Love,Written In Ruins-Chapter 60: Real Shopping

By afternoon, the estate had grown unbearably still.

Eloise sat curled at the edge of the sofa, the television murmuring to itself in the background—some glossy program about people who had never known hunger, never learned how to stretch one meal into three, never buried dreams because survival demanded it. She flipped channels once, twice, then gave up.

Nothing held her attention.

The silence pressed in, heavy and artificial, like the house itself was holding its breath around her.

She exhaled sharply and stood. She wasn’t a porcelain doll to be dressed and put on a shelf. She was a woman who had survived the grit of the real world, and she needed a piece of that life back before she lost her mind.

Across the room, Marcos and Leo remained where they always were—present but distant, statues in tailored black. Watching without staring. Listening without intruding.

​"Marcos, Leo," she called out, her voice firmer than it had been since she arrived. The two shadows detached themselves from the far wall. ​"Get the car ready, We’re going out."

​Marcos and Leo exchanged a quick glance. Marcos’s hand moved instinctively toward his earpiece, but he caught himself, while Leo offered a small, lopsided grin. "Sure thing, Boss. Any destination in mind, or are we just burning Boss’s gas?"

​"Shopping," she said, already heading toward the master suite. "Real shopping."

​As she entered the bedroom, she looked at the rows of designer silk and tailored wool. They were beautiful, yes, but they felt like a costume for a play she hadn’t auditioned for. More importantly, after Mary’s revelation. Eloise didn’t just want to leave; she wanted to take control. If Maya was representative of the staff’s loyalty, Eloise wasn’t touching another plate of food she hadn’t overseen herself.

​She reached into the back of the closet and pulled out the worn backpack from her failed escape attempt. It felt honest in her hands. Inside was her credit card—her own hard-earned money—and the stack of cash Jayla had pressed into her hands. She made a silent vow to give Jayla’s money back.

​She walked back to the foyer and caught Mary’s eye. The girl looked skittish, like a bird expecting a stone. "Mary, you’re coming with me."

​The shift in the air was palpable. Marcos and Leo exchanged a long, meaningful look. They knew Mary’s history; they knew she had been a plant from the Starling house. Seeing Eloise choose her as a companion was like watching someone pet a stray dog that had already bitten them. But Eloise didn’t care. She saw the girl’s fear, and she saw the potential for a different kind of loyalty.

​"Let’s go," Eloise commanded.

​The first stop was a sharp departure from the high-end boutiques of Beverly Hills. Eloise directed them to a modest, trendy area where the clothes were made for living, not for posing. She moved through the racks with a practiced efficiency, grabbing soft cotton tees, well-fitting denim, and oversized hoodies.

Marcos and Leo stood by the entrance, looking utterly out of place in their sharp suits and tactical postures. Leo, the bulkier of the two, watched as Eloise held up a pair of distressed jeans and a simple black sweatshirt.

​Leo watched her pile the items on the counter, his brow furrowed. "You sure about these, Miss Eloise? I don’t think Boss has seen a pair of jeans since the nineties. ​You’re really going for the ’undercover’ look, huh? I thought we were going to be carrying bags from Gucci. I practiced my ’unimpressed guard’ face for nothing."

​Eloise laughed, and for the first time in days, it didn’t feel forced. "Then he’s in for a shock, isn’t he? And You can save that face for Saturday, Leo. Today, I just want to be able to sit on the floor without worrying about ruining five thousand dollars of lace."

​Leo chuckled, scratching his bald head. "I like your style. Most ladies in your position wouldn’t touch a cotton-poly blend with a ten-foot pole."

​Mary stood by the dressing room, her eyes wide. She was used to Mrs Starling, who dressed for breakfast as if she was attending a gala. Seeing Eloise buy clothes that she could actually move in—clothes that suggested she might actually get her hands dirty—solidified Mary’s resolve. This wasn’t just another socialite; this was a woman worth protecting.

​Next came the grocery store. This was Eloise’s true element. She navigated the aisles of fresh produce with a nostalgia that ached.

Cooking was a language she had learned in the ruins of her childhood. After her father and brother passed, her mother had drifted into a fog of grief and indifference, leaving an eleven-year-old Eloise to navigate the pantry. Eloise had dragged a stool to the stove. If she didn’t cook, she didn’t eat.

​It had started as a necessity, but it had grown into a sanctuary. While her music—her true passion—had been buried in the same grave as her father, cooking became the daily ritual that kept her tethered to the world. A new recipe was a small victory. A perfectly seasoned sauce was a moment of control in a life that was often chaotic. She had learned to turn salt, fat, and heat into a reason to keep going.

​She filled the cart with fresh basil, vine-ripened tomatoes, garlic, and heavy cream. She bought ribeye steaks and artisanal pasta. If she was going to be trapped in a fortress, she would at least make it smell like home.

​​"You’re actually going to cook all this?" Marcos asked, taking a heavy bag of flour and a carton of eggs from her. "We have a chef for that, you know. Guy studied in Paris."

​​"I am," Eloise said, selecting a bunch of organic strawberries. "The guy in Paris didn’t grow up in a house where a meal was a victory. And besides, I like to know exactly what goes into my sauce."

​With the car loaded with groceries and denim, Eloise spotted a small, tucked-away cafe near the edge of the shopping district. It had a weathered wooden sign and the smell of roasted beans wafting through the door.

​​"Take these back to the car," Eloise told Mary as they finished checking out. "I saw a small cafe just across the street. I want to grab some drinks for us. I’ll be right back."

​"Miss, we should go with you," Marcos insisted, his hand instinctively moving toward his jacket.

​"It’s twenty steps, Marcos. I can see the car from the window. Give me five minutes of being a normal person."

​She didn’t wait for an answer. She crossed the street and stepped into the cafe. It was a small, quiet space with exposed brick walls and the comforting hum of a professional espresso machine. It was nearly empty, save for a man behind the counter.

He had a tired, kind face. He wasn’t ’Luciano’ handsome—there was no dangerous edge to him, no aura of impending doom—but he was pleasant, like a well-loved book.

​Yet, as he looked up, Eloise saw a flicker of profound sadness in his eyes. It was a look she recognized—the look of someone who was going through the motions of life while their heart was somewhere else.

​"Welcome," he said, forcing a professional smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

​Eloise gave him her warmest, most genuine smile. She knew what it was like to work a counter while your world was crumbling. "Hi. Can I get two iced coffees, a milk shake, and one strawberry shake?"

​As he prepared the drinks, Eloise watched his hands. They were steady but slow, as if every movement required a conscious effort of will.

When she paid, she made sure to leave a tip that made him blink in surprise. "Thank you. I hope the rest of your day gets a little brighter." Then she said softly. "The shakes look perfect."

The man paused, looking at her with a flicker of genuine surprise, as if she had seen through his mask. "Thank you," he replied, a small, tired smile touching his lips. "Enjoy your drinks."

​She walked back to the car, handing the iced coffees to a surprised Marcos and Leo. She handed the milk shake to Mary, who looked at it as if it were a holy relic.

​"For me, Miss?"

​"For you, Mary. Drink up before it melts."

​Eloise took a sip of her strawberry shake. It was tart, sweet, and icy—a burst of normalcy that made the looming shadow of the De La Vega name feel a little further away.

​"This is actually incredible," Leo muttered, leaning against the car as he downed half his coffee in one go. "Better than the sludge they serve at the estate."

​When they arrived back at the estate, the dynamic had shifted. The tension hadn’t vanished, but there was a rhythm to their movements. Mary carried the light bags of clothes, while Marcos carried the heavy bags of ingredients toward the kitchen.

​At the door to the bedroom, Eloise stopped and took the bags from Mary’s hands.

​"I’ve got it from here, Mary. Thank you."

​"Wait, Mary," Eloise said. She reached into one of the smaller boutique bags and pulled out a small, wrapped box. It was a simple, elegant silver bracelet she’d spotted near the register. "This is for you."

​Mary’s hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, no, Miss Eloise. I can’t. I’m just... I shouldn’t."

​"Keep it," Eloise said, her voice firm but kind. "Think of it as a uniform requirement for being my personal maid. And Mary?"

​The girl looked up, her eyes shimmering.

​"Thank you for being honest with me earlier. I know it wasn’t easy."

Mary looked down at the box, her lip trembling. For the first time, the fear in her eyes was replaced by a fierce, shimmering loyalty. She bowed her head, a single tear escaping. "Thank you, Miss Eloise. Truly."

​Eloise went into her room and shut the door. She looked at the pile of groceries on the kitchen counter in her mind, and the simple clothes on bed. For the first time since the kidnapping, she didn’t feel like a pawn.

​She was going to cook. She was going to wear jeans. And she was going to prepare for Saturday—not as a victim, but as a woman who was willing to stand by Luciano’s side.