“Selena!” she shrieked, not even a hello. “The charity gala is mandatory for interns!”
I groaned. “Ugh… the gala.”
“Yes, the gala!” she repeated, almost breathless. “It’s tonight. And guess who didn’t check their email?”
She had a point. The gala was supposedly a big deal. Interns rarely got invitations. This year? “Interns included,” the invite had said. Shocking.
At first, I’d thought it was a mistake.
But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense this was my chance. A golden ticket. The kind of night where you could network, dazzle, and maybe just maybe secure your future.
“You know what?” I said, sitting up straighter. “I’m in. I can't wait for this gala.”
There was a pause.
“Wait...you? Miss ‘this is just a corporate circus’? Miss ‘I’d rather eat my degree than schmooze with old rich men?”
“I know what I said,” I laughed. “But this is different. The elites will be there. The CEO. We make the right impression we might not be interns for long.”
Alia paused. Then, screamed so loud I dropped the phone.
I’ve been waiting my whole life for this!” she shouted. And then she hung up.
Still confused by her emotional explosion, I shook my head, laughing under my breath as i stood. My first day as an intern at Roth Enterprise felt like slipping into a perfectly tailored grey suit that didn’t belong to me. Cold, structured, suffocating. The kind of place where everyone speaks in buzzwords and looks like they were printed from the same blueprint.
I was fresh out of uni, armed with a paper degree and big dreams, walking into a skyscraper that could swallow me whole. My older sister Cassandra had been here for five years, buried somewhere in Marketing. Still, despite all that time, she'd never met the CEO.
A car horn blared outside.
It was Alia.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go shopping alone, did you?” she grinned. “Hop in we’ve got glam to do.”
The mall was an hour away. First stop: mani-pedis and massages. Pure bliss. For a moment, I forgot about the pressure, the politics, and Cassandra’s tantrum.
“This,” Alia purred, lounging in the chair, “is the life.”
But then came the hard part dress shopping. Gowns glimmered under the boutique lights, but our wallets were weeping.
“We are so broke,” Alia whispered, staring at a price tag like it insulted her.
“You dragged me here!” I snapped. “We could’ve worn what we had.”
“And stay broke forever?” she scoffed. “No way. What about asking Cassandra for money?”
“No.”
“But.....”
“No, Alia.”
She frowned. “Weird. You’re her sister.”
“Let’s just go,” I muttered.
When i got home, I headed straight for the mailbox. Inside was a sleek envelope my invitation. Cassandra’s was there too.
I knocked on her door and handed it to her.
She stared at the card like it was mocking her.
“Wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “You got invited?”
“Yeah,” I replied casually. “All interns were. It’s a company gala.”
The shift in her expression was instant shock, followed by something colder.
“Selena, I’ve worked my ass off for five years to get into this room. And they’re just handing invites to interns now?”
“It’s for charity, Cass,” I said, trying to calm her down. “Everyone’s included.”
She rolled her eyes and slammed the door in my face.
Typical Cassandra always the star, always the storm. She had the looks, the wardrobe, the attitude. The perfect older sister. But tonight? Tonight, she had no idea I was about to steal the spotlight.
Later that night, I tried to shake the day off with a hot shower. It was quiet until I heard a knock at the front door.
“I got it!” Cassandra shouted.
Emma.
Her best friend since sophomore year, and the only person as obsessed with Roth Enterprise as Cassandra.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Cassandra said.
“I rushed here the moment I got the invite,” Emma gushed. “The elites are gonna be there. Our time to shine, Cass!”
“But did you see?” Cassandra whispered. “The invite said interns included.”
“I did.” Emma raised a brow. “Honestly? Bet one of them’s sleeping with the CEO.”
Cassandra laughed bitterly. “You might be onto something.”
“I mean, why else would interns be invited? Maybe he’s bringing her to show her off.”
Emma paused. “You don’t think it’s… Selena, do you?”
Cassandra scoffed. “No way. She hates dressing up. She’ll probably wear some boring old outfit. I might actually have to lend her something.”
They laughed.
I listened.
Then I walked away.
Back in my room, my phone rang again. Alia.
“What are we doing about your gown?” she asked.
I sighed. “I’ll wear something from my closet.”
“That’s depressing. What about the box your grandma left you?”
My chest tightened. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“Selena,” she said gently. “She gave you that for a reason.”
I hesitated. Then walked to my wardrobe and pulled it out.
The old box. Tied with a fading ribbon. On top, a photo of us. She'd always say I'd wear this one day, when i was ready.
I lifted the lid and gasped.
Inside was the gown. Royal blue, laced with stones. Elegant, bold, unforgettable.
The gown my grandmother wore the night she was named Lady of Ashworth. The same night my grandfather proposed.
Alia’s voice was soft. “That’s the one. Wear it. Who knows you might meet your own prince charming.”
I smiled.
Maybe I would.
When I finally arrived at the gala, everything stopped. The building shimmered with gold and glass. Crystal chandeliers dripped light like rain. Champagne flowed like water.
The elites were here. Power, money, status coiled into tailored suits and whispered conversations.
And me? I stepped into the room like I belonged.
For a second, everything became stilled.
I felt it—eyes on me. A flicker of something that didn’t belong in a room full of champagne smiles and designer masks.
In a far corner, near the staircase draped in white roses, stood a man in black. Still. Unblinking. Watching me like he knew something I didn’t.
I blinked.
He was gone.
I laughed it off, brushing a hand over my dress. Just nerves. Right?
But something in my chest whispered no.
What I didn’t know was that tonight…
Someone had already decided my fate.
And I had just walked straight into it.
But what I didn’t know was that tonight… this room would change everything.
Forever.
The words on the page blurred.Maternal DNA match: 99.98%.Paternal markers consistent with known profile.Conclusion: Positive identification.Selena Monroe.Alive.He lowered the paper slowly, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile truth it contained. His chest ached,Cassandra covered her mouth, her whole body trembling. A sob tore through her before she could stop it. She reached across the table, gripping Damien’s wrist, needing the anchor of his skin.“It’s her,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Oh God, Damien it’s her.”Sofia’s prayer slipped into the open, a choked murmur in Italian. Tears streaked down her face unchecked. “Grazie, Signore… grazie…”“Selena…”Her knees gave way and she crumpled to the floor, Cassandra moved to Sofia’s side, gripping her shoulder, her own jaw set tight though her eyes were wet. “It’s her. My God it’s really her.”Damien couldn’t speak, he couldn't move. The world blurred around the single sheet of paper until it was all he could
The city outside Damien Roth’s penthouse gleamed like a jewel, but he barely saw it. The envelope Cassandra had sealed days ago sat on his desk.They had moved quickly too quickly, Cassandra had argued at first. The longer the sample remained in their hands, the higher the chance of discovery. Damien had arranged everything through a web of discreet contacts, choosing a private genetics laboratory far from Roth Enterprises’ buried in bureaucracy so deep even Valentina’s money couldn’t dig fast enough.Cassandra was the first to speak her voice low. “So this is it. Proof or delusion.”Sofia flinched at the word “Don’t call her a delusion,” she whispered. “Don’t call my sister that.”Cassandra turned to her eyes, “And if this says Damien was wrong? If it says Valerie Rodriguez is just Valentina’s ward, not our Selena? What then?”The words fell like a knife between them.Damien’s jaw flexed. He did not look at Cassandra, nor at Sofia his eyes were fixed solely on the envelope.“If it sa
The night after Selena…no, Valerie uttered those words, Damien found himself pacing his penthouse as though the marble beneath his shoes might suddenly give way. “I am Selena Monroe... but I still don’t remember you. Now, what do we do about the woman who is coming to kill me?”Her confession was carved into his mind like fire on stone.Damien sat at the head of his dining table, jaw locked. Cassandra leaned against the far wall, arms crossed tightly, while Sofia occupied the seat across from him, her restless fingers tracing the edge of her wineglass. The air between them hummed with unease.“We can’t go on like this,” Cassandra said finally, her voice sharp, though her eyes betrayed exhaustion. “Valerie….Selena or whatever name she uses, she’s breaking in front of us. She deserves clarity. Proof.”“Proof,” Damien echoed, his tone low. “I’ve given her memories, truths, pieces of what we lived. But she doesn’t trust her own mind.”Cassandra arched a brow, her jaw tightening. “And what
The hours after her confession were a blur.“I am Selena Monroe… but I still don’t remember you.”Damien hovered nearby, leaning against the far wall, arms folded as though holding himself together. His gaze never left her not once. The silence fractured when the elevator chimed.Damien straightened instantly, his shoulders coiled. The doors slid open Valentina Rodriguez walked in.“Valerie.” Her voice cracked like a whip.Selena flinched. For months, that voice had been her anchor, her constant. But now the name sounded wrong, false, like a cage she hadn’t realized she was trapped in.Valentina’s eyes darted between her and Damien. “What did you do?” she hissed at him. “What poison did you put in her head?”Damien’s jaw flexed. “The truth.”Valentina’s laugh was low, dangerous. “Truth? You mean your obsession. Your inability to let go of a dead woman.” She swept toward Selena, crouching before her, hands soft now, voice tender in practiced maternal tones. “Listen to me, mi hija. He’
The drive back to the penthouse was steeped in silence, except for the faint hum of the city outside the tinted glass. Valerie sat pressed against the leather seat, arms locked tightly around herself, her breathing uneven—as if every inhale scraped her lungs raw.Behind him, Valerie stirred in the bed, pale and trembling. She pushed herself upright, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, eyes dark with a fear that was sharper than any she had felt before.She wasn’t confused anymore, wasn’t lost, she hadn’t been pushed today. She hadn’t been shot and yet her body remembered.The penthouse door swung shut behind them Valerie moved first. She tore off the soft wrap Damien had draped over her shoulders and tossed it aside as if it burned.She was furious.“Tell me.” Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade.Damien turned, every muscle in his body stiffening. “You need rest.”“I don’t need rest.” Her fingers gripped the sheets so tightly they shook. “I need answers. Don’t treat me li
The night air in Rome shimmered with the electric pulse of wealth and spectacle. Cameras flashed in staccato bursts, journalists pressed forward against velvet ropes, and a swarm of photographers clamored to capture every inch of the Roths as they arrived at the marble steps of the Palazzo di Fiori.It was supposed to be a showcase dinner—a merger event polished down to every last detail. But Damien’s skin prickled with unease. To Valerie, it was overwhelming.She stood near Damien, her posture elegant but taut, the back of her neck prickling under the swarm of attention. Valentina’s hand hovered possessively at her arm, guiding her like a diamond-encrusted shepherd.“Smile, querida,” Valentina whispered between her teeth, her voice silken steel. “Tonight is not about nerves. It is about image.”Valerie obeyed, curving her lips into the kind of polite smile expected of a business heiress. But her gaze drifted, pulled inevitably toward Damien. He was magnetic even in stillness—broad-s