Chapter 7 - The Vulture’s Feast
The illusion shattered on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
Margaret and Sienna Ashford arrived at the Marchetti estate unannounced. Gabriel Ferraro tried to block them at the front entrance, but Margaret pushed past him with the icy entitlement of a woman who believed she still held all the cards.
Maeve was sitting in the sunroom with Elias, reading a financial report, when the double doors flew open and Margaret marched in, followed closely by a nervous-looking Sienna.
"Elias, darling," Margaret trilled, putting on a brilliant, socialite smile that didn't reach her cold eyes. "We haven't seen you in weeks, and since Sienna has been so devotedly playing the nursemaid, I thought we should drop by and check on your recovery."
Elias looked up from his desk, his expression instantly freezing into a mask of cold, lethal indifference. He turned his wheelchair slowly to face them, his black onyx ring catching the gray afternoon light.
"Mrs. Ashford," Elias said smoothly, his voice dropping several degrees. "To what do I owe the extreme displeasure of this uninvited visit?"
Sienna stepped forward, wringing her hands, her eyes darting nervously toward Maeve. "Elias... we need to talk to you. Alone. It’s... it’s about Sienna."
"She is Sienna," Elias replied, gesturing to Maeve with a raised eyebrow. "Unless there are two of them running around Chicago, which would explain a lot of my headaches."
"That girl is not Sienna!" Margaret snapped, losing her composure as she pointed a manicured finger directly at Maeve. "She is Maeve Donnelly! A maid from our estate! We hired her to impersonate Sienna because Sienna couldn't stomach the thought of pushing a cripple around for the rest of her life!"
The sunroom went drop-dead silent.
The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece sounded like a bomb counting down.
Maeve closed her eyes, her stomach plunging into an abyss. It’s over, she thought. Everything is over.
Elias didn't move. He didn't shout. He didn't smash a glass against the wall.
He slowly turned his head from Margaret and Sienna, shifting his piercing gray gaze directly onto Maeve.
"Is this true?" Elias asked. His voice was terrifyingly soft—so quiet it was almost a whisper.
Maeve opened her eyes, tears spilling over her lashes and running down her cheeks. She looked at Elias, refusing to cower, refusing to lie anymore.
"Yes," Maeve whispered, her voice trembling. "At first... I was forced. Margaret threatened to cut off my brother’s medical funding if I didn't take Sienna’s place. But... but I stayed because..."
"Because she thought she could milk our family for a settlement when you finally kicked the bucket!" Margaret interrupted shrilly, glaring at Maeve with pure venom. "She’s a fraud, Elias! A common servant playing dress-up! You can throw her out on the street right now, and—"
"Gabriel," Elias interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a razor blade.
The doors to the sunroom opened instantly. Gabriel stepped inside, flanked by two armed security guards.
"Mr. Marchetti?" Gabriel asked calmly.
"Escort Mrs. Ashford and her daughter off my property," Elias ordered, his eyes locked onto Margaret with a look so terrifyingly cold that Margaret actually stepped back in fear. "If either of them ever comes within five miles of my estate again, make sure they understand what happens to people who try to play games with me."
"Elias, wait—" Sienna started to cry, but Gabriel grabbed her arm firmly, guiding both mother and daughter toward the exit as they protested loudly.
When the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, the sunroom fell into a suffocating, heavy silence.
Maeve stood up from her chair, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. She grabbed her handbag from the side table.
"I'm sorry," Maeve whispered, looking down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "I’ll leave. You won't ever have to see me again. I’m sorry for lying to you."
She turned toward the door, taking a single, shaky step.
"Where do you think you're going?" Elias’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
Maeve swallowed hard. "I'm leaving. I'm a maid. You're... you're Elias Marchetti."
"Turn around, Maeve," Elias commanded softly.
Maeve slowly turned around.
May you like
Elias wasn't sitting in his wheelchair anymore.
To Maeve’s utter shock, Elias was standing on his own two feet, gripping the edge of the mahogany desk for balance. His legs trembled slightly, but he stood tall, his shoulders squared, his stormy gray eyes fixed entirely on her.
