THE ENEMY IN THE MIRROR
1241 Words
The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air like smog. Ivy slept in my arms, oblivious to the world spinning out of control around her. Luca sat beside me, jaw clenched, phone gripped in one hand as he barked quiet orders in Italian to his security team.
“She’ll be safer at Villa Lucente,” he said as he ended the call. “Only three people know about the place. No cameras. No staff unless I call them in myself.”
“I should’ve taken her there from the start,” I murmured, brushing a curl from Ivy’s forehead.
Luca looked at me. “You didn’t know we were being watched.”
“That’s not an excuse anymore.”
He didn’t argue. Neither of us had room for blame right now, not when someone out there knew who Ivy really was, and was sending threats like messages in a bottle.
By the time we reached the villa, dawn was breaking. Ivy stirred in my arms as we stepped out of the car. She blinked up at the palatial stone mansion wrapped in climbing ivy and silence. The whole estate was tucked into a hilltop, surrounded by olive groves and nothing else for miles.
“This is... yours?” I asked as we stepped through the carved oak doors.
He gave a tired nod. “Built by my great-grandfather. No digital records. Not even my father remembered it existed.”
“Convenient,” I muttered.
“Necessary,” he corrected.
We got Ivy settled in a guest room upstairs, locked windows, reinforced doors, and two armed guards posted outside like silent statues. Luca’s paranoia would’ve been terrifying if it didn’t make perfect sense now.
I walked out into the hall and found him waiting for me, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt sleeves rolled up, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I sent a team to trace that number,” he said. “Encrypted. Whoever’s behind this is good.”
“They always are,” I said bitterly.
He studied me. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
I hesitated. Then I pulled out my phone and opened the voicemail I’d gotten just before we left the hotel.
It was only six seconds long.
“You think marrying him will save you? How quaint.”
There was no name. No number. Just a voice feminine, mocking, familiar.
Luca went still. “Play it again.”
I did.
His eyes narrowed. “That’s her.”
“Vivienne?”
He nodded slowly. “She always leaves her calling card. Cryptic, petty, unnecessary.”
I exhaled, cold dread pooling in my stomach. “So, she is part of this.”
“Or someone wants us to think she is.”
He turned away, pacing. “She wouldn’t do this alone. She doesn’t have the patience to stalk someone, let alone a child. But if she partnered with the right person…”
My voice dropped. “Who?”
He stopped in his tracks. Looked at me.
“Someone who has something to gain if the clause is broken.”
And there it was. The clause again. The ticking time bomb beneath all of this.
Luca's inheritance.
If Luca’s marriage is invalidated, the estate defaults to the secondary heir.
I’d read the clause. I remembered the line clearly.
In the event of breach or proven deceit, all remaining assets shall pass to the next legal heir, as determined in the final amendment.
But Luca had never told me who that heir was.
“Who gets everything if this marriage fails?” I asked.
Luca hesitated. And that hesitation told me everything.
“Luca,” I said again, slower this time. “Who.”
He turned toward me, his jaw tightening. “Matteo.”
I blinked. “Your cousin Matteo?”
He nodded. “The one my father once trusted more than me. Until I proved myself. Until I beat him out for the company.”
“And now he has motive,” I said softly. “Motive, money, and Vivienne.”
Luca didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The image painted itself Matteo, bitter and ambitious. Vivienne, still carrying a grudge that burned two years old.
The two people with the most to gain if this marriage was exposed for the contract it really was. And if Ivy was revealed to be born before the wedding…
“They want the world to know,” I whispered. “They want the media to tear us apart. They want Ivy in headlines. Scandal. Disgrace. Lawsuits. Public opinion.”
“Collapse the house from within,” Luca muttered. “Classic Matteo.”
I looked at him. “So what do we do?”
Luca met my eyes. “We give them what they want.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
He paced to the window, shoulders tight. “We leak just enough. A photo. A whisper. Something vague that suggests we’re not as solid as we appear.”
“And what does that get us?”
“Control,” he said. “If we’re controlling the narrative, they can’t blindside us. We bait them into making a move. And then we strike.”
I stared at him. Cold. Calculated. Merciless.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
He turned back to me. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes,” I said. “Because this isn’t just business. This is our daughter.”
His eyes softened, just a shade. “Which is why we can’t afford to play defense anymore.”
We didn’t sleep.
By mid-morning, Luca’s team had a digital trap set coded posts, targeted leaks, keyword monitors. A thread of rumors began to stir online, subtle at first: Was the DeRossi marriage too perfect? Why the rush wedding? Who was the child seen with Aurora Hale last month?
The vultures began circling.
And right on cue… the first strike came.
Luca was in the study when his phone buzzed with an alert. He answered, listened, then turned to me with his expression grim.
“They leaked the paternity test,” he said.
My knees buckled.
“What?”
“The one from two years ago. Before you left. When I tried to claim Ivy but you told me not to.”
“How the hell did they even get it?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” His voice was ice. “The document’s out there. It’s real. It confirms what they want: Ivy is mine. And was born before the wedding.”
The clause was now officially dangling by a thread.
“They want the court to void the will,” I whispered. “Strip you of the inheritance.”
“No,” Luca said, eyes burning. “They want me humiliated. Bankrupt. Powerless.”
The phone buzzed again.
A photo this time.
From an unknown number.
Me. Ivy. A playground. Taken from across the street. Yesterday.
“Tick tock, Mrs. DeRossi. Time’s almost up.”
I looked at Luca, heart pounding in my chest. “They’re getting closer.”
He nodded, then turned the phone toward me only, it wasn’t just the image this time.
There was a voice memo.
We hit play.
It was Vivienne’s voice. But she wasn’t alone.
She was laughing.
With Matteo.
And then came the words that twisted my stomach into a knot:
“Once we get custody of the girl, everything else will fall into place.”
- Writer
