the dryer.

He gave a mock sigh, his chest expanding as he drew in a breath, but he complied. When he returned, dressed in casual clothes—jeans soft with wear and a fitted shirt that did little to hide the dangerous angles of his body.

"Sit," she said, pointing at the chair she had just vacated. "Your hair is... more moist than mine." She reached for the brush.

Luciano obeyed with a surprising lack of protest, settling into the chair with a feline grace. Eloise stood behind him, brushing through his damp strands before turning on the dryer. She moved carefully, precise, enjoying the feel of his hair beneath her fingers. There was a strange, hypnotic intimacy in the act—the warmth of the air, the rhythmic movement of her hands.

After a pause, Luciano cleared his throat. The sound was sharp against the hum of the dryer.

"I’ve been meaning to bring this up," he began casually, his tone too light for the gravity of the words, "I noticed yesterday... you’re a virgin."

Eloise froze mid-stroke, her fingers faltering on the brush. Heat rose to her cheeks, a mixture of surprise, vulnerability, and the lingering awkwardness of being exposed in ways she hadn’t expected.

"Was there a reason," he continued, voice quiet now but pressing, "that you never—had sex with William? In two years, most people in your circles... they don’t wait that long."

Eloise blinked at him, incredulous. "And you thought this was the time to bring it up?"

He shrugged, leaning slightly into the warmth of the moment. "Why not? I don’t see any reason not to. Besides we’re being honest today, aren’t we? And now that we’re on the topic... the night you poured wine over him and slapped him in that restaurant... you didn’t strike me as someone who would burn down an estate. Did something happen?"

Eloise froze, caught completely off guard. The question was sharp, precise, cutting into the lingering calm of the room like a blade. She stared at him through the mirror, trying to measure the weight of the inquiry. But then her eyes widened as the realization hit. Since when were they on that topic? He had brought it up, unbidden, steering her right into the heart of her trauma.

Her hands shook slightly as she turned off the dryer. Luciano, catching the gesture in the reflection, took the brush from her. He rose and gently guided her to sit, now determined to dry her hair himself.

His fingers moved through her locks with a care that belied his teasing nature. He hummed softly, a low sound of appreciation for the silky texture of her hair, watching her through the mirror with intent. There was something in his gaze—an unspoken demand for honesty—that made her chest tighten. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Eloise’s voice was steady when she finally spoke, but there was something brittle beneath it, something carefully held together with fraying string.

"At that time... I wasn’t ready to be intimate with him just yet." She lifted her eyes to the mirror, meeting Luciano’s gaze through the glass. "Don’t ask me why. I don’t even know how to explain it—why something in me kept hesitating."

Luciano felt it then—the pause, the way her breath shifted. There was more. Something she wasn’t saying. Something buried deeper than fear or doubt. Instinct told him not to push. So he didn’t.

"So I asked him to wait," she continued softly. "And he did. At least... that’s what I believed."

The dryer hummed quietly between them, the sound suddenly too loud, too present in the heavy silence.

"Until the night I planned to give myself to him," she went on. "As a surprise. For his patience. For his love. For the future I thought we were building."

Luciano’s hand tightened around the dryer handle.

What?

The word slammed into him like a blow to the chest. She had planned to give herself to William. Willingly. Tenderly. With hope.

The dryer clicked off abruptly.

His knuckles went white, tendons standing out sharply as if his hand were carved from stone. The thought ignited something dark and violent inside him—an instinctive, possessive fury he hadn’t expected. He didn’t like the idea of her belonging to anyone else, even in the past. It made something feral rise in his chest, teeth bared and blood hot.

Eloise didn’t notice the change in him, or maybe she did—and chose to continue anyway, the words pouring out now that the dam had cracked.

"I’m sure you saw the condoms I threw at him," she added, her tone almost detached now, as if recounting someone else’s story.

Luciano remembered. Every detail. The way they had scattered across William’s stained shirt like accusations. Like proof.

"Earlier that day..." She let out a small, breathy laugh that didn’t carry any humor. "You should have seen me. I was so happy. I called Jayla, dragged her to a boutique. I bought champagne-colored satin lingerie—ridiculous, I know." Her smile trembled. "White roses. I cooked lasagna for dinner. I wanted everything to be perfect. I was ready to offer myself. All of me."

Her voice cracked then, just slightly.

"And the strangest part?" she said quietly. "I was excited. I felt... safe. Loved."

Luciano’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. His chest burned, a slow, consuming fire spreading outward, wrapping around his ribs, his lungs, his heart.

She told him everything after that.

How she had found the used condoms. How confusion had turned into nausea, then into rage. How the restaurant incident wasn’t just about betrayal—it was the moment the illusion shattered completely.

"And after that," Eloise said, her fingers twisting together in her lap, "I found out the rest. From Ryan."

Luciano stilled.

"Ryan?" he echoed, the name a low growl.

​"The man I thought was William’s best friend. The ’bad influence’ William always warned me about." Her laugh was hollow and bitter. "It turns out William made sure I believed Ryan was the problem to keep me from listening to him. But Ryan was just... watching. Waiting for the right moment to warn me before I made a permanent mistake."

Luciano’s pulse began to pound in his ears.

​"Warn you about what?" he asked, though the darkness in his gut already knew the answer.

Eloise swallowed hard.

"William planned that after he’d had his way with me..." Her voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. "...he was going to drug me. Take me to a club. Let his friends—his sick friends—have their way with me."

The room went cold. The very air seemed to freeze in place.

"And after that," she finished, staring straight ahead at nothing, "he planned to dump me. Because apparently I have too many issues."

Silence crashed down like a verdict.

Luciano’s vision narrowed, red creeping into the edges of his sight. His hand itched—actually itched—for his gun. He imagined it with startling clarity: the weight of it, the cold metal, the clean certainty of pulling the trigger.

He shouldn’t have just taken the man’s testicles. No. That had been too kind.

On second thought, he should have taken his dick. Fed it to him. Let him choke on it while he bled out. Then killed him inch by agonizing inch.

A wave of genuine regret hit him—sharp and corrosive—that the man was still breathing anywhere on this earth.

Fuck.

He should have killed him the moment he’d had him in his grasp.

His breathing turned shallow, controlled only by years of discipline. Rage burned through him, violent and unforgiving, demanding blood. How dare he. How fucking dare that worm touch her life with something so vile.

Luciano turned away sharply, placing the dryer on the dresser with deliberate, slow care before he shattered it—or something else in the room. His hands trembled. He clenched them into fists, forcing the storm inside him down, down, down into the dark.

Behind him, Eloise kept talking, unaware of just how close the man behind her was to spilling blood.

"So... I wanted to hurt him," she said quietly. "In the worst way I knew how. I wanted to destroy something he loved. Something he was proud of."

She looked up at Luciano then, eyes dark, unflinching.

"So I burned the estate," she said simply. "Thinking it was his."

Luciano turned back slowly.

The rage in his eyes hadn’t faded—but it had sharpened, focused into something far more dangerous. He crossed the space between them in two strides and knelt in front of her, gripping her knees gently but firmly, grounding himself through her.

"That wasn’t revenge," he said, voice low, controlled, deadly calm. "That was survival."

Eloise’s breath hitched at the intensity in his tone.

"You survived something that would have destroyed most people," he said. "And you didn’t beg. You didn’t collapse. You retaliated."

Her lips trembled—not with sadness, but with the sudden, overwhelming relief of being understood.

"I didn’t know what else to do," she admitted. "I just knew I couldn’t let him walk away untouched."

Luciano finally placed his hands on her shoulders. Firm. Steady. An anchor in her storm.

"You did exactly what you needed to," he said. "And if I had known all of this sooner..."

His voice darkened into a promise from the abyss.

"There wouldn’t be anything left of him to regret."

Eloise leaned back slightly, her body trusting his without conscious thought.

"You scare me," she whispered.

He exhaled against her hair, slow and controlled. "Good," he said. "Because anyone who ever tries to hurt you again should be terrified."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression hardening into something immovable. "Listen to me carefully, Paloma," he continued, voice low and absolute. "No one—no one—will ever plan harm against you again while I breathe."

There was a brief pause. Then, almost casually—too casually—he added, "And if I ever see William again, he won’t walk away."

The words settled between them, a contract signed in his own dark resolve.

Eloise cleared her throat softly, as if breaking the silence might keep it from crushing her. "We’re going to be late for breakfast," she said, glancing at the clock as though it were suddenly the most important thing in the world.

The normalcy of it felt almost absurd—but necessary. A thin lifeline back to a world where people just ate breakfast and didn’t plan murders.

Luciano studied her for a moment longer than needed, as if deciding whether to let the intensity go. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted. Just slightly.

"So?" he asked. "Breakfast can wait."

She rolled her eyes, but the relief was evident in the way her shoulders finally dropped. "I have a request," she added, standing and smoothing the front of her red dress. "When we go downstairs... don’t give any grand introductions. Please. No dramatic announcements. No declarations."

His brow arched. "About?"

"About me being your fiancée," she said quickly. "I’m sure Ian already told the maids when he explained why they’re staying here permanently. I don’t need... a performance."

Luciano studied her, weighing her request against his own desire to mark her in front of everyone. Finally, he nodded once. "As you wish, Paloma."

But when he stood and offered her his arm, there was a glint in his eyes—dark, amused, unmistakably dangerous.

Eloise caught it and narrowed her eyes. "What is that look?"

He only smiled, slow and knowing. "Nothing," he said. "I’m agreeing."