The next morning dawned pale and hesitant, the kind of morning that couldn't decide whether to be beautiful or cruel.
Amira woke before the alarm. For a few seconds she lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside the mansion gates. Her thoughts felt heavier than the silence.
Today she would step fully into Leonardo's world — not as his wife in name, but as the woman who worked under him. The thought both thrilled and terrified her.
She dressed carefully: a fitted navy suit, simple jewelry, hair pinned back. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Gone was the uncertain woman who had stumbled into a marriage contract. This version of Amira had sharper edges.
Downstairs, Leonardo was already waiting, phone in hand. He wore a charcoal suit that looked as though it had been cut from command itself.
"You're early," he said.
"So are you."
He glanced at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "You look… appropriate."
She arched an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a compliment."
They left without another word.
At Rossi International
The building's glass façade gleamed in the early light. Inside, the air smelled of coffee and ambition. Amira followed Leonardo through the lobby, ignoring the whispers that trailed them.
Today, she told herself, she wasn't Mrs. Rossi. She was simply Amira Khan, the new assistant.
Leonardo led her straight to the top floor. "You'll work in the office next to mine," he said. "Emily from HR will brief you."
As if summoned, a cheerful woman appeared with a tablet in hand. "Mrs— sorry, Miss Khan! Welcome. If you'll follow me, I'll get you settled."
Leonardo nodded once and disappeared into his office, door closing behind him like a wall.
Emily walked Amira through the basics — schedules, internal emails, the labyrinth of meeting rooms. "Mr. Rossi runs on precision," she said with a knowing smile. "You'll learn to breathe on his timetable."
Amira managed a polite laugh, though her pulse was steady with unease. She wasn't sure she wanted to breathe on anyone's timetable.
By midmorning, she was at her desk, sorting files from a recent merger proposal. Numbers, signatures, letters — ordinary things that somehow felt like coded secrets. The more she read, the more she sensed what Leonardo meant the night before. This company wasn't just business; it was bloodline, reputation, power.
A Name from the Past
Around noon, Clara Moretti appeared in her doorway. The red lipstick again. The smile, soft but edged.
"So it's true," she said. "You're officially one of us now."
Amira looked up. "You sound disappointed."
"Not at all," Clara replied, stepping inside. "I just didn't think Leonardo would mix work with… whatever this is."
"Marriage?"
Clara's smile tightened. "Arrangement."
Amira closed the folder in front of her. "Did you need something, Ms. Moretti?"
"Just to drop this off." Clara placed a slim file on the desk. "Archived media reports. Mr. Rossi asked for them yesterday — said his assistant would handle it."
Amira nodded, waiting for her to leave. But Clara lingered.
"You'll find an article in there about a charity gala five years ago," she said casually. "Elise organized it. She was very good at bringing people together."
Her tone made it sound like an accusation.
When Clara finally left, Amira opened the file. Newspaper clippings, glossy photographs, typed memos — all from the same event. And there, smiling under the golden lights of a ballroom, was Elise Rossi.
Amira studied the picture. The woman had the kind of beauty that made photographers chase light — poised, warm, utterly self-assured. Leonardo stood beside her, laughing at something unseen. They looked untouchable.
Her throat tightened.
In the corner of the photo, barely visible, was a man Amira didn't recognize. Tall, blond, half-turned toward Elise. A name was printed below: "Daniel Hale — Rossi Corp Financial Advisor."
Something about his expression felt… wrong.
Amira slipped the file under a stack of papers just as Leonardo's voice came through the intercom.
"My office. Now."
Inside the Lion's Den
Leonardo was standing by the window when she entered, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The city stretched endlessly beyond him.
"You wanted me?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
He turned. "What did Clara bring you?"
Amira blinked. "How do you know about that?"
"I know everything that happens on this floor," he said. "Show me."
She handed him the file. His eyes skimmed the pages until he froze at the photograph.
"Where did she get this?"
"She said it was from the archives."
Leonardo exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Daniel Hale. I should've guessed he'd resurface."
"Who is he?"
"A mistake," he said shortly, setting the file aside.
"That's not an answer."
He met her gaze, expression hard. "He was Elise's financial advisor. And for a while, her… confidant."
"Confidant?" she repeated softly.
Leonardo's silence said the rest.
Amira looked away, a slow ache settling in her chest. "So the woman who haunts this place wasn't as perfect as everyone thinks."
"No," he said quietly. "But she was smart. And she knew how to keep secrets."
She studied him for a moment. "Are you worried someone else knows those secrets now?"
"I'm worried someone wants me to remember them," he said, returning to his desk. "Find out who delivered that file to Clara."
"Me?"
"You're the only one I can trust to ask questions without causing panic."
Her pulse quickened. "And if I find something you don't like?"
"Then you'll understand why some things are better buried," he said, dismissing her with a glance.
Amira left the office, her mind spinning.
The Hidden Folder
By evening, most of the staff had gone home. The offices were dim, washed in silver light from the city outside. Amira stayed behind, pretending to organize documents while she traced the trail Clara had left.
The company's internal system was meticulous — every file, every log, time-stamped and monitored. Yet one entry caught her eye: "ARCHIVE_TRANSFER_0731 — Requested by D.Hale."
D. Hale.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she clicked the file. A list appeared — encrypted correspondence between Elise and Daniel Hale, marked Private.
Before she could open one, Leonardo's voice startled her from behind.
"You shouldn't be in that folder."
Amira spun around. He stood at the doorway, face half in shadow.
"I was just—"
"Investigating," he finished for her. "Exactly what I expected."
He crossed the room slowly, his gaze locked on hers. "You want to know what happened to Elise? Fine. She trusted the wrong people. And one of them nearly destroyed everything I built."
"Daniel?"
He nodded once. "After she died, he disappeared. But his name keeps reappearing where it shouldn't. Emails, documents, now this."
"Do you think he's behind the photos?"
Leonardo's expression hardened. "I think ghosts rarely act alone."
For a moment neither spoke. The hum of the city outside filled the silence.
Then he said quietly, "You should go home."
She hesitated. "And you?"
"I have work to finish."
Something in his tone told her he wouldn't sleep. She wanted to ask more, to push, but stopped herself. Instead, she gathered her things and turned toward the door.
"Amira."
She paused.
"Be careful," he said. "The deeper you dig, the darker it gets."
Home Again
The mansion felt colder when she returned that night. The housekeeper had left a single lamp on in the living room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Amira placed her bag on the sofa and sat down, staring at nothing.
Daniel Hale. Elise's confidant. Missing.
She thought of Leonardo — the way his voice dropped when he said Elise's name, the weight in his eyes when he looked at the photograph. He wasn't just haunted; he was being hunted by memories that refused to stay buried.
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
You looked beautiful beside him today. Just like she did.
No name. No sender ID.
Her stomach flipped. She typed back, Who is this? — but the message failed to deliver.
Outside, wind stirred the garden trees. The night suddenly felt alive with watching.
Amira stood, pulling the curtains shut. She told herself it was just another threat from whoever had sent the photos. But deep down, a colder thought took root — what if someone inside Rossi International was feeding them information?
And what if that person was someone Leonardo trusted?
The grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight. Amira curled up on the sofa, exhaustion finally dragging her under.
In her dreams, she was back in the boardroom. The glass walls reflected not her face, but Elise's — smiling, whispering, "You can't love him and survive."
Amira jolted awake, sweat cold on her skin.
Somewhere upstairs, she heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate.
"Leonardo?" she called, her voice trembling.
No answer.
The steps stopped outside her door. Then, after a long pause, they moved away.
When she finally dared to open the door, the hallway was empty — except for a single white rose lying on the floor.
Amira picked it up. The petals were wet, as though carried from outside. Attached to the stem was a slip of paper, the handwriting neat and familiar.
"Trust no one."
Her breath caught. The ink was still fresh.
She looked toward Leonardo's study at the far end of the hall. The light under the door was off.
For the first time, she wondered if he'd written the note — or if someone else in the house had found their way inside.
Either way, one thing was certain:
The ghosts of the past weren't content to stay buried.
And neither, it seemed, was the truth.