Siena Hart didn't believe in ghosts—but that morning, as she stared at the printed photo on her desk, she felt like she was staring at one.
The photo had come in a plain brown envelope, no return address, no note. Just the image.
It wasn't old, at least not too old. It had been taken on a beach—judging by the lighting, somewhere warm, late afternoon. The photo showed Alexander, arms wrapped around a woman she didn't recognize. The woman's face was tilted toward him, her lips caught mid-laugh, one hand on his chest. They looked… close. Not casual-close, not just friends-close. Intimate.
Siena's chest tightened as she stared at the grainy print.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned it over. Nothing on the back. No date. No signature.
Just a photo—and a thousand questions.
She stared at it for what felt like an hour before the knock on her office door startled her.
"Come in," she said, voice level.
It was Waverly. She looked unusually pale, a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
"You okay?" Waverly asked, eyes narrowing when she saw Siena's expression.
Siena gave her a quick nod and gestured to the photo. "This showed up this morning."
Waverly set the coffee down and picked up the photo. Her brow furrowed immediately.
"Who is she?" she asked.
"That's what I want to know," Siena said.
"You going to ask him?"
Siena looked away. "Eventually."
Waverly let out a long breath. "You want my advice?"
"Always."
Waverly glanced at the photo again before sliding it back onto the desk. "If you don't trust him to tell the truth, then there's more wrong than a mystery woman in a photograph."
Siena exhaled slowly. "I do trust him. I just…" She hesitated. "I need to understand where this fits. We've been fighting so many shadows already. I can't afford more."
There was a long silence between them.
Then Waverly gently asked, "Do you want me to find out who she is?"
Siena didn't answer right away.
She hated the idea of snooping behind Alexander's back. But she also hated the not-knowing. The timing of the photo—sent anonymously, with no explanation—wasn't lost on her. Someone wanted to rattle her.
And it was working.
"Yes," she said finally, voice quiet. "Discreetly."
Waverly gave a tight nod. "I'll get our people on it."
---
That evening, Siena and Alexander had dinner at her apartment. She hadn't told him about the photo yet. Not because she wanted to hide it, but because she didn't know how to bring it up without sounding like she didn't trust him.
Alexander, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. He pushed his food around, and barely touched his wine.
Finally, Siena set her fork down. "Something wrong?"
He looked up at her, eyes tired. "Yeah. Reeve called."
Her stomach tightened. "What now?"
"They traced a bank account tied to Withers. Offshore. Same pattern as the one linked to Trent. But this one's bigger. And older."
"How old?"
Alexander met her eyes. "Over fifteen years. This wasn't just a side scheme. This has been going on since before your father's death. Maybe even before mine."
Siena leaned back slowly. "And no one saw it?"
"They buried it deep. Whoever this W.H. is—they're smart. Patient. They've been moving pieces on the board for a long time."
She was silent for a moment, then asked, "Did you know a woman—someone with you on a beach, maybe a few years ago?"
Alexander frowned. "What?"
She hesitated, then stood and walked to her desk. She picked up the photo, came back, and handed it to him.
He looked down at it.
His face didn't change.
But Siena could see something shift behind his eyes.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"It was delivered anonymously. This morning."
He exhaled slowly and set the photo down.
"Her name's Camilla," he said. "I dated her... years ago. Right after Dael disappeared."
Siena blinked. "I didn't know you dated anyone after Dael."
"Neither did most people. I didn't want anything serious. Camilla was... easy to be with. No expectations. We lasted six months. That photo was taken on a trip she insisted we take before she left the country."
"Why did it end?"
"I wasn't in love with her. I was still angry. Still blame myself for Dael. I think Camilla knew she was a placeholder, even if I never said it out loud."
Siena studied him carefully. "You haven't talked to her since?"
"Not once."
She nodded slowly.
"I didn't want to doubt you," she said quietly. "But with everything going on…"
"I get it." He reached for her hand. "I'd be suspicious too."
She let him hold it, even as her thoughts swirled. Someone had found that photo, timed it perfectly, and planted it to create a wedge.
And she had almost let it work.
---
Two days later, Waverly came in with an update.
"Camilla," she said, dropping a slim folder on Siena's desk. "Real name Camilla Bronte-Knight. Daughter of the late Richard Knight, former chairman of the Knight Family Trust. Also happens to be Alexander's uncle."
Siena froze.
"She's his cousin?"
"Technically—second cousin. But still family. Which means someone else knew they were connected and used that photo deliberately."
Siena's stomach turned.
"Does Alexander know?"
"No. I don't think he ever found out. Her last name's from her mother's side. She dropped the Knight's name after her parents divorced when she was young. Camilla probably never brought it up. They were both hurting and needed an escape."
Siena exhaled.
"Whoever sent the photo knew exactly what they were doing."
"Yes," Waverly said. "They want to drive a wedge between you two before you uncover more."
---
That night, Siena told Alexander everything. About the research. About Camilla's real identity.
He took it with a quiet kind of devastation.
"I should have known," he said bitterly. "God, everything just keeps twisting back into itself."
"She didn't tell you. It wasn't your fault."
"It feels like it is."
Siena touched his arm. "What matters is what we do now."
He looked at her. "Then let's do it. Let's go after them, Siena. No more reacting. Let's start pulling our strings."
---
The next day, Siena made a call to one of the most elusive forensic analysts in the city—a man known only by his alias: Halver.
If there were hidden files, wiped records, encrypted trails—Halver could find them.
She met him in a nondescript office space downtown. No signs. No cameras.
Halver was in his early forties, glasses sliding down his nose, fingers always twitching.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"I brought the files," Siena said, sliding a flash drive across the table.
He plugged it in, tapping rapidly.
"This is old. Sophisticated too. Layered proxies. Ghost accounts. Someone went to great lengths to make this untraceable."
"Can you crack it?"
He smiled faintly. "Give me two days."
---
Two days later, Halver sent a message:
Found something. Meet me. Urgent.
When Siena and Alexander arrived, Halver didn't waste time.
"There's a shell company tied to a series of real estate acquisitions. Properties bought and sold under the name Ashbridge Holdings. You know the name?"
Alexander stiffened. "My father's first company."
"Exactly. Legally dissolved fifteen years ago. But someone resurrected it three years ago. They've been buying properties tied to Hartline and Blackwood infrastructure. Strategic locations. Supply routes. Logistic chains."
Siena's voice dropped. "They're positioning themselves to collapse both companies from the inside."
Halver nodded. "And guess whose name showed up on the transfer logs?"
Alexander braced himself. "Who?"
"Harold Withers. Again. And another name. A name that only appears once—but it's a match."
He turned the screen.
Siena stared at it.
And felt her heart go still.
The name on the screen was her mother's.
Celeste Hart.