Addicted To His Disfigured Secret Lover

Aracely walked into the Hickman villa living room. The morning rain had soaked her clothes. She stood in the center of the room, shivering, her face pale.

Evelyn sat on the velvet sofa. She slapped a Non-Disclosure Agreement onto the coffee table. "Sign it."

Aracely picked up the pen. She didn't hesitate. She signed her name, desperate for the right to visit the hospital.

Evelyn scoffed. She tossed a clear plastic box at Aracely's feet. Inside was a realistic silicone scar.

"Put it on," Evelyn ordered. "The safest place to hide a secret is under his nose. Brennen loathes anything 'imperfect'—this scar will be your best shield. He’ll never deign to look at a monster twice."

Aracely stared at the grotesque piece of silicone. Bile rose in her throat. But the image of the ventilator flashed in her mind. She bent down and picked up the box.

She walked into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror. She applied the pungent, chemical-smelling glue and pressed the ugly scar from her left eye down to her jawline.

The stunning beauty in the mirror was gone. A monster stared back. Aracely put on thick, black-rimmed glasses to hide her sharp eyes.

An hour later, Aracely walked into the grand foyer of the Levine Estate. She wore a scratchy, gray maid's uniform and carried a heavy bucket of water.

Martha Holloway, the head housekeeper, took one look at her face and stepped back. Disgust flashed in Martha's eyes.

"You do not show that face to Mr. Levine," Martha warned sharply. "You clean the corners. Stay out of sight."

Aracely lowered her head. She took her rag and started wiping a tall Ming dynasty vase in the corner.

The heavy front doors slammed open. Brennen stormed back into the foyer, his coat disheveled from a frantic morning search of the grounds.

Arthur followed him, tablet in hand. "Sir, the security footage was wiped. Also... the GPS on Madam’s car shows she never left her family home last night. The woman in your room was an intruder."

Brennen ripped his tie loose. His jaw was tight. The intense high from last night left him with zero patience today.

His eyes scanned the foyer. His gaze landed on the gray figure wiping the vase in the corner.

The curve of her back. The slope of her shoulders. It was the exact same body his hands had memorized in the dark.

Brennen stopped walking. His leather shoes went silent on the marble. The air pressure in the room dropped.

Aracely heard the footsteps stop. Her spine went rigid. The wet rag left a streak on the porcelain vase.

Brennen narrowed his eyes. He walked straight toward the corner.

His tall shadow swallowed her. "Turn around," he ordered.

Aracely had nowhere to run. She turned around slowly. She kept her chin tucked to her chest, staring at the tips of his polished shoes.

Brennen saw her fingers curling tightly into her palms. The familiarity hit him hard.

He lost his patience. He reached out and grabbed her chin. He forced her head up.

Aracely's long eyelashes fluttered. Her clear eyes crashed into his deep stare.

Brennen's heart skipped a beat. But then his eyes dropped to her cheek. He saw the dark red, mangled scar stretching across her face.

Instead of the divine scent from last night, the acrid smell of the adhesive hit him. The violent contrast triggered a wave of nausea. He let go of her chin instantly. He took two steps back in pure disgust.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped the fingers that had touched her skin. "Martha," he snapped. "Since when did my estate become a homeless shelter?"

Aracely lowered her head again, hiding the humiliation in her eyes. Brennen threw the handkerchief into the trash can. He turned and walked up the stairs without looking back.