The elevator chimed.

The doors opened onto the third floor.

I had never been inside Lucian’s private rooms before. Everything was furnished in cool colors, much like the man himself.

Alone, he made no effort to be discreet.

Off came his jacket. Then his tie. Then his shirt.

I stared before I could stop myself.

Broad shoulders. A lean waist. Muscle that promised strength rather than merely displaying it.

He was beautiful in the way a poppy was beautiful.

I knew better than most how dangerous he could be.

A scar marked the skin beneath his left shoulder.

The bullet had missed his heart by inches.

He had gotten it saving me two years ago. He’d spent a month recovering and had nearly died.

Why?

What about me had been worth his life?

His belt clicked.

I caught a glimpse of gray underwear and spun around.

A dead woman should not have been capable of feeling this hot.

Then the shower started.

In the otherwise silent room, every splash sounded painfully clear.

I drifted around, growing more uncomfortable, and finally hid in his walk-in closet.

Rows of bespoke clothes surrounded me. Most were dark or cool-toned, though there were vivid crimson and purple pieces too.

Even his wardrobe refused moderation.

It suited him. Controlled and extravagant. Restrained and intense.

An inner door stood slightly ajar.

I slipped through it.

There was a dressing table inside, along with a collection of vintage British suits.

Something about them felt familiar.

I reached toward a muted checked bow tie.

My fingers passed through it.

Mr. L had a bow tie exactly like that.

And that waistcoat.

That suit.

Every piece matched.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

My gaze moved to a glass cabinet.

Wigs.

Lifelike prosthetic skin.

Pieces made to imitate terrible burn scars.

A voice rose in my memory.

“There was a fire when I was young. I survived, but my face…”

Mr. L.

Lucian was Mr. L.

For four years, the friend I trusted and the enemy I fought had been the same man.

My teeth would have chattered if I’d had a body.

The shock gave way to anger.

Why?

What had he been planning? Had he known everything about me while he waited for the right moment to destroy me?

My lover had lied to me. My enemy had worn another man’s face.

I had died without understanding either of them.

The shower stopped.

Lucian emerged in a robe, his dark hair damp, his face cold and familiar and suddenly completely strange.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He walked straight through me to answer his phone.

He put it on speaker.

“Mr. L, I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”

Dr. Finch.

I recognized his voice immediately.

Dr. Walter Finch was a respected expert in education and psychology, with advanced degrees in both fields. He had volunteered to serve as Starlight Academy’s principal for a basic salary.

He treated the children like his own grandchildren.

There was no one I trusted more with them.

When Lucian spoke, his voice changed.

Lower. Rougher.

Exactly the voice I knew.

“It’s late, Dr. Finch. Is something wrong?”

“You haven’t replied to my email, so I thought I should remind you. Our third anniversary celebration is the day after tomorrow.”

Lucian was silent for a moment.

“I’ll be there.”

Finch sounded relieved.

“I thought, with what happened to Stella, you might not feel up to it. Such a good girl. How could something so terrible…”

His voice caught.

Julian had made certain the entire city knew they had found me mutilated and helpless.

“She’ll be all right.” Lucian’s words came out sharply. “Until Stella returns, I’ll cover every expense for the Starlight Project.”

I looked up at him.

Finch thanked him over and over.

Without that help, he didn’t know how Stella could possibly have kept the school going.

He was right.

I couldn’t have.

If Lucian wanted to hurt me, why construct such an elaborate lie? Why pour so much money into something I loved?

He ended the call and went onto the balcony.

He lit another cigarette, inhaled, and slowly released the smoke into the night air.

His face gave nothing away.

“Stella…”

I waited.

Nothing followed.

I stared at him, at that beautiful face I had misunderstood for so long.

Then, trembling, I asked the question.

“Could you… be in love with me?”