Chapter 2

Maeve's POV

"Stop pretending, Maeve. You loved it last night."

In the pitch black, that identical face lunged closer, his breath hot against my neck.

My blood ran cold. I wanted to scream, but my throat seized up, stifling any sound.

His hand roughly ripped the collar of my silk nightgown, his callouses scraping my skin.

"Get off! Don't touch me!"

Absolute terror unlocked a surge of adrenaline I didn't know I had. I drove my knee fiercely into his groin and unleashed a blood-curdling scream.

"Maeve! Maeve! Wake up!"

Someone was shaking my shoulders violently. My eyes snapped open. I was gasping for air, the sheets soaked in cold sweat.

Soren sat on the edge of the bed, gripping my shoulders, his face pale with panic.

The other side of the bed was completely empty. The grinning, violent man who had just been tearing at my clothes was gone. Vanished.

"You had a nightmare." Soren grabbed a tissue, gently wiping the sweat from my forehead.

I grabbed his pajama shirt, my fingers trembling violently. "It wasn't a hallucination! There is a man in this house who looks exactly like you! He was just on top of me, he tried to rape me!"

Soren froze.

"Maeve, look at me." He forced my face up, his tone agonizingly clinical. "You are under too much stress."

"You think I'm losing my mind?" I glared at him.

He pulled me against his chest, patting my back. "Go shopping tomorrow. Buy something that makes you happy. Stop scaring yourself."

He was comforting me, but I had never felt colder.

The next afternoon, sporting heavy dark circles, I returned home from the mall with a few bags.

My phone buzzed. A text from Soren:

[Working late again tonight. Won't be back until later.]

I tapped out a quick [Take care of yourself, don't work too hard] and pushed the front door open.

Dropping my keys on the console, I forced my hollow legs into the living room and collapsed onto the couch.

Instantly, my entire body went rigid.

The cushion beneath me was warm.

The blood drained from my face. I shot up from the couch, staring at the slightly indented velvet.

Soren had been at Caldwell Institute all day. Who was just sitting here?!

A soft thud came from the second-floor hallway.

Holding my breath, I grabbed the heavy brass fire poker from the fireplace and crept up the spiral staircase. My heart hammered so loudly it drowned out every other sound.

The noise came from the half-open guest room door. Gripping the poker, I kicked the door wide open and raised the weapon high—

A large orange blur vaulted from the top of the wardrobe, landed squarely on the windowsill, and let out a lazy meow.

It was Mrs. Gable's Maine Coon. The guest room window hadn't been latched, and the fat cat had snuck in.

Realization washed over me. The warmth on the couch—that was the cat. It heard me unlock the door, bolted upstairs to hide, and knocked something off the wardrobe.

I exhaled a massive breath of relief, my knees buckling as I slid down the doorframe. The fire poker clattered to the floor.

"It's just a cat..." I muttered, burying my face in my hands with a self-deprecating laugh. "Maeve, you really are losing it."

My frayed nerves finally unspooled. There was no intruder. I was manifesting ghosts out of thin air. Soren was right. I just needed sleep.

Deep into the night.

Through a haze of sleep, a strong body carrying the night's chill slid beneath my covers.

Familiar arms wrapped around me from behind. Breathing heavily, he urgently tugged away my nightgown, his movements carrying a rough, undeniable demand that wasn't there before.

"Soren?" I murmured, my exhaustion overriding any other thought.

He didn't answer, only let out a low chuckle as his kisses rained down on me. I instinctively yielded, sinking entirely into his real, warm embrace.

The next morning.

The blinding sun forced my eyes open. I reached out on instinct, but my hand met cold sheets.

Soren wasn't there.

I bolted upright, scanning the room. The bathroom door was open, bone dry. The walk-in closet was immaculate; no discarded clothes. The entire second floor was hauntingly silent.

"Soren?"

I threw on a robe and sprinted barefoot downstairs. Kitchen, living room, even out by the heated pool—nothing.

The panic I had buried yesterday rose like wildfire.

I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and with trembling fingers dialed his number.

The second the call connected, the front door swung open.

Soren stood in the doorway, briefcase in hand. He was wearing the exact same black suit he left in yesterday morning. His tie was loose, his shirt severely wrinkled, and his bloodshot eyes screamed of an all-nighter.

"Maeve? Why are you calling me this early?" He looked at me, his phone pressed to his ear.

I stood paralyzed, my eyes locked on his face. There was not a single trace of post-coital flush on him. "Where... where were you last night?"

"I was just wondering if you read my text," Soren sighed, walking in and tossing his briefcase onto the couch. He rubbed his temples in frustration. "The data for the new drug was a total disaster. I stayed up all night supervising the team rebuilding the models. I didn't close my eyes for a second. I just left Caldwell ten minutes ago."

"You weren't home at all last night?!" My voice cracked, pitching upward in hysteria.

"Of course not. Why?"

The phone slipped from my palm and crashed against the hardwood floor.

The man who had held me tightly in the dark, the man who had made love to me all night—

Who the hell was he?!