“You filthy woman! I’ll say it again — if I catch you sneaking into my father’s bed one more time, I’ll strip you naked and throw you outside for the dogs!”

The voice, heavy with threat, floated down from above Sophia Reed’s head. Moonlight pooled across the floorboard and fell on the sequined, scandalously short dress she was wearing.

Her chest went cold. When she glanced down she saw the valley of cleavage on display, and a pale hand gripping the thin strap of her dress like it might snap. Following the trembling hand up — the hand trembling from anger — Sophia met a face that still looked annoyingly young.

The boy standing before her couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. He was handsome, by the kind of striking, unfair standard that made a mouth tighten. Anger had twisted his features; after staring for a long moment, Sophia felt a peculiar tug of recognition. He looked so familiar.

But… wasn’t she dead?

She’d been dead a long time. How could she suddenly open her eyes and have someone yank at her dress?

Through the framed painting on the wall, in the shifting light and shadow, she realized the face she was looking out from was not the face she used to own at all.

Sophia reached out and touched the boy’s hand, incredulous; it was warm.

Not a dream. Ghosts don’t dream. She was… alive again?

“Get your hand off me, gross!” the boy barked and jerked his hand away, rubbing the place that had been touched until the skin reddened.

Sophia hadn’t yet recovered from the impossible thrill of being alive when the boy’s expression of contempt landed on her like a slap.

She clicked her tongue. “Gross? Wow, you talk like a real sweetheart. A child shouldn’t be so rude, you know?”

“Am I not right?” he sneered, arms folded tight across his chest, every word dripping with disdain. “You’re an adult, wandering around at midnight in that scrap of a dress, sneaking into my father’s room. What do you think you’re doing? If you’re not disgusting, who is?”

He took a breath and eyed Sophia from head to toe. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to be the tutor here. Someone who doesn’t know’d think you were some club girl who slipped out the back door.”

“Club girl…” The corner of Sophia’s mouth twitched. She opened her mouth to answer, then the boy took a quick step back and blurted, “And pull your skirt down. It’s almost showing your underwear. You think wearing trash like that will make you Mrs. Kane? Dream on. That seat won’t be yours no matter how long it sits empty. Serves you right you fell down the stairs! Why didn’t you just die when you fell? Get out!”

Sophia stood up in her heels, crossed her arms and swung slowly around him like a ridiculous vaudeville act. She leaned in, letting his disgust wash over her, and deliberately softened her voice.

“But I like your father,” she said, absurdly earnest. “I really like him. I want to be Mrs. Kane so badly… it’s driving me crazy.”

“You have no shame!” he yelled.

“I don’t want it,” she said brazenly — and with an actual grin that probably should have been mortifying. “I told you, I want to be Mrs. Kane. What’s a little shame to that? Once I become your stepmother—”

She deliberately dragged out the line, just to rile him.

“I’ll help your real mother teach you how to stop being such a brat.”

The boy’s eyes went red. He glared at her with teeth clenched. Sophia pretended to inspect her nails, ready to press the advantage — until a new voice, low and strange in its calm, drifted down from upstairs.

“And who do you think you are, to lecture my child?” the man said.

The voice was controlled anger, cold and measured. A hand rested on the banister as a man in silk sleepwear descended, looking down on them both with an expression that gave nothing away. His gaze skimmed over Sophia’s face without warmth, then settled on the boy.

The boy — already watery-eyed — looked more aggrieved when he saw his father, whispering, “Dad.”

“What’s this noise?” Alexander Kane reprimanded his son. “And who is she? What do you think you’re doing?”

The chastened boy wilted, muttering reluctantly, “That woman was trying to seduce you—”

Alexander came down the stairs slowly. As he stepped into the light his features became clearer: deep-set eyes, a high, aristocratic nose, and a face that had shed its boyishness for a cold, practiced masculinity. His look had no warmth, no leftover softness. And yet Sophia’s breath caught.

She knew this face. She knew it intimately.

On so many weekends in the past he had stood at the door of her small apartment, indifferent to weather or propriety, and forced his way into her bed with the authority of a man who owned every room he walked into. He was like any husband going home — except she had never been his wife. She had been his expensive kept woman, a thing purchased to satisfy desire in private, hated in daylight, because she happened to resemble his First Love far too closely.

Fake, she told herself. It had always been a fake: a facsimile bought to replace a memory. She remembered lying on a hospital slab, dying, while Alexander’s voice on the phone remained cold, unmoved by the idea of coming to see her.

Of course. A stand-in for someone else didn’t merit his descent. A kept woman’s worth was measured in the bedroom and nowhere else.

Despite the years she’d been gone, his life had carried on perfectly — he’d even had a son. She, on the other hand, had been shoved from a stairwell while pregnant with his child and left for dead on a sterile operating table at St. Luke’s Medical Center. One body, two deaths. Now, after being given a second chance at life, she swore she would stay as far away from him as she could.

Alexander’s movements were deliberate. He glanced at her coldly as he passed; the look cut to the bone, but it lacked the venom his son had used. He simply saw a woman in a revealing dress and the invitation implied, and his mockery landed hard.

Alexander sat on the living room sofa, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. Through the haze of smoke he watched Sophia and his son. He waved a hand, signaling for her to step closer.

Sophia, whose mind was reeling from the impossible fact of her resurrection, shrank back like a startled quail and didn’t dare move.

Alexander snorted and looked at the ring on his hand. “Bold enough to leave lingerie on my bed, but now you’re all meek and coy? Spare me the act.”

The mockery between father and son was identical — a family trait. Alexander’s sarcasm landed even more forcefully than the boy’s. Even though she suspected he might not recognize her, past moments with him made Sophia nervous enough to clamp her fingers together.

He paused when he noticed her nervous hands. There was something in the way she twisted her fingers that made an old, inexplicable sensation claw up in him. He thought of a woman named Sophia he’d once kept — a pretty possession who used to bite her nails when scolded. For a heartbeat, a memory he had buried pressed against his mind.

He tightened his jaw and tried to shove it away. He wasn’t a man given to nostalgia; he forced himself not to think. Still, he looked her over — at the outrageously short dress — and understood precisely what she had come for.

Sophia’s heart thudded, but she kept her back straight. Even if he didn’t know who she really was, she recognized him too — not as a father or a husband but as the man who had ruined her. This time, she vowed, she would not let him near her.

It was past one in the morning and the Kane Manor was fully lit; even Mr. Howard, the house manager, had been roused.

Mr. Howard brought Alexander’s coat and the boy’s slippers. Alexander slipped into the coat, let a cigarette glow in his fingers, and asked lightly, as if the night were nothing more than a small annoyance, “You’re the new tutor for Ethan, right? What’s your name?”

He frowned, trying to place her; Sophia looked back at him blankly.

“I… I can’t remember,” she said.

Laughter — cold and unbelieving — came from the boy at her side. Clearly he didn’t buy it.

Sophia spoke seriously. “I think I fell down the stairs and hit my head… and I lost my memory.”

Father and son exchanged looks that screamed ‘who do you think you’re fooling?’ Sophia swallowed and offered an apology. “Mr. Kane… I’m sorry. My head is muddled. I don’t know how I ended up trying to… seduce you. I was wrong. Please forgive me. I promise I’ll pack my things and move out of the Kane house first thing tomorrow.”

Outside a crack of thunder split the sky — thunder rolling over the East River — and everyone flinched. Rain was coming.

Alexander, legs crossed, studied her. He’d finished his cigarette and held the crushed butt between his fingers while he scrutinized the woman in the revealing dress. She bent forward slightly, exposing the elegant slope of her neck; a few loose strands clung to her pale skin, forming a stark contrast.

For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Alexander felt that same intense familiarity he’d felt earlier — that tiny gesture of twisting her hands, the defeated expression. Something about her behavior echoed someone from his past.

He finally spoke. “So I hear you want to be Mrs. Kane?”

The corner of his eye lifted as he watched her reaction. His voice, silky and dangerous, made her feel exposed, like prey beneath a predator’s gaze.

Sophia stiffened at the phrase “Mrs. Kane.” Two seconds of shock made her delay, and that hesitation annoyed him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she lied, forcing a stiff smile. “I was being absurd. I don’t expect to be Mrs. Kane. Who am I to think that?”

Alexander didn’t believe her. “You don’t want it?” he asked, leaning in as if to test her.

“No, Mr. Kane. I don’t want it,” she said, putting on an exaggerated expression of self-awareness. And she meant it — or at least she did now. Whatever past longing she might once have had for him had been extinguished long ago, snuffed out the day she’d been accused and humiliated when she’d told him she was pregnant.

She let her gaze drop to hide the bitter smile forming in her eyes. A man like Alexander Kane — untouchably at the top — could never belong to someone like her.

The rain grew louder, drumming against the window. Kane Manor felt cavernous and empty aside from the storm.

Alexander’s voice cut through the hush, laced with scorn. “You’ve got enough theatrics to make it in show business. What happened to the groveling you used to do at my door? Where’s that obsequious charm now?”

His body leaned forward; in his dark eyes Sophia detected contempt. “Trying to act in front of me now — isn’t it a little phony?”

She opened her mouth but found no answer.

“You know better than to think you can replace the favors owed here,” he went on. “Your brother stuffed you into the Kane household after he tried to save Ethan once — I know what’s going on. But I keep things separate: he’s his own man, you’re yours. We’ll settle the debt with your brother. Tell him to get a grip on reality and stop daydreaming.”

A thunderclap sounded as if to punctuate the sentence, and Sophia’s face went white.

No matter how much time had passed, Alexander still had the ability to freeze people in their tracks. When she finally came to, she realized the two of them had already gone. Only dutiful Mr. Howard remained, escorting her back to the room.

Alone on the bed, Sophia’s head spun. In a matter of hours her life had been turned upside down: from a drifting, untethered ghost to a scheming woman crouched at Alexander Kane’s door. The phone she’d opened with a fingerprint told her the name of the body she now inhabited — Vanessa Cole — and that she’d come to tutor Ethan Kane. But whoever had owned this life had eyes on something else; her phone was full of Alexander Kane’s preferences and photos — his face was the wallpaper.

Sophia snorted. Didn’t anyone do their homework? If these people didn’t even know Alexander’s First Love, what right did they have to dream of replacing her?

She was still thinking when the phone rang. The voice on the other end was panicked and vicious, launching into a tirade before she could speak.

“You useless thing! You were only supposed to sleep with him, and you can’t even do that right. What use are you to the Cole family? You’d have been better off dying in the State Foster Home back then!”

“You—” Sophia started, but the caller cut her off.

“You little bitch! Don’t give me excuses. I don’t care what you do — you get Alexander under your skin. Otherwise, don’t ever expect to see your remaining family again.”

The line went dead. The screen went black. Her mind reeled. Too much had happened in too short a time.

She turned over in the soft bed and couldn’t shake the image of Alexander’s cold, slicing mockery. Who could understand? She’d tangled with this man before she died. She’d finally been given another life, and the first face she saw was his.

Half-asleep, Sophia Reed thought she heard the soft creak of a door opening.

A wave of unease crawled up her spine.

She blinked awake, eyes adjusting to the dim golden glow of the bedside lamp. There—standing in the middle of her room—was the teenage boy who had sneered at her the day before. His eyes were closed, his face blank, moving like some sort of automaton without a soul.

Sophia nearly screamed, but caught herself in time. Sleepwalking, she realized after a stunned second. She’d been through similar episodes before—back when her nerves were shredded by stress. People’s bodies had their own ways of purging emotion, she supposed.

Still, the sight of Ethan Kane wandering around her room in the middle of the night like a lost ghost made her heart pound.

Seriously, doesn’t anyone in the Kane Manor check on this kid? What if something happens?

Muttering under her breath, Sophia slipped out of bed and gently caught his wrist. Bit by bit, she coaxed him back to bed and tucked him in.

“Like father, like son,” she grumbled under her breath. “The older one’s a headache, the younger one’s a walking nightmare. I must’ve owed the Kanes something in my past life.”

The next morning, the storm over Manhattan hadn’t let up. Thunder still rolled distantly over the East River.

Sophia woke with a start—a cold, heavy sense of being watched prickled her skin.

When she opened her eyes, she nearly screamed again.

Ethan stood by her bed, hair tousled, face pale and grim.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she blurted.

“That’s my question!” the boy snapped back. “What are you doing in my bed? My dad told you to get out—why are you still here?”

Sophia yawned, snuggling back into her pillow.

“Sweetheart, open your eyes and look around. This is my room, my bed. And maybe—just maybe—you should be thanking the person who saved your life last night.”

She was still wearing last night’s sequin dress, now paired awkwardly with lounge pants she’d grabbed for warmth. The effect was… chaotic, to say the least.

“If it weren’t for me,” she added lazily, “you’d still be wandering the hallways half-dead in your sleep.”

Ethan’s face darkened. He looked like he wanted to bite someone. “You’re disgusting! Can’t seduce my dad, so now you’re trying me?”

Sophia found him adorable in his fury. “Your dad’s too old and cranky—an old man’s flavor just doesn’t appeal to me. But you? You’re fresh and tender. Way more tempting.”

“Gross!”

The boy bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him. Sophia collapsed into laughter—until she looked up and froze.

Alexander Kane was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Dark silk pajamas, tousled hair, eyes sharp as glass.

“Good morning, Mr. Kane,” she said weakly.

A long pause.

“Get dressed,” he said evenly. “Come to my study.”

Sophia’s legs were trembling as she approached the study. She was doomed, obviously. Last night she’d crawled into his son’s bed, and this morning she’d teased the boy within earshot. What else could he want except to fire her—or worse?

She stopped at a safe distance from the desk. The room was dim; the curtains were drawn. Alexander sat behind his desk, now wearing a loose cotton shirt instead of silk, collar slightly open to reveal the hard lines of his chest. A pair of rimless glasses framed his cool gaze.

He gestured for her to come closer.

“Mr. Kane,” she said carefully, forcing a smile. “I was just packing my things—”

“In such a hurry to leave? I thought you liked Ethan.”

He’d heard. Oh, he’d definitely heard.

“It was just a joke, Mr. Kane. The kid’s adorable, I was teasing him.”

“Oh? And the old man’s flavor?” His tone was mild, but every syllable was a blade.

Her face drained of color. “I—I shouldn’t have said that. My apologies, sir.”

“Come here.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried absolute authority.

Sophia hesitated, then slowly stepped forward.

Alexander’s long fingers tapped the desk, eyes glinting behind the lenses.

“Old man’s flavor?” he repeated, voice slow, dangerously amused.

“I was wrong,” she murmured immediately.

“Am I that old?”

His voice brushed against her ear—low, close, unsettling.

Sophia’s breath caught. Up close, his collarbone and chest were right there, tanned skin against white cotton. Old man, her ass.

“N-no, you’re not—”

Alexander chuckled softly, releasing her wrist.

“I don’t think you need to pack just yet,” he said. Then, calmly:

“Until Ethan’s sleepwalking is cured, you’re not leaving Kane Manor.”

Her heart jumped.

“The future heir of Kane Corporation,” he added coolly, “can’t afford to have a single stain on his reputation.”

Sophia understood immediately: he wanted to keep her silent. This wasn’t a request—it was an order.

As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her one last time.

“If you’re going to act like you’re fond of Ethan,” he murmured, “then act the part. Don’t half-ass it. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Kane.”