Chapter 20
528 Words
Chapter 20: Whispers of Fate
Shanaya had recovered slowly, her body still fragile, her heart even more so. The flight back to Italy was long and quiet. She barely spoke, eyes lost in the clouds beyond the window. Lorenzo didn’t push her to talk. He simply wrapped her in warmth—adjusting her pillows, making sure her medicine was taken, wrapping a blanket around her when she dozed off. He treated her like she was glass—precious and delicate.
When they landed, Lorenzo’s mother greeted them with tears and open arms. She kissed Shanaya’s forehead as though she were her own daughter. “Thank God you’re home,” she whispered.
Within a few days, the Mazetti estate buzzed with preparation for the grand annual ball—a celebration that brought together the most powerful mob families and business elites across the globe. It was not just a party; it was politics. Power. Reputation.
Shanaya wasn’t ready, but she had no choice.
On the evening of the ball, Lorenzo helped her into a fitted midnight-blue gown that shimmered like stardust. He wore a matching tailored tuxedo. They looked like royalty.
When she walked down the staircase with Lorenzo beside her, murmurs filled the room. She didn’t know whether they whispered in awe, curiosity, or judgment. Perhaps all.
A hush fell when an elderly woman, regal in a velvet emerald dress, entered the room. Her silver hair was tied in a braid, and her deep eyes sparkled with knowing.
“Grandmother!” Lorenzo walked toward her with a rare smile. “You made it.”
“Of course I did,” she replied with a melodic Greek accent. “I would never miss meeting the woman who has twisted your soul into knots.”
He laughed and introduced Shanaya, “Grandmother, this is my wife, Shanaya.”
The old woman took Shanaya’s hands into her own and stared at her face with an intensity that made Shanaya uncomfortable.
“You’ve carried pain beyond your years,” she said softly. “You wear it like a shadow.”
Shanaya blinked, unsure how to respond.
Then the grandmother’s expression changed—calm, yet distant. Her voice shifted into something almost otherworldly.
“Christian was never meant to stay. He was a tool. A storm. Sent to break the dam so that love could flow freely into your path. The love you seek has found you.”
Her eyes moved slowly to Lorenzo, and Shanaya felt her heart race.
“True love,” the old woman repeated. “But beware… this house holds many ghosts. And unless a new heir is born soon, the devil will return to snatch her again.”
Shanaya's blood turned cold.
She stepped back instinctively. “I… I don’t believe in these things,” she said, trying to shake off the dread.
The grandmother smiled, like someone who had seen disbelief a thousand times.
“You don’t have to believe it, my child. Fate believes in you.”
The music resumed, people danced, and laughter filled the grand hall—but all Shanaya could hear were those haunting words:
The devil will return… to snatch her again.
- Writer
