The Selection

Inside, the mansion was even more opulent than she’d imagined; massive chandeliers, floors so polished she could see her reflection, and walls lined with classic paintings that looked centuries old.

A line of chairs had been arranged in the grand salon, and the women were called in one by one for their interviews.

Ivy waited. She eavesdropped as the others returned; some looking smug, others confused. One girl was even crying.

“Next, Ivy Wesley,” called an assistant with icy blonde hair and perfectly sculpted brows.

Ivy stood up, shook out her jacket, and followed the woman through a set of carved wooden doors into a smaller room: an office with a glass desk, leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the estate.

Victor sat behind the desk. Beside him was another woman, a curvy blonde, with a clipboard and a steely expression.

“This is Chloe,” Victor said. “She’s Mr. Martinelli’s personal assistant.”

Ivy nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Chloe said nothing, just assessed her with cool green eyes.

“Tell us about yourself, Ivy,” Victor began.

Ivy forced a smile. “What do you want to know? I’m twenty-five. I grew up in Michigan. Left home at sixteen. Been doing odd jobs ever since.”

“Why did you leave home?” Chloe asked sharply.

Ivy paused. “It wasn’t safe,” she said finally.

Chloe exchanged a glance with Victor.

Ivy folded her arms. “Look, I’m not here to give you a sob story. I’m just trying to get out of a life that’s been stuck in survival mode. I’m not afraid of rich people, secrets, or drama. I know how to blend in, keep quiet, and hold my own.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “That... was unexpectedly honest.”

Ivy shrugged. “What’s the point of lying? You’ll dig it all up in a background check anyway.”

Chloe’s lips curled into a smile. “Interesting.”

Victor leaned forward. “One more question. If you’re chosen, this marriage will come with expectations — public appearances, discretion, and loyalty. You won’t be free to come and go as you please. Can you handle that?”

Ivy thought of the moldy apartment she shared with two chain-smoking roommates. She thought of the job she lost last week because the diner went out of business. She thought of her mother’s silence. Her stepfather’s hands. The bruises no one saw.

She looked Victor in the eye and said, “I’ve handled worse.”

Chloe stood. “Thank you, Chloe. You’ll be notified shortly.”

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Hours passed. Most of the women were gone. Only four remained, including Ivy. She was sitting in the corner, sipping a glass of champagne someone had handed her, when Victor returned, smiling as if he’d just won a game.

“Ladies,” he announced, “Mr. Martinelli has made his decision.”

A tense silence filled the room.

He turned to Ivy and said, “Congratulations.”

Her mouth fell open. “Wait... what?”

“You’ve been selected,” Victor confirmed.

The other women gasped. One of them scoffed. “Her? Seriously?”

Victor ignored them. “You’ll be escorted to a guest suite. Tomorrow, you’ll be briefed by the legal team. The wedding will take place within the next five days.”

Ivy could barely breathe. This was real. She was marrying a billionaire. A man with rumored Mafia ties. A man she’d only met once!

Before she could ask another question, Chloe appeared beside her.

“This way,” she said coolly.

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The guest suite was three times larger than Ivy’s entire apartment. The bed was king-sized, and the sheets were Egyptian cotton. A robe had been laid out.

There was even a basket of luxury bath products with a handwritten note: “Welcome to the family — temporarily or otherwise. Make yourself comfortable.”

Ivy collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

She barely had time to process before the door opened again.

“Mr. Martinelli will see you now,” Chloe said from the doorway.

Ivy sat up, her heart pounding. “Now?”

Chloe nodded. “It’s a courtesy. He prefers to meet his wife before the wedding.”

No kidding, Ivy thought.

She followed Chloe through the mansion, down a corridor lined with family portraits: men in tuxedos, women in gowns, faces with sharp features and cold eyes. They passed stone-faced sculptures that stared as if judging Ivy's every step. 

She’d grown up in places where broken windows were normal, and cops didn’t show up unless someone died. Here? The silence had its own wealth.

Chloe stopped at a set of double doors and said, “He’s waiting.”

Ivy hesitated, then stepped inside.

Lorenzo Martinelli was seated behind a mahogany desk. He stood when he saw her, buttoning his suit jacket. He was taller than she remembered, with broad shoulders, a square jaw, and dark eyes that glistened in the warm light.

“You are Ivy, right?” he said.

“And you’re the guy who just made the biggest mistake of his life,” she replied, trying to mask her nerves with sarcasm.

He smiled faintly. “I find your honesty refreshing.”

Ivy walked toward him, trying not to let her legs shake. “Why me?”

“You didn’t pretend to be perfect,” Lorenzo answered frankly. “You’ve lived a tough life. You didn’t ask stupid questions. And I’ve always preferred someone with bite.”

“Good,” Ivy said. “Because I bite.”

Lorenzo’s smile deepened.

Ivy crossed her arms and asked, “So you’re just out here proposing marriage to strangers like it’s a business transaction?”

“Because it is,” Lorenzo responded promptly. “This isn’t about love, Ivy. It’s about leverage. Appearances. Strategy.”

“And you picked me because…?” She asked dubiously.

“You’re smart,” Lorenzo said simply. “The others aren’t. You? You looked me in the eye and spoke boldly. That kind of nerve isn’t easy to find.”

Ivy’s mouth felt dry. “That’s not a compliment. That’s a warning.”

“It’s both,” Lorenzo assured her.

He moved toward the window, hands in his pockets, and said, “My world isn’t safe. It’s sharp corners and sealed doors. But it’s also power. Money. Security.”

Ivy watched him. “You’re telling me all this like I don’t already know the rumors,” she said.

Lorenzo faced her again and said, “Rumors are smoke. I’m fire.”

There it was again — that glimmer of danger beneath the polish. She should’ve turned and walked out. Instead, Ivy stepped closer.

“Why me?” she asked again. “Why not someone from your world?”

“Because someone from my world knows too much,” Lorenzo answered candidly. “But you? You’re new. A wildcard.”

“And what’s in it for me?” Ivy wanted to know. 

Lorenzo looked at her then, really looked. “More money than you've ever touched in your life, a reputable status in society, useful connections. And best of all, protection.”

Ivy laughed, short and nervous. “Are you trying to buy me?”

“I'm offering you an exit,” Lorenzo said. “From whatever corner of the city you’ve been surviving in. A clean slate. A chance to rebrand yourself and choose a future that's far better than anything you've imagined.”

Her stomach twisted. Ivy was both enticed and terrified. Lorenzo’s offer sounded too good to be true. 

He watched her reaction and smiled slightly. “I don’t make offers twice.”

Ivy swallowed hard, her mind a whirlwind. She thoughtfully considered what Lorenzo was offering her. Wealth, a marriage of convenience, a new social status. It was indeed a mind-blowing offer. What did she have to lose?

“What happens if I say yes?” She asked cautiously. 

“We get married next week,” Lorenzo said smoothly. “You move in. You follow the rules. You smile when the cameras are on. And do your best to get along with my family.”

“And if I say no?” Ivy asked hesitantly.

Lorenzo shrugged. “You leave with a fancy coffee and a story no one will believe.”

Ivy stared at him, weighing the madness. This wasn’t a rom-com; this was real. Crazy, risky, and tempting.

Finally, she exhaled. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

Lorenzo nodded. “You have twenty-four hours,” he said coolly.

Ivy turned to leave but paused at the door. “One more thing, Mr. Martinelli.”

He cocked his head.

“If I do this... I’m not playing dumb. I want terms, protections, boundaries,” she said.

Lorenzo’s mouth curved, just slightly. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less, Mrs. Martinelli,” he replied.

Ivy did not hesitate. She spun around and hurried out of the office before her knees gave out.