PART 2.
“You asked me to play your girlfriend, Mr.
Moretti.”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“You never said everyone else had to believe I belonged to you.”
For the first time that evening, Luca Moretti had no immediate answer.
And judging by the dangerous stillness in his face, I suspected he hated that almost as much as he hated Ethan Cole asking me to dance.
The orchestra began playing twenty minutes later.
I knew because Ethan appeared beside our table almost before the first note finished echoing beneath the chandeliers.
“May I collect that dance?”
He held out his hand.
I looked at it.
Then at Luca.
That was my first mistake.
Luca was sitting beside me with one arm resting casually along the back of his chair, his expression unreadable to anyone who had not spent three years learning every microscopic change in his mood.
I had.
The slight tightening of his jaw meant irritation.
The stillness in his fingers meant restraint.
And the fact that he had not looked at Ethan once meant he was very close to doing something he would regret.
Ethan noticed my glance.
“Do I need your boyfriend’s permission?”
“No.”
The word came from both Luca and me.
At exactly the same time.
Ethan’s eyebrows rose.
I almost laughed.
Luca lifted his champagne.
“Sophia makes her own decisions.”
His voice was perfectly controlled.
A little too perfectly.
I placed my hand in Ethan’s.
“Then I choose to dance.”
As Ethan led me toward the floor, I felt Luca’s gaze between my shoulder blades.
It should not have pleased me.
It absolutely did.
Ethan was an excellent dancer.
Not spectacular enough to look rehearsed, but confident enough that I never had to wonder where to put my feet.
“You look different tonight,” he said.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Most dangerous sentences do.”
He laughed.
“You were wearing a gray suit when we met.”
“I was working.”
“You were terrifying.”
“I was also working.”
“You told a panel moderator his market-growth statistics were wrong.”
“They were wrong.”
“And then you proved it in front of three hundred people.”
I smiled.
“I had spreadsheets.”
“I remember.”
The smile faded slightly from his face.
“I also remember thinking Moretti was wasting you.”
My step faltered.
Ethan caught me smoothly.
“That’s an interesting thing to say to a woman dancing ten yards from her employer.”
“I’m not trying to get you fired.”
“You’re doing an excellent impression.”
“I’m serious.”
His hand shifted lightly at my waist.
“Everyone tonight keeps calling you Moretti’s secretary.”
“I am.”
“No.
You run his office.
Half the people in this room know it.
The other half are about to discover it.”
I looked at him more carefully.
“What exactly are you trying to sell me?”
“A conversation.”
“About?”
“A job.”
There it was.
Of course.
The sudden attention.
The compliments.
The interest.
For one ridiculous moment, I had almost believed Ethan remembered me because I had made an impression.
Maybe I had.
Just not the kind I imagined.
“You should have led with that.”
“I thought you’d walk away.”
“I still might.”
His smile returned.
“Cole Capital is opening a strategy division.
I need someone who understands people and numbers, knows how powerful executives actually make decisions, and isn’t intimidated by them.”
“That sounds suspiciously like three jobs.”
“The salary reflects that.”
“So does the stress, I assume.”
“Probably.”
He spun me beneath his arm.
When I turned back, I caught sight of Luca.
He was no longer sitting.
He stood beside our table speaking to Daniel Mercer, but he was not listening to a word Daniel said.
He was looking directly at us.
Ethan followed my gaze.
“Does he always watch you like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s deciding whether murder would ruin his quarterly projections.”
I laughed despite myself.
Across the room, Luca’s expression darkened.
Ethan grinned.
“That was worth it.”
“What?”
“Making you laugh while he watched.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“So are you.”
The song ended.
Applause rose around us.
Ethan bowed theatrically.
“Think about the job.”
“I’m not looking.”
“People who deserve better rarely are.”
That sentence stayed with me as I crossed the ballroom.
Luca waited near the terrace doors.
Alone.
“You danced twice.”
I stopped.
“That sounded dangerously close to counting.”
“I wasn’t counting.”
“You noticed enough to know there were two.”
Luca exhaled.
“I dislike him.”
“You barely know him.”
“I know his type.”
“What type is that?”
“The type who sees something valuable and decides he wants it.”
I stared at him.
“Are we still talking about employees?”
His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.
“No.”
A strange silence settled between us.
The ballroom disappeared for a moment.
The music.
The guests.
The diamonds.
Everything.
Just Luca.
Just me.
Then a waiter passed between us.
Reality snapped back into place.
I folded my arms.
“You’re the one who brought me here.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted gossip.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted everyone focused on your harmless fake girlfriend instead of your business.”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.
They’re focused.”
“That isn’t what bothers me.”
“What bothers you?”
Luca looked toward the dance floor.
Then back at me.
“I’m still working that out.”
It was the closest Luca Moretti had ever come to admitting confusion.
Before I could answer, an older man approached.
Silver hair.
Dark tuxedo.
Cane he clearly did not need.
I recognized him instantly.
Charles Bellamy.
Chairman of the foundation.
And one of the few people in New York whose net worth made Luca’s look merely impressive.
“Moretti.”
“Bellamy.”
Neither man smiled.
Then Charles looked at me.
And everything changed.
The color drained from his face.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But I noticed.
His fingers tightened around the silver head of his cane.
“My God.”
Luca stepped subtly closer to me.
Charles stared.
Not at my dress.
Not at Luca’s hand near my back.
At my face.
“Have we met?”
I asked.
Charles recovered with extraordinary speed.
“I don’t believe so.”
“You looked like you recognized me.”
“For a moment, you reminded me of someone.”
“Who?”
His eyes shifted to Luca.
“An old acquaintance.”
Luca’s body went still.
Something passed between them.
Something I did not understand.
Charles smiled at me.
But it was no longer a friendly smile.
“Enjoy the gala, Miss…”
“Bennett,” I said.
“Sophia Bennett.”
The cane slipped half an inch in his hand.
Then stopped.
“I see.”
He walked away.
I turned immediately.
“What was that?”
Luca watched Bellamy disappear into the crowd.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
His gaze came back to mine.
“I don’t know enough to lie convincingly.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
Under different circumstances, he might have smiled.
He didn’t.
Instead he touched my elbow.
“Come with me.”
“You don’t get to order me around.”
“I remember.”
“Then ask.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Sophia, will you please come with me?”
“Much better.”
He led me through a side corridor away from the ballroom.
Past the kitchens.
Past two security guards who recognized him immediately.
Into an empty sitting room decorated in cream silk and antique paintings.
The door shut.
I turned on him.
“You knew Bellamy would react to me.”
“No.”
“Luca.”
“I swear.”
The sincerity in his voice made me pause.
“Then why did he?”
“I have a suspicion.”
“And?”
“And I need to confirm it before I tell you.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“No?”
“You brought me into this.”
“I brought you to a charity gala.”
“You brought me into a room where one of the most powerful men in the country looked at me like he’d seen a ghost.”
Luca looked away.
That frightened me more than if he had shouted.
“Tell me.”
His phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
And again.
Finally he pulled it from his pocket.
I watched his face change.
“What?”
He held the screen out.
A photograph.
Old.
Grainy.
Taken at what looked like another formal event decades ago.
A young woman stood beside Charles Bellamy.
She wore a white dress.
Dark hair swept back.
Same cheekbones.
Same eyes.
Mine.
My stomach dropped.
“Who is she?”
Luca did not answer.
I grabbed the phone.
Beneath the photograph was a message from someone saved only as R.
YOU WERE RIGHT.
ELENA BENNETT.
BELLAMY FOUNDATION BENEFIT.
“She has my last name.”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I truly don’t.”
Something cold moved through me.
My mother had died when I was eight.
That was what I had always been told.
Her name had been Anna.
Anna Bennett.
She had worked as a bookkeeper.
We had lived in Queens.
Nothing glamorous.
Nothing secret.
Nothing remotely connected to men like Charles Bellamy.
“This says Elena.”
Luca nodded.
“My mother’s name was Anna.”
“I know.”
Of course he knew.
Luca knew everything contained in an employee background check.
“What else?”
“Sophia—”
“What else did you find?”
His silence answered before he did.
“You investigated me.”
“I investigate everyone close to me.”
“I’m your secretary.”
“You have access to my accounts, schedules, residences, private numbers, family offices and confidential negotiations.”
“So you investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“How deeply?”
“Deep enough to know that parts of your history don’t match.”
The room tilted.
“What parts?”
“Your mother’s Social Security record begins three months before you were born.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe there was an administrative mistake.”
“There wasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I checked.”
“When?”
Luca hesitated.
“Two years ago.”
I stepped backward.
“You’ve known for two years?”
“I knew the record was unusual.”
“And you never told me?”
“I had no evidence it mattered.”
“You had evidence that my mother apparently didn’t exist before I was born.”
“I had evidence someone altered records.”
“That matters!”
My voice echoed against the silk walls.
Luca took one step toward me.
I raised my hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped instantly.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then the door opened.
Daniel Mercer stood there.
His usual charming expression was gone.
“You both need to leave.”
Luca turned.
“Why?”
“Bellamy security is looking for Sophia.”
My pulse jumped.
“For what?”
Daniel closed the door behind him.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t good enough,” Luca said.
“I’m giving you the warning.
Be grateful.”
“Why would you warn us?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Because Charles Bellamy asked one very specific question.”
“What question?”
Daniel’s eyes stayed on mine.
“He asked whether Sophia came here willingly.”
I laughed once.
It came out hollow.
“What does that mean?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
Luca grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“We’re leaving.”
This time I did not argue.
We made it halfway through the hotel before security appeared.
Two men blocked the corridor.
“Mr.
Moretti.”
Luca kept walking.
One man stepped forward.
“Mr.
Bellamy would like a private word with Miss Bennett.”
“She’s leaving.”
“Sir—”
“She said she’s leaving.”
I looked at Luca.
I had not actually said anything.
But strangely, I appreciated the assumption this time.
The security guard glanced behind us.
Two more men had appeared.
Daniel muttered something under his breath.
“Luca,” I whispered.
“I see them.”
The man in front lowered his voice.
“Mr.
Bellamy only wants five minutes.”
“Then he can ask her himself.”
A voice came from the far end of the corridor.
“I am.”
Charles Bellamy approached.
No cane now.
He stopped several feet away.
His eyes remained fixed on me.
“Miss Bennett, I apologize for the theatrics.”
“Then send your security away.”
He considered that.
Then lifted one hand.
Every guard stepped back.
Interesting.
Power was never more frightening than when it obeyed quietly.
Charles looked at Luca.
“I need to speak to her alone.”
“No.”
I touched Luca’s arm.
His eyes snapped to mine.
“My decision.”
He clearly hated it.
But he nodded.
“I’ll be outside the door.”
Charles led me into a private library.
The moment the door closed, he crossed to a desk.
There was already something waiting on it.
Another photograph.
This one newer.
My mother.
Except not my mother.
The woman from Luca’s phone.
Elena.
Standing beside Charles.
And beside another man.
A man whose face had been scratched away with black ink.
I picked up the photograph.
“Who is she?”
“Elena Bennett.”
“Is she my mother?”
“Yes.”
The room became silent.
I could hear my own breathing.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Charles remained still.
“My mother was Anna Bennett.”
“That was the name Elena used after she disappeared.”
“Disappeared from what?”
Charles looked toward the door.
“From people who wanted her dead.”
A laugh escaped me.
Not because anything was funny.
Because my brain had stopped knowing how to react.
“My mother was a bookkeeper.”
“She was many things.”
“What things?”
Charles took a slow breath.
“She worked for your father.”
The photograph trembled in my fingers.
“Who was he?”
Charles’s eyes hardened.
“That is the question that gets people killed.”
“Apparently everything gets people killed tonight.”
Despite himself, Charles almost smiled.
Then he looked older.
“Your mother came to me when she discovered she was pregnant.
She wanted out.”
“Out of what?”
Charles did not answer.
I slammed the photograph down.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking around me.
Luca does it.
You do it.
Every powerful man in this building seems to think information belongs to him until he decides a woman can handle it.”
That hit him.
Good.
“My father,” I said.
“Name.”
Charles looked at me for a long time.
Then he said something I did not expect.
“Ask Luca.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Ask Luca who your father was.”
My blood went cold.
“You think Luca knows?”
“I think the Moretti family knows.”
The door opened.
Luca stood there.
And his face told me he had heard everything.
Charles laughed bitterly.
“Right on time.”
I turned toward Luca.
“Do you know?”
“No.”
Charles shook his head.
“Careful, son.
Your father lied better than you.”
Luca’s expression became lethal.
“Leave my father out of this.”
“He put himself into it thirty years ago.”
I looked between them.
“What happened thirty years ago?”
Neither answered.
I snapped.
“Someone answer me!”
Charles reached into his jacket.
Luca moved immediately.
“Slowly.”
Charles ignored him and removed an envelope.
A name was written across the front.
SOPHIA.
My name.
The handwriting was feminine.
Old-fashioned.
My fingers shook as I took it.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your mother gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The night she disappeared.”
I looked up.
“My mother died.”
Charles said nothing.
The silence became unbearable.
“She died.”
“No.”
One word.
My entire childhood cracked open.
“No.”
“She survived the car accident.”
I could barely hear him.
“What car accident?”
Charles stared at me.
“The one you were in with her.”
I stepped back so quickly I hit the desk.
A flash exploded behind my eyes.
Rain.
Headlights.
Glass.
A woman screaming.
My mother?
I remembered almost nothing from before I was eight.
Doctors had told me trauma could do that.
My aunt had said the accident was what killed my mother.
Charles continued.
“You were unconscious for six days.
By the time you woke up, arrangements had been made.”
“What arrangements?”
“To make the world believe Elena Bennett was dead.”
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
“And where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed again.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.
I expect you to read the letter.”
I looked down at the envelope.
Thirty years of secrets seemed trapped inside something thinner than my hand.
Luca stepped closer.
“You don’t have to open it here.”
Charles glanced at him.
“She certainly shouldn’t open it with you.”
Luca’s eyes hardened.
“Why?”
Charles gave him a cold smile.
“Because the last line is about your family.”
I ripped the envelope open.
Luca cursed quietly.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
The writing was faded but readable.
My darling Sophia,
If you ever receive this, then I failed to come back for you.
I read the first sentence twice.
Then forced myself onward.
Everything you were told about me was meant to protect you.
Anna Bennett was a name I borrowed.
Elena Bennett was a woman I had to bury long before anyone buried an empty coffin.
There are people who will tell you your father was dangerous.
They will be correct.
There are people who will tell you he abandoned us.
They will be lying.
My hands tightened.
Charles watched silently.
Luca stood behind me.
I continued.
If the Morettis have found you, do not assume it was an accident.
I stopped.
Turned.
Luca looked genuinely stunned.
I read the next line aloud.
“Your father trusted only one man in New York.”
Luca moved closer.
“Who?”
I looked down.
The final sentence blurred.
I blinked until it sharpened.
Then everything inside me went still.
“Antonio Moretti.”
Luca’s father.
Charles closed his eyes.
Luca did not move.
I read the last paragraph.
Antonio promised that if anything happened to us, he would protect you from your father’s enemies.
But if Antonio is dead and his son has found you, then you must ask yourself one question:
Did Luca Moretti find you by chance…
or was he sent to find you?
I lowered the letter.
Luca stared at me.
I could suddenly remember my first interview at Moretti Holdings.
Three years ago.
I had applied for an administrative position three floors below executive management.
The recruiter had disappeared halfway through.
Then Luca himself had entered the interview room.
I remembered thinking it was strange.
A billionaire CEO interviewing a secretary personally.
He had hired me that afternoon.
I had forgotten how unusual that was.
Until now.
“Luca.”
“Sophia—”
“Did you know who I was when you hired me?”
His silence lasted one second.
Maybe two.
It was enough.
My heart dropped.
Charles whispered, “There it is.”
I backed away.
“You knew.”
“Not everything.”
“But you knew something.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“My father left me your name.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“In his private records.”
“Why?”
“No explanation.
Just your name, your date of birth and instructions.”
“What instructions?”
Luca looked like he wanted to tear the answer from his own throat before letting me hear it.
“Keep her close.”
The words landed harder than anything else that night.
The job.
The promotions.
The trust.
The strange way Luca always knew when I was sick before I told him.
The way my apartment security had mysteriously been upgraded after someone tried to break into the building two years ago.
The car that occasionally waited downstairs when I worked late.
I had thought those things meant I mattered.
Maybe they had been assignments.
“You didn’t hire me because I was good.”
“That is not true.”
“You hired me because your father told you to keep me close.”
“At first.”
At first.
Two words somehow hurt more than the lie.
“And tonight?”
Luca frowned.
“What about tonight?”
“Was the gala fake too?”
“No.”
“You brought me here knowing Bellamy might recognize me.”
“I didn’t know he would.”
“But you knew there was some connection.”
“I suspected one.”
I stared at him.
“You used me.”
“No.”
“You put me in that ballroom to see who reacted.”
He did not answer.
That was answer enough.
I grabbed my clutch.
“Sophia.”
“Don’t.”
“I was trying to understand what my father left behind.”
“You could have asked me.”
“I didn’t think you knew anything.”
“So that made me easier to manipulate?”
His jaw clenched.
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
I walked toward the door.
Charles stepped aside.
Luca did not.
“Move.”
“No.”
My anger flared.
“You agreed you wouldn’t order me around.”
“I’m not ordering you.”
“You’re blocking the door.”
“Because there is something else you need to know.”
“I’ve heard enough.”
“No, you haven’t.”
Something in his voice stopped me.
Luca reached into his inside pocket.
He removed his phone.
Opened an image.
Held it toward me.
A security photograph.
Taken outside my apartment.
Timestamped three nights earlier.
A woman stood across the street.
Older.
Silver threaded through dark hair.
Long coat.
Her face turned partly toward the camera.
I stopped breathing.
I knew that face.
Not from memory.
From the photograph in Charles Bellamy’s library.
Elena Bennett.
My mother.
Alive.
My hand flew to my mouth.
“No.”
Luca lowered his voice.
“My security team has seen her outside your building three times this month.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know who she was.”
Charles moved forward.
“When was this taken?”
Luca showed him.
Charles stared.
For the first time that evening, real fear appeared on his face.
“We have to leave.”
Luca looked at him sharply.
“Why?”
“Because if Elena came back, she came back for a reason.”
A crash sounded beyond the library.
Then shouting.
Luca pulled me behind him instinctively.
The ballroom music stopped.
Someone screamed.
Daniel burst through the doorway.
Blood marked the sleeve of his tuxedo.
“Garage.
Now.”
“What happened?”
Luca demanded.
“Bellamy’s security chief just got shot.”
Charles went pale.
“By whom?”
Daniel looked directly at me.
“Someone who asked for Sophia Bennett.”
My entire body turned cold.
Luca caught my hand.
This time I did not pull away.
We ran.
Down a service staircase.
Through a kitchen filled with terrified staff.
Past a loading dock.
Into the underground garage.
A black SUV waited with its engine running.
Luca opened the rear door.
“Inside.”
I climbed in.
He followed.
Daniel took the front passenger seat.
Charles stayed behind.
“Where are we going?”
I asked.
“My residence.”
“No.”
“It’s secure.”
“If someone has been watching me, they may be watching you.”
“They are.”
Daniel twisted around.
“That’s why we’re not going there.”
Luca’s stare became dangerous.
“What?”
Daniel pointed through the windshield.
A sedan sat thirty yards away.
Headlights off.
Then its lights suddenly came on.
Our driver accelerated.
The sedan followed.
We shot up the ramp onto Fifty-Seventh Street.
Rain had begun.
Of course it had.
Because apparently the universe had decided subtlety was overrated.
I gripped the leather seat as traffic blurred past.
My phone buzzed inside my clutch.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
Again.
Unknown number.
Luca saw.
“Don’t answer.”
I looked at him.
Then pressed accept.
“Sophia?”
A woman’s voice.
My heart stopped.
Older.
Shaking.
Familiar in a way that had nothing to do with memory and everything to do with blood.
“Who is this?”
A sob escaped the woman.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Luca was watching my face.
Daniel turned around.
The woman whispered:
“It’s Mom.”
My fingers went numb.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t have much time.”
“You’re alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
Twenty years of grief collapsed into three words.
“You let me think you were dead.”
“I had to.”
“No.
You didn’t.”
“I did if I wanted you to live.”
The SUV turned sharply.
Behind us, the sedan followed.
“Where are you?”
I demanded.
“Listen to me.
You cannot trust Bellamy.”
I looked at Luca.
“Bellamy says you gave him a letter.”
“I did.”
“He said—”
“I know what the letter says.”
Her breathing quickened.
“But I was wrong about one thing.”
“What?”
“Antonio Moretti didn’t protect your father.”
Luca went completely still.
My mother continued.
“He betrayed him.”
I looked at Luca.
He had heard.
“Mom, who was my father?”
Silence.
Then sirens in the distance.
My mother whispered a name.
And for a second I thought I had heard incorrectly.
“What?”
She repeated it.
Luca’s face changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Absolute recognition.
Before I could ask what it meant, the sound of breaking glass erupted through the phone.
My mother screamed.
“Mom!”
A man shouted somewhere near her.
Then she came back on the line, breathless.
“Sophia, listen to me.”
“Where are you?”
“Don’t let Luca take you home.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
Her answer came in a whisper.
“Because the man who killed your father is waiting there.”
The call cut off.
At the exact same moment, our SUV stopped.
Not at Luca’s residence.
Not at my apartment.
At a private townhouse I had never seen before.
The driver locked the doors.
Luca reached for the handle.
It would not open.
Daniel slowly turned from the front seat.
There was a gun in his hand.
Pointed directly at Luca.
My blood went cold.
Luca did not move.
“Daniel.”
Daniel smiled.
“I’m sorry.”
Then he looked at me.
“But your mother was right about one thing.”
“What?”
He reached forward and unlocked only my door.
“You were never supposed to survive long enough to learn who your father was.”
The townhouse door opened.
A man stepped into the rain.
Tall.
Gray-haired.
Very much alive.
I had seen his face hundreds of times.
In framed photographs.
In newspapers.
At Luca’s office.
At Luca’s family estate.
Luca stared through the rain as though he were looking at a corpse.
“Father?”
Antonio Moretti smiled.
And suddenly I understood why Luca had gone white.
Antonio Moretti had supposedly been dead for seven years.
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
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Source: Stories of Destiny · Thao Thao
