Chapter 7 - The Social Guillotine
By sunrise the next morning, the city’s elite social circles were already ablaze with whispered venom.
Valentina Caruso had not wept in private; she had picked up her phone and weaponized every media connection, every social registry, and every salon in high society.
By eight in the morning, society blogs and private gossip newsletters were circulating blind items that were barely disguised.
They spoke of the great Sebastian Moretti falling under the spell of an uncouth, uncultured domestic servant.
They mocked her weight with vicious, coded language, calling her a "gluttonous distraction" and an "embarrassing blemish on the Moretti legacy."
Elise sat at the large marble island in the quiet kitchen, a mug of black coffee cooling between her palms.
Her phone screen sat face up on the stone counter, displaying message after message from old acquaintances and distant relatives who had suddenly discovered her whereabouts.
Some were mocking.
Some were pretending to be concerned.
All of them were poisonous.
Marta walked into the kitchen, carrying the morning papers and setting them down beside Elise’s flour canisters.
The older woman looked at Elise with a rare, quiet sympathy in her weathered face.
"Don't read them, child," Marta said softly, placing a hand on Elise's arm for the first time since she had arrived.
"People with too much money have too little soul."
"I've read worse things written about me on bathroom stalls in high school, Marta," Elise replied with a faint, tired smile.
"It doesn't hurt because it's true. It hurts because people are so predictable."
Sebastian walked into the kitchen dressed in a sharp charcoal suit, his coat buttoned, his hair combed back with immaculate precision.
He saw the papers on the island and his jaw tightened instantly.
Without a word, he reached out, grabbed the front section of the paper, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it into the waste bin.
"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Sebastian," Elise said, looking up at him over the rim of her coffee cup.
"This isn't your battle, Elise," Sebastian said, his voice dropping into that deep, protective timber.
"This is their attack on me, using you as the weapon."
"I'm not a weapon, and I'm not a shield," Elise said firmly, setting her mug down with purpose.
"I am a woman who works for a living. I have an inventory to run, and your father asked for peach tarts tonight."
Sebastian stared at her, an unexpected flicker of admiration lighting up his dark eyes.
"You're going out today?"
"I always go to the central market on Saturdays," Elise stated, standing up and reaching for her canvas tote bag.
"The produce at the wholesalers is garbage. If I want fresh peaches, I go to old Marco's stall down on Fourth Street."
Sebastian frowned, stepping directly into her path.
"The city is not safe for you today. The Carusos will have eyes everywhere."
"Then send a guard to carry the peaches," Elise retorted, crossing her arms over her chest and looking him straight in the eye.
"Because I refuse to hide in this house like a prisoner just because some rich girl threw a temper tantrum over her bruised ego."
Sebastian let out a low, rough breath, caught between the instinct to lock her away in a fortress and the undeniable urge to let her conquer the world.
"Dante," Sebastian called out without turning his head.
From the kitchen archway, Dante, the head of Moretti private security, stepped forward, his tall, broad frame radiating quiet menace.
"Boss?"
"Take two cars. Stay four paces behind her. If anyone so much as looks at her with disrespect, you remind them whose name protects this household."
"Understood, Don Sebastian," Dante nodded, touching the lapel of his black jacket.
Elise rolled her eyes, but a strange warmth fluttered in the base of her throat.
Nobody had ever stood between her and the cruelty of the world before.
She walked out into the crisp morning air, escorted by two black SUVs that trailed her worn sneakers like loyal guard dogs.
At the central market, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Vendors and society shoppers whispered behind their hands as Elise walked through the stalls, picking through crates of ripe fruit with practiced ease.
Near the floral pavilion, three women dressed in designer trench coats stopped, watching Elise with sneering amusement.
They were associates of Valentina, women who traded in cruelty like currency.
"Look at her," one woman murmured loudly enough for the surrounding crowd to hear.
"She looks like she ate the entire pantry before leaving the house."
The women laughed, delicate, mocking sounds that drifted across the cobblestones.
Dante took a step forward, his hand tightening on the handle of his weapon, but Elise held up a single hand to stop him.
Elise turned slowly, holding two large, ripe peaches in her hands.
She walked calmly toward the three women, her posture relaxed, her gaze steady and unyielding.
"Ladies," Elise said, her voice smooth and conversational.
The women blinked, surprised that she hadn't turned away in shame.
"If you spent as much time feeding your souls as you do starving your bodies to fit into sample sizes, you might actually be pleasant company," Elise said with a warm, pitying smile.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, a very powerful man is waiting for his dessert, and I assure you, his appetite is far bigger than your relevance."
The women stood frozen, their mouths open, entirely stripped of words.
May you like
Around them, several local vendors chuckled openly, nodding with quiet approval.
Elise turned on her heel and walked back to the SUV, her head held high, leaving high society choked on its own venom.
