Chapter 1 - The Foyer Aftermath
The polished marble of the mansion foyer seemed to tilt beneath my shoes. Around us, the murmurs of the engagement party guests died down into a suffocating hush that was heavier than any silence I had ever known. Vanessa stood rigid in her crimson gown, her blonde updo gleaming under the massive crystal chandelier while her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. Just feet away, Luca Moretti remained frozen on his knees, his dark, slicked-back hair falling slightly across a forehead lined with disbelief. His tattooed hands, usually so steady when managing the vast Moretti enterprise, trembled as they hovered over the folds of the damaged ivory lace.
"Get that security team in here," Luca said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that commanded immediate obedience. He didn't look up at Vanessa, nor did he acknowledge the circle of wealthy guests whispering behind crystal flutes. His dark eyes remained locked on the dirt stains and torn sleeves of the vintage gown I held against my chest. "Nobody leaves this room. Not a single person."
Vanessa’s face lost its flush of triumph, replaced by a tight, strained mask of polite horror. "Luca, darling, this is absurd," she stepped forward, her diamond statement necklace catching the brilliant indoor light with every sharp movement. "The maid is clearly unstable. She dragged a ruined piece of attic junk out here just to ruin our celebration. Look at her—she's shaking."
I swallowed hard, the taste of salt and fear lingering on my tongue. My black maid's dress with its crisp white collar felt suddenly suffocating. "I didn't mean to interrupt, ma'am," I murmured, my voice cracking before the full weight of Luca's gaze silenced me entirely. "I found it tucked behind the old cedar trunk in the basement archives. The pipe had burst. I tried to save it."
Luca rose slowly from the marble floor, towering above me with broad shoulders encased in his immaculate black double-breasted suit. The prominent ink on his neck seemed to pulse as his jaw tightened. He took a deliberate step closer, ignoring Vanessa's sharp intake of breath. He reached out, his fingertips brushing the frayed hem of the blue embroidered flowers with an agonizing gentleness, as if touching skin.
"Where," Luca repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet vibration that made the surrounding guests step back, "did you find this?"
"In the lower archives," I whispered, holding my breath. "Water was pooling around the crates. This dress... it was wrapped in oilcloth."
May you like
Vanessa’s laughter was brittle, a forced chime meant to shatter the tension. "Luca, she's making it up. It's an old rag from the staff quarters. Throw it out and let's return to our guests."
Luca turned his head slowly, locking his gaze onto Vanessa with a chilling lack of warmth. "My mother made every stitch of this dress herself, Vanessa. Every single blue flower was embroidered by her own hands before she passed. And it was supposed to be locked in the family vault." He turned back to me, his expression softening just enough to reveal a profound, aching grief. "Emma, take the dress to my private study. Lock the door. Wait for me there."
