Chapter 22 Chapter 22.

Chapter 22 Chapter 22.
Francesca stormed into her bedroom, boiling in fury, her rage out of the roof. Pacing back and forth in the room, her mind was a mess. She groaned in anger, kicked the wall, slammed her fists on her desk. She threw down all the things from her desk, sending them all crashing to the wall and to the ground. 

As she stood amidst the chaos she had created, Francesca's chest heaved with exertion, her anger still simmering. She glared at the wall, her eyes blazing with fury. "How could she?" Francesca muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. "How could she humiliate me like that in front of him?"

Francesca's anger and frustration boiled over, and she felt like she was going to explode. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but it was no use. She was still seething with rage.

She began to pace back and forth in the room again, her mind racing with thoughts of revenge. "I'll get her," Francesca promised herself. "I'll make her pay for what she did."

As she paced, Francesca's eyes fell on her phone. She picked it up, her fingers flying across the screen as she typed out a message. "We need to talk," she texted to someone. 



Aria sat behind her dressing table, her heart racing as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. “Gosh, that bitch really clawed the hell out of my face,” she muttered under her breath, wincing as she examined the deep scratches marring her cheek. The sight made her heart race, but she didn't flinch. 

She deftly reached for a damp cloth, her movements careful as she gently cleaned the tender skin. A sharp sting shot through her as she touched a particularly sensitive area, prompting her to wince again. After applying a layer of antiseptic cream to prevent infection, she methodically covered the scratches with a bandage, her expression a mixture of determination and frustration.

As she worked, Aria's thoughts drifted back to the confrontation with Francesca. She had never been one to back down from a challenge, and she wasn’t about to start now. But beneath her bravado, a gnawing worry lurked about what Francesca might do next. Would this escalate? Would she retaliate?

Finishing her makeshift treatment, Aria stood up and stretched her arms over her head, feeling the tension slowly fade away. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. 

As she prepared to walk away from the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself and couldn’t help but smirk wryly. She looked like she had been in a battle, but rather than feeling defeated, she felt a surge of empowerment. She had stood up for herself, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a mix of pride and unease, Aria walked over to her bed and sat down, her hands resting on her knees as her eyes fixated on the door. But just as a blanket of calm washed over her, a flash of memory broke through the serene moment. She mimicked Nathan’s habit of sitting with his hands on his knees, which he did whenever he felt relieved or satisfied. The memory brought a pang of sadness, and she fought to keep the tears at bay, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

Deciding she needed a breath of fresh air to clear her mind, Aria stepped outside her room just in time to catch the commotion unfolding downstairs.

“How dare you not do your job?” Francesca’s voice rang out sharply, filled with disdain, as she confronted the cook.

The woman stood trembling, her gaze fixed on the floor, unable to speak a word.

"I'm talking to a human, am I not?" Francesca snapped, but the cook remained silent, her head bowed in submission.

Francesca's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, I see. I forgot who you are... just a worthless piece of trash," she said, her eyes glinting with contempt.

"That's enough!" Aria's voice cut through the air as she strode down the stairs, her heart racing but her resolve unwavering.

Francesca's gaze shifted to Aria, and a dark glimmer crossed her face. "Well, well, look who it is. Another piece of rag," she taunted, the venom in her words thick.

"Funny, coming from a walking garbage bag herself," Aria shot back, her confidence growing with each word.

Ignoring Aria's retort, Francesca turned her attention back to the cook, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're fired," she spat, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

The cook fell to her knees, her voice trembling as she pleaded, "I-I apologize, ma'am. Please, give me another chance."

Aria scoffed, stepping closer. "Last time I checked, you're not the owner of this house, so I don't think you have the authority to fire anyone."

Francesca crossed her arms, her posture oozing arrogance. "I'm the manager of this house," she declared, a hint of pride lacing her tone as if it justified her behavior.

"Being a manager doesn't grant you the right to treat people like garbage," Aria firmly countered, her voice steady and unwavering.

Francesca narrowed her eyes, a challenge igniting in her gaze. "And do you think it'd be any different if he was here?" she retaliated, referring to Lucien.

"I'm sure Lucien isn't so heartless that he would dismiss his cook simply because the food got burned while she was dealing with a stomach issue," Aria retorted sharply.

Francesca’s scoff was dismissive. "You know nothing about Mr. Moretti," she replied, a condescending twist in her voice.

"And what do you know about him?" Aria shot back, her eyes blazing with defiance.

Francesca's face twisted with anger, her eyes flashing with contempt. "I know enough about him to know that you're just a temporary fixture in his life," she spat. "You're just a plaything for him, a distraction from his real interests. And when he gets tired of you, you'll be nothing more than a memory."

Aria's eyes narrowed, her face set in a determined expression. "We'll see about that," she said, her voice cold and even.

The cook, sensing an opportunity, spoke up. "Please, ma'am, don't fire me," she begged. "I'll do anything to keep my job."

Francesca's expression softened slightly, but her eyes still gleamed with malice. "You should have thought of that before you let the food burn," she said, her voice dripping with venom.

Aria stepped forward, her eyes locked on Francesca's. "I think we should let Lucien decide what to do about the cook," she said, her voice firm. "After all, he's the one who pays her salary."

Francesca's face darkened, her anger and frustration boiling over. "Fine," she spat. "Let's go ask him. I'm sure he'll side with me."

“We’ll see about that,” Aria replied, her voice steady. With that, she turned on her heels, ready to summon Lucien, but no one anticipated the sudden turn of events.

In a flash, Francesca lunged forward, her hand moving with a sinister swiftness. She thrust a jagged shard of glass into Aria’s side.

Aria gasped, her eyes widening in horror as the pain seared through her. She stumbled back, a hand instinctively pressing against the wound. “What—” she started, the shock paralyzing her for a moment as she met Francesca’s cold gaze.

Francesca’s lips curled into a twisted grin. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d pay for this?” she replied, her tone gleeful and mocking. “I’m not one to be toyed with. I have a very short temper and I act swiftly and dangerously.” With that, she yanked the shard from Aria’s side, watching with satisfaction as her rival collapsed to the floor.

The cook, who had been watching in terrified silence, finally broke her spell of inaction. A whimper escaped her lips, and she instinctively lowered herself, hands raised in surrender. 

“Please, I didn’t see anything!” she pleaded, her eyes darting nervously between the two women.

“I’ll grant your job back,” Francesca said, a calculating glimmer in her eyes, “but only on one condition: you’ll never speak of what happened here to anyone.”

“I accept, ma’am! I accept!” The cook responded hastily, her voice trembling with urgency.

“Good.” Francesca's smile widened, impressed with the cook's compliance. “You may leave.”

The cook wasted no time, scrambling to her feet and fleeing the scene, her heart racing with fear and relief.

Francesca turned her full attention back to Aria, who lay on the floor, barely conscious. She approached her with a triumphant smirk, relishing the sight of her rival in distress. “Looks like you underestimated me,” she taunted softly, reveling in her victory. The once vibrant room now felt heavy with the tension of unspoken emotions and impending chaos.