Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 19: You Didn’t Almost Die
Eleanor Starling didn’t so much collapse as crumple, her expensive silk gown folding around her like a dying swan’s wings. The antique marble floor was cold beneath her, but the sharp sting of humiliation—being pinned against her own wall, a gun pressed to her head by a man she considered trash—was far worse than the superficial scrape on her ear.
She made sure to exaggerate the drama, her limp form a necessary stage prop; after all, a woman had to leverage whatever she could to regain lost dignity.
Daniel Starling, however, saw none of her theatrics. His mind was already miles away, driven by pure, cold calculation. He had rushed after Luciano, only to find the corridor empty. He returned to the drawing room, apologized profusely to the shaken tailor, and rescheduled their appointment, promising exorbitant compensation.
Only then did he turn to survey the aftermath. He clenched his jaw so tightly a nerve twitched visibly in his cheek, a clear sign of suppressed fury. He barked an order at the trembling butler.
"Reginald! Call the doctor. Now."
Reginald, still visibly shaking from witnessing the casual violence and hearing the brutal threat, stumbled back two steps before gathering himself enough to move. He rushed toward the landline, his hands fumbling slightly.
Daniel bent and scooped Eleanor into his arms—not out of love, which wasn’t even there in the first place, but out of sheer, practical necessity. Her limp, theatrical form sagged against him as he carried her to their cavernous master bedroom, his mind already racing through calculations, possibilities, and risks.
Why must this foolish, spiteful woman keep provoking him? The engagement was only a month away. A month. And she had nearly ruined everything with her unchecked, venomous tongue.
Of all people, she should know exactly what Luciano was—who he had become in the years since Daniel abandoned him—and yet she played these dangerous games.
He laid her unceremoniously on the bed just as the doctor arrived.
In the bedroom, Reginald hurried in, followed closely by Dr. Hadley. Dr. Hadley, a tall man whose professionalism bordered on stern, set down his leather bag, pushed up his glasses, and examined the wound with meticulous care.
After a few minutes, he exhaled and straightened. "The injury is not severe, Mr Starling. It’s a clean superficial graze. In fact..." He hesitated, glancing at Daniel. "The person who fired the gun intentionally missed any vital areas or major blood vessels. It was meant to wound, not kill."
Daniel’s jaw clenched so hard he felt the pressure radiating through his skull. Of course Luciano held back. Of course he would appear merciful while still reminding them exactly who held the absolute power of life and death.
Dr. Hadley handed Reginald a short list of prescriptions and detailed instructions. "Keep the area clean. There will likely be some swelling and bruising, but it should heal without any noticeable scarring. Unless," he lowered his voice, casting a quick, meaningful glance toward the prone figure on the bed, "the patient becomes... dramatic."
After a few final instructions and a weak thank you from Daniel, the doctor departed, leaving the couple to their silent war.
Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to staunch the splitting headache blooming behind his eyes.
"Reginald," he said, his voice flat with exhaustion and fury. "Make sure the medicine is fetched and administered before she wakes. I don’t want to hear her wailing about scars and demanding plastic surgery."
"Yes, sir," Reginald murmured, before hurrying out, clearly eager to escape the suffocating tension.
The moment the door clicked shut, Eleanor cracked one perfectly made-up eye open. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖
Daniel stared at her flatly, his arms crossed over his chest. "You’re awake."
She pushed herself into a sit with a groan that was all practiced theatrics, immediately clutching her ear. "I fainted from pain and shock, Daniel," she lied smoothly, dramatically. "Imagine being humiliated like that. By your bastard son. In my own house. And you—"
"Oh, shut up."
Her mouth fell open in genuine outrage. "W—what did you say?"
"I said shut up. I’m trying to think." His tone was tired, bitter, and laced with absolute fury directed equally at her and himself.
"You’re trying to think," she repeated, deeply offended, "when I almost died—"
"You didn’t almost die! You got a scratch because you couldn’t control your venomous, useless mouth." His voice rose to a roar. "You just had to provoke him. All you needed to do was pretend he wasn’t there. Pretend he was a shadow. But no—Eleanor Starling always has to poke the wolf until it bares its teeth!"
Eleanor scoffed, lifting her chin proudly, blood drying on her earlobe. "I didn’t say anything untrue. And you sit there blaming me when your mistake created him."
Daniel slammed his hand onto the antique dresser, the violent crack making her flinch involuntarily.
"You think I care about your petty feelings right now?" he roared, pacing the room like a caged animal. "We don’t even know if the ’fiancée’ he mentioned is Marcia or someone else entirely!"
She froze, stunned by the cold, terrifying possibility. "Who else would it be?"
"That’s the problem!" Daniel continued, his voice tight with desperation. "If this engagement falls apart—if Luciano backs out now, I swear, Eleanor, you will not like the consequences."
Eleanor crossed her arms, holding her wounded pride tighter than her injured ear. "The deal is sealed. Luciano is cold, and he is a lunatic. But he wouldn’t break it."
Daniel’s expression shifted—something dark, something deeply cautious settling over his features.
"That deal," he countered, his voice low, "was forged when he was desperate. Now?" He spread his hands, a gesture of helplessness that spoke volumes of his fear. "How do you trap a man who no longer needs anything from you? Who holds all the leverage?"
Silence stretched. Eleanor’s breath hitched, but then she steadied herself, her formidable social maneuvering instincts kicking in.
"It is Marcia," she insisted, forcing conviction into her tone. "It has to be. He’s putting on a show. Stop panicking. With him and Marcia together, everything stays buried. Our family remains safe."
Daniel still didn’t look convinced, but he was tired of arguing. He sighed heavily. "Marcia is on a vacation in Barcelona, she isn’t even in the country. How is she supposed to be here by next weekend?"
Eleanor’s lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing, searching for a solution. And then—a flicker of cruel, cold brilliance.
"Reginald!" she called, her voice sharp and regaining its authoritative edge.
Moments later, the shaken butler stepped back inside, clearly reluctant.
"Fetch Mary," Eleanor ordered. "Now. The young maid."
Reginald bowed and retreated quickly. A few minutes later, a young woman named Mary stepped into the room, her hands nervously twisting the hem of her apron. Her eyes darted anxiously between the furious couple and the dried bloodstain near Eleanor’s ear.
"Madam... you sent for me?"
"Earlier, in the kitchen, you mentioned," Eleanor began smoothly, adopting a gentle, deceptively kind tone, "that your friend works at Luciano’s estate. Is that true?"
Mary hesitated, fear making her slow. "Y-yes ma’am."
"And your friend mentioned something about... preparations?"
Mary swallowed hard. "She said Mr. De La Vega’s assistant asked the household staff to stay permanently. That they were arranging full, live-in staff because his fiancée would need help settling in."
At that, Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with icy triumph. Daniel’s entire posture changed; his shoulders relaxed. His eyes sparked with quick, dangerous interest. "Perfect," he breathed, a genuine, relieved smile spreading across his face. "Absolutely perfect."
Mary blinked. "...sir?"
Daniel turned to her, his gaze sharp and commanding. "Tomorrow, you will join your friend and work in Luciano’s estate. You will tell Ian that you were reassigned here by a family friend who knew the staff was expanding."
Mary’s face blanched completely—not pale, but ashen. As if he had just sentenced her to forced servitude under a known monster. Her fingers trembled violently.
Daniel didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.
"You will observe. Listen. And report everything to us. Especially concerning his fiancée."
Mary swallowed hard, the magnitude of the danger settling on her. She finally nodded. "Y-yes, sir."
Daniel slapped his palm against his thigh triumphantly. "Eleanor, you were right. Luciano has finally warmed up to Marcia."
He kissed his wife’s forehead—a quick, transactional gesture he hadn’t performed in months—straightened his jacket, restoring his fragile sense of control, and strode out of the room with renewed purpose.
The moment the door closed, Eleanor pivoted to Mary, whose trembling had only worsened.
"Stop shaking," she said sharply, discarding the sweet act. "This is an opportunity for you."
Mary pressed her lips together. "...Ma’am, Mr. Luciano... he’s... intimidating. What if he finds out?"
"He will not touch you. You will serve his fiancée. Make Marcia comfortable. And when Marcia is comfortable and compliant..." Eleanor smiled. "Luciano becomes manageable. And both Daniel and I will reward you generously for your loyalty."
Mary nodded quickly, bowing deeply before exiting. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she exhaled a shaky, silent plea, almost stumbling as she rushed away toward her inevitable, terrifying new post.
Eleanor walked slowly to her vanity mirror, running her hand over her hair and examining the slight graze on her ear. It wasn’t horrible—it could easily fade. But the humiliation... the memory... the raw sting of being choked and pinned like a rag doll in her own drawing room—
It wasn’t the scar that mattered, though it was part of it.
It was the insult. The absolute lack of fear or respect.
All by—a boy she once thought insignificant. A boy her husband never acknowledged. A boy she had dismissed as nothing more than a convenient, disposable problem.
And now... now he was a storm she could not control.
Her reflection stared back at her, eyes cold, lips thin. Her fingers traced the injury, and her eyes glittered with fresh, potent venom.
"For giving me a scar," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "you are going to regret it, Luciano."
A slow, venomous smile curled onto her lips, promising destruction.
"This time, I will not be the one collapsing."
But beneath all her hatred and pride, another, deeper emotion curled inside her—
profound, cold fear.
Because she knew the answer to the question Daniel was too hopeful to face:
If Luciano said he was bringing a fiancée,
if he looked that sure, that calm—
if he didn’t even glance back at them—
If it isn’t Marcia Davis.
Then Eleanor Starling had a terrible feeling the Starling family was doomed forever.
