Chapter 6 - The Ghost of High Society
The illusion of perfect, untouchable safety is a luxury only the truly naive can afford. I had learned that the hard way, scrubbing the floors of the Rossi estate while listening to the whispered, venomous conspiracies of the ultra-rich. Yet, for three blissful, intoxicating months after Dominic placed that vintage family sapphire on my finger, I allowed myself to believe the war was finally over. The estate was humming with the chaotic, joyful energy of a royal wedding preparation. Caterers darted through the halls, elite florists argued over the exact shade of imported Italian orchids, and Carmela was painting brighter, more vibrant canvases than she had in years. It was a gilded fairy tale, right up until the glass ceiling shattered all over again.
It was a crisp Tuesday afternoon. I was standing on a velvet pedestal in the master suite, enveloped in yards of shimmering, pearl-white Vera Wang silk. The head tailor from Manhattan was meticulously pinning the hem of my custom wedding gown, while a team of stylists discussed my hair. I caught my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The girl in the black and white maid's uniform was entirely gone. In her place was a woman who radiated quiet power, her chin held high, the faint silver scar on her cheek barely visible under the soft lighting.
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany double doors of the suite clicked open. I smiled, expecting to see Dominic stepping in from his board meetings to steal a kiss. Instead, Elias, the stoic and towering head of estate security, stepped into the room. His face was the color of ash, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek. He did not say a word, simply dismissing the tailor and stylists with a sharp, authoritative nod.
Once the door clicked shut behind the frightened women, Elias turned to me. "Ms. Skylar, Mr. Rossi requests your presence in the main study immediately. There has been... a complication."
My heart slammed against my ribs, the heavy silk of my gown suddenly feeling like a straightjacket. "Elias? What is it? Is it Bianca? Did she appeal her sentence?"
"No, ma'am," Elias said, his eyes avoiding mine—something he never did. "It is a ghost."
I didn't bother changing. I gathered the heavy skirts of my Vera Wang gown in my hands and practically ran down the grand staircase, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble. When I burst through the doors of the main study, the air was so thick with tension it felt hard to breathe. Dominic was standing behind his massive oak desk, his hands gripping the edges so hard his knuckles were stark white. He looked completely shell-shocked.
Sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs across from him was a woman. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with flawless porcelain skin, icy blonde hair styled in a sleek bob, and a crimson designer coat that screamed old money. She was crossing her long legs, sipping a glass of Dominic's most expensive scotch as if she owned the place.
"Skylar," Dominic said, his voice a hoarse, ragged whisper. He immediately abandoned his desk, striding across the room to wrap his arms around me protectively. His heart was hammering against his chest.
The woman in the chair slowly set her glass down and turned to look at me. Her lips curved into a smile that did not reach her cold, calculating blue eyes.
"Ah," the woman purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "So this is the famous little housekeeper who managed to scrub her way to the top. I must admit, Dominic, your tastes have drastically plummeted since we were together."
"Do not speak to her," Dominic snarled, stepping in front of me, shielding me with his body. "You are dead. I buried an empty casket three years ago after your yacht went down in the Mediterranean. The Coast Guard searched for weeks."
My blood ran completely cold. I looked at the woman, and then at Dominic's horrified face. I knew exactly who this was. Victoria Vance. The heiress to the Vance shipping fortune, and Dominic’s former fiancée. The woman who had allegedly broken his heart when she died in a tragic accident at sea.
"Reports of my death were a necessary exaggeration, darling," Victoria said smoothly, standing up and smoothing her coat. "My family was facing a federal indictment. My father needed me to disappear to protect our offshore assets. It was messy, I admit. But the statute of limitations has passed, my father paid his fines, and I am back from the dead."
She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a thick, legal document bearing a heavy red wax seal. She dropped it onto the center of the oak desk. It hit the wood with a sickening thud.
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"And while I was away, Dominic," Victoria continued, her eyes flashing with a predatory gleam, "I had my lawyers review our past paperwork. It seems that when we filed our marriage license privately in Monaco just days before my 'accident', your father finalized it to secure the merger. We are legally married, Dominic. Which means fifty percent of the Rossi empire, this estate, and every dime you own belongs to me."
The room spun. Victoria looked at me, looking me up and down with absolute disgust. "I am the true Lady of this estate, Skylar. And it is time for the hired help to pack her bags and leave."
