Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 59: My Closet Is Full

Mary led the way through the labyrinthine corridors of the estate, her footsteps muffled by the thick, cream-colored carpets. She stopped before a set of double doors carved from dark walnut—a room specifically designated for the fitting.

​"Mr. De La Vega has assigned this room for your use today, Miss," Mary said, her voice barely a whisper. "Strict orders were given that no one is to enter his personal quarters, not even for the designer."

​"Thank you. I appreciate you showing me the way."

Mary flinched slightly, her eyes widening as she looked up. In the Starling household—where Mary had been "borrowed" from—thanking a maid was as common as thanking a chair for being sat upon.

She blinked, then nodded quickly, color rising to her cheeks. "You’re... welcome, miss." She dipped her head and hurried away, flustered, already reaching for the next chore as if afraid the moment might linger too long.

Eloise took a breath and pushed open the doors.

The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the late morning. Seated on a velvet chaise lounge was a woman who looked entirely out of place in this cold, limestone fortress. She was dressed in a simple but impeccably tailored linen suit, sipping a cup of herbal tea. When she saw Eloise, she set the cup down with a clink, her eyes widening in a way that felt genuine rather than practiced.

​"Goodness," the woman breathed, her voice a soft lilt. "You are far more beautiful than the descriptions suggested." The woman said frankly. "Photographs don’t do you justice."

Eloise paused, she was struck by the woman’s openness. This wasn’t the cold, biting arrogance of the elite she had encountered so far.

"Thank you."

The woman smiled. "I’m Agnes."

She stood and extended her hand. Her grip was warm, confident. "I never thought I’d be the one chosen to dress the fiancée of a man like Luciano Solis De La Vega. When Ian called me... well, I thought it was a prank. I’m still a little bit in shock, actually."

Eloise felt a prickle of discomfort at the word fiancée, a title that felt like a heavy crown she hadn’t asked to wear.

"Ian?" Eloise echoed.

"Yes. He told me I’d be your designer." Agnes shook her head, amused. "I was shocked."

Eloise studied her more closely now. Agnes wasn’t dressed like the high-fashion designers she’d seen on television. No dramatic silhouettes or intimidating airs.

"I think I’m the one who should be nervous. I’ve never had anything ’designed’ for me in my life."

Agnes’ smile widened. "And don’t you worry, dear. We’re going to be just fine."

Agnes gestured toward a rolling rack that had been brought in. Eloise’s heart skipped a beat. The clothes weren’t just garments; they were poems of silk, lace, and midnight velvet. There were enough pieces to start a high-end boutique—dresses that looked as though they had been spun from moonlight and stardust.

​"This is... it’s too much," Eloise stammered, thinking of her cramped closet back in her old apartment, filled with thrift-store finds and coffee-stained server whites. "I have more than I can ever wear in the bedroom closet already. Why would he order all this?"

Agnes stared at her. "What?"

"I mean—" Eloise gestured helplessly. "My closet is full."

Agnes laughed once, incredulous. "Your fiancé is Luciano Solis De La Vega. This is a small portion."

Of course she would say that.

Eloise fell silent. How could she explain to Agnes that just a few days ago, she was counting her tips to make rent? And choosing practicality over beauty. She wasn’t used to this world—this excess, this casual assumption that wealth was endless and unquestionable.

But she chose to say nothing, stepping onto the small wooden pedestal as Agnes began to work her magic with the measuring tape.

Measurements were taken with professional ease. Tape sliding along her shoulders, waist, hips. Agnes murmured to herself, noting proportions, already envisioning silhouettes.

"You have a very cooperative body," Agnes said absently. "Designers love that."

Eloise laughed softly. "That’s a first."

As Agnes worked, Eloise couldn’t help asking, "how long have you worked for Luciano? I assumed you were the one who designed Luciano’s suits. They have such a unique, sharp cut."

Agnes let out a giggle, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, goodness, no!"

Eloise blinked. "No?"

I don’t really know Mr. De La Vega. Not personally. I’m Ian’s childhood friend." She lowered her voice as if sharing a scandalous secret. "Let me be honest with you, Eloise: I’m not a ’top designer.’ I’m a dressmaker. I run a small shop in the corner of a street most people don’t look twice at. I make custom pieces for local weddings."

Eloise stared at her.

"When Mr. De La Vega told Ian he wanted a designer for you—someone who would focus solely on you and not a brand—Ian recommended me."

​"I wasn’t expecting to meet the standards," Agnes continued, her hands moving with lightning speed. "When Ian told me I was officially your assigned designer, I almost fainted. With you as my muse, I can finally show the world what I can do. I can make many customers!"

Something warm bloomed in Eloise’s chest.

Luciano had hired someone unknown. Someone real.

Agnes finished the measurements and patted Eloise’s shoulder. "I would love to watch you try these on, but the gown Mr. De La Vega asked me to design... it’s incredibly complex. He has specific requirements for the hem and the interior lining. I have to get back to the studio and start immediately. But don’t worry, these pieces are all your size. Try them, see what you like."

​"Can I see the design?" Eloise asked, a spark of excitement catching in her chest.

​"Unfortunately, no," Agnes said with a wink. "He insisted it be a surprise. Even for you."

​With a flurry of fabric and a quick wave, Agnes was gone, leaving Eloise alone with a fortune in silk.

Eloise stood alone in the quiet room, surrounded by clothes that felt like armor she hadn’t asked for.

She slipped out of her borrowed cardigan and simple dress, folding them neatly on the chaise. The first gown she reached for was deep emerald silk, bias-cut to cling like water. As she pulled it over her head, struggling with the hidden zipper at the small of her back, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

She opened it to find a new face—a maid she hadn’t seen before. The woman was older than Mary, with sharp, bird-like features and eyes that didn’t quite reach her smile. She held a tray with apple juice and a few almond biscuits.

​"Miss, Agnes asked me to help you with the clothes," the lady said, her voice smooth but oily. "I’m Maya, one of the senior maids."

​"Oh, thank God," Eloise sighed, turning around. "I need help with the zipper. This dress is a bit tighter than it looks."

Eloise stepped back to allow Maya in. Maya placed the snacks on a nearby table and moved behind Eloise. With a deft, quick motion, she pulled the zipper up.

Eloise turned to the floor-length mirror and gasped. The dress hugged her hips and accentuated her waist, the emerald green making her eyes pop. She finally understood why Luciano had chosen Agnes; she had an eye for the soul of the wearer, not just the body.

​​"You look lovely, Miss," Maya said, though her voice sounded strangely flat. She walked to the table and poured a glass of apple juice. "You must be thirsty after all that measuring."

As she turned to hand it over, foot seemed to catch on the edge of the rug. It was a clumsy, violent stumble. The glass tipped. Amber liquid arced through the air and splashed across the emerald silk, soaking the bodice in a dark, spreading stain.

Maya became a portrait of terror instantly. "Oh God! What have I done? Miss, I am so sorry! I slipped... the floor must be waxed too heavily. Please, forgive me!"

Eloise looked down at the dark, wet stain spreading across the expensive silk. Her first instinct was anger, but seeing the girl’s terrified expression—hands shaking, eyes wide—she softened.

​"It’s okay, Maya," Eloise said, trying to keep her voice calm. "It’s just a dress. Accidents happen. I’ll be right back."

She hurried into the adjoining bathroom, grabbing a towel and running cold water over the stain. It didn’t budge much, but she blotted carefully, hoping to salvage it.

Behind her, Maya’s face transformed. The "terrified" girl vanished, replaced by a sneer of pure, undiluted disgust. She looked at the racks of clothes, her lip curling.

"So this is her," she muttered, running her fingers over the clothes. "Gold digger."

She scoffed. "Spending his money like it grows on trees. Stealing another woman’s fiancé without shame. Marcia Davis is ten times the woman this woman is."

When Eloise emerged from the bathroom, the stain was still visible, a stubborn bruise on the green silk. She saw Maya standing there, her expression carefully schooled back into one of pathetic apology.

​"It won’t come out," Eloise said, her disappointment showing. "I’ll try one of the others. Maya, could you help me with the zipper again?"

Maya nodded and moved behind her, her expression darkening where Eloise couldn’t see. As she reached for the zipper, Eloise felt a sharp, searing pain in the small of her back. Maya hadn’t just grabbed the zipper; she had twisted a large chunk of Eloise’s skin between her fingernails and pinched hard.

​"Ow!" Eloise gasped, jumping forward. "Maya! You caught my skin!"

​​"Oh! My deepest apologies, Miss! My fingers slipped. The dress is too tight." Maya said, her voice dripping with fake concern.

​Eloise bit her lip. "Just... be careful."

She reached for the zipper again. This time, as she pulled, she grabbed a handful of Eloise’s hair, winding it into the teeth of the zipper and yanking downward.

​"STOP!" Eloise yelled, spinning around and clutching her head. Her eyes were watering from the pain. "Back away from me. Right now."

Maya backed away, her hands up in a mock gesture of innocence. "I’m so sorry, Eloise! Your hair was caught in the teeth of the zipper! I was just trying to free you—"

​"Don’t lie to me," Eloise snapped. She walked toward the maid, her stature suddenly seeming much larger than it had a moment ago. "My hair was on my left shoulder. You had to go out of your way to grab it. Do you have a problem with me, Maya?"

​"No, Miss. It was a mistake," Maya insisted, though her eyes were turning defiant.

​"Right. A mistake. You know, Maya, mistakes happen once," Eloise said, her voice dropping into a tone that sounded dangerously like Luciano’s. "When they happen in a sequence, they are deliberate acts of hostility. I am not a fool, and I am not a punching bag for whatever grudge you’re nursing."

Maya’s eyes narrowed, her true nature beginning to bleed through. She let out a short, sharp laugh. "And what are you going to do? Tell Mr. De La Vega? He hired me himself. I’ve been with the estate for years. You’re just a passing fancy."

​"You seem to forget something very important," Eloise said, stepping into Maya’s space. She was shorter, but in that moment, she carried the shadow of the man who owned the house. "You are here permanently because of me. You are serving me because he commanded it. Try harming me again, and you can kiss this job goodbye. Now, get out."

Maya’s smirk faltered. She hadn’t expected her to have teeth.

​"And since you’re on your way out," Eloise added, her voice ice-cold, "call the girl who brought me here from the garden. Tell her I require her immediately."

Eloise turned her back on the woman. She didn’t want to be this hard, but she had learned one thing from Luciano: in this world, if you don’t set the boundaries, people will trample over you until there’s nothing left.

​Maya lingered for a second, her face red with suppressed rage, before spinning on her heel and marching out.

Moments later, a soft knock came at the door. Mary appeared, looking even more nervous than before.

​"Miss? You called for me?"

​"It’s Eloise," she said, turning toward her with a weary smile. "My name is Eloise."

​Mary nodded tentatively. "I’m Mary, Miss Eloise."

​Eloise looked at the girl—really looked at her. She saw the kindness in her eyes and the fear that seemed to be her constant companion. She saw a girl who, like her, was just trying to survive in a world of giants.

​"Mary, from now on, you will be my personal maid," Eloise stated. "I don’t want anyone else helping me with my fittings, my meals. Just you. Does that work for you?"

​Mary’s jaw dropped. Being a personal maid to the future mistress of the house was a massive promotion—a position of trust, safety, and higher pay. But more than that, it was a shield.

​"I... Miss Eloise, I don’t know if I deserve your trust," Mary whispered, her voice trembling.

​"I think you do," Eloise said gently. "Now, help me with this zipper. And please, be careful of my hair."

​Mary stepped behind her, her touch as light as a feather. She worked the zipper with a reverence that Maya could never possess.

Mary’s hands lingered at the zipper long after it was fastened.

The new position should have filled her with relief. Pride, even. To be chosen as the personal maid of the future mistress of the De La Vega estate was protection most servants spent lifetimes chasing.

It meant better pay. Better quarters. Immunity from petty punishments.

It meant safety.

And that was precisely why the guilt felt heavier now than it ever had before.

Because safety, when given by the very person you had once been ordered to watch... felt less like reward and more like theft.

Mary had known from the moment Eloise spoke her name that she couldn’t accept the role carrying secrets between them.

If she was to stand beside her—truly beside her—it had to be clean.

No hidden loyalties.

No whispered reports.

No divided obedience.

Her pulse quickened as the decision settled into place.

She would tell her.

Before the promotion became official.

Before kindness made the truth harder to survive.

Mary leaned closer, her voice dropping into a fragile whisper.

​"Miss Eloise... thank you. For choosing me. But I need to tell you something."

It was then that suddenly, Eloise knew—

This house held more dangers than silk dresses and stained fabric.

Some wore smiles.

Others... wore uniforms.