THE BILLIONAIRE'S DEAD FIANCEE CHOSE ME

The woman in the photograph had been dead for two years. Ivy Carter knew because she had written the article herself. She had spent three weeks investigating Celeste Romano's disappearance, another two verifying the accident report, and one sleepless night writing the final piece that appeared beneath her name. CELESTE ROMANO, FIANCÉE OF BILLIONAIRE LUCA MORETTI, PRESUMED DEAD AFTER FATAL CRASH. The article had attracted millions of views. It had also earned Ivy her editor's approval, three anonymous threats, and a warning from Luca Moretti's legal team. None of that prepared her for the envelope waiting on her desk that morning. There was no name on it. No return address. Just a plain white envelope sitting beside her coffee as if someone had placed it there while she wasn't looking. Ivy stopped. The newsroom continued around her. Phones rang. Keyboards clicked. Someone laughed near the copy desk. A printer groaned as it pushed out another stack of pages. Ivy ignored all of it. She picked up the envelope. It was heavier than it looked. She opened it carefully. A photograph slid onto her desk. For several seconds, she didn't understand what she was seeing. Then her pulse stopped. Celeste Romano stood beside a black car, one hand resting against the open passenger door. She was smiling. Alive. The photograph was old. The colors had faded, and the edges were worn. But that wasn't what made Ivy's hands go cold. She was in it. Sixteen-year-old Ivy stood several feet behind Celeste, holding a cardboard box against her chest. Ivy stared at the younger girl. She remembered the day. The rain. Her father's voice. The argument he'd had with someone near the parking lot. She remembered wanting to go home. But she didn't remember Celeste Romano. Not even a little. Ivy turned the photograph over. Three words had been written across the back in black ink. SHE CHOSE YOU. Ivy read it twice. Then a third time. "Who chose me?" No answer. She looked toward the newsroom entrance. Nothing. She checked the windows. Nothing unusual. Her first instinct was to assume someone was playing a cruel joke. Her second was to investigate. The second instinct won. She carried the photograph to the receptionist's desk. "Maria." Maria looked up. "Yeah?" "Did anyone deliver something to my desk?" Maria glanced at the photograph. "No. Why?" "This was there when I came back." "When did you leave your desk?" "About ten minutes ago." Maria frowned. "Nobody came through the front entrance." Ivy looked toward the security camera above the doors. The red indicator was on. "You're sure?" "Pretty sure." Ivy slipped the photograph back into the envelope. "Okay." Maria studied her face. "You look worried." "I'm thinking." "That's usually when you look dangerous." Ivy almost smiled. "Good." She returned to her desk. Instead of opening the article she'd been writing, she pulled up the accident report from six months earlier. Celeste Romano had supposedly died after her car crashed on a mountain road outside Lake Como. The report was straightforward. Too straightforward. Ivy read through it again. Vehicle recovered. Severe fire damage. No surviving witnesses. Identification established through dental records and personal effects. She paused. Her eyes moved back to the photograph. Celeste had been dead for six months. Yet the woman in front of her had been standing beside that car years earlier. And sixteen-year-old Ivy had somehow been there too. Ivy zoomed in on the background. A stone pillar stood beside the road. A silver M surrounded by a circle was carved into it. The Moretti family crest. Her stomach tightened. That changed things. She searched the location attached to the photograph. Nothing conclusive. Then she searched old photographs of the Moretti estate. The pillar matched. Ivy leaned back. "How did I get there?" She searched her father's name. Daniel Carter. Her father had been a journalist too. Before his death four years earlier, he'd spent the final years of his career investigating financial corruption. Ivy opened the digital archive containing his old work. She searched: DANIEL CARTER MORETTI. One result appeared. Her fingers stopped moving. An article from twelve years earlier. The headline was partially corrupted, but the remaining words were clear enough. THE MORETTI FINANCIAL NETWORK. Ivy opened it. The page loaded. Then disappeared. 404 — PAGE NOT FOUND. She tried again. Nothing. She searched the title manually. Still nothing. Ivy stared at the empty screen. Someone had removed the article. That didn't prove anything. But it gave her a question worth asking. Why would an old article written by her father about the Moretti family disappear from the archive? Her phone vibrated. Unknown number. Ivy looked at the screen. One message. STOP LOOKING INTO CELESTE ROMANO. Her expression hardened. She typed: WHO IS THIS? The reply came almost immediately. SOMEONE TRYING TO KEEP YOU ALIVE. Ivy didn't panic. She took a screenshot. Then she saved the number. Evidence first. Panic later. Her eyes returned to the photograph. The message on the back suddenly seemed less mysterious. SHE CHOSE YOU. Who was she? And what had Celeste Romano wanted with a sixteen-year-old girl standing outside the Moretti estate? Ivy slipped the photograph into her bag. She had a new investigation. And this time, the subject wasn't simply a dead billionaire's fiancée. It was her own past. She grabbed her coat. "Where are you going?" Maria called. Ivy stopped at the newsroom entrance. "To ask Luca Moretti a question." Maria's eyebrows rose. "About Celeste?" Ivy looked down at the photograph inside her bag. "About what Celeste was doing with my father." She walked out. Across the city, inside the top floor of Moretti Group headquarters, Luca Moretti stood before a wall of windows overlooking Milan. His phone rang. He answered without looking at the screen. "Speak." "We have a problem." Luca's expression hardened. "What problem?" "The journalist." "Which journalist?" "Ivy Carter." Silence. Luca knew the name. He had read her article about Celeste. He had also read the investigation she had attempted to publish afterward. "What about her?" "She received something." Luca turned from the window. "What?" "A photograph." His hand tightened around the phone. "What photograph?" The man on the other end hesitated. "One of Celeste." Luca said nothing. "There's more." "What?" "The photograph contains Ivy Carter." For the first time that morning, Luca's expression changed. "Send me a copy." "We can't." "Why?" "We don't have it." Luca's eyes narrowed. "Then how do you know she has it?" "Because someone wanted us to know." The line went silent. Luca looked toward the framed photograph on his desk. Celeste smiled back at him. Six months ago, he had buried every question surrounding her death because grief had demanded certainty. Now someone had placed a photograph from years before the accident in Ivy Carter's hands. A photograph connecting Celeste to a girl who should have been a stranger. And apparently, to Ivy's father as well. Luca reached for his coat. "Find Ivy Carter." "Why?" Luca looked at Celeste's photograph one last time. "Because if Celeste chose her..." His voice turned cold. "...I need to know why."