Chapter 1
Harris Croft and I were both stolen children. When his wealthy parents finally found him, he clutched my wrist, his grip like iron.
“I want her to be my sister,” he told them, his young voice fierce. “I’m going to protect her for the rest of my
life.”
But years later, I didn’t want to be his sister anymore. I had fallen hopelessly in love with him.
“That’s not an option, Taylor,” Harris said, his voice gentle but firm.
The love I felt for him was a fire growing wilder each day. I couldn’t bear it. So, with a shattered heart, I left.
Five years later, we met again. My boss shoved me into the seat next to a man at a dinner table.
“You look just like Harris Croft’s long-lost love,” he whispered urgently in my ear. “He’s been searching for her for years, driving himself mad.”
He gave me a hard nudge. “This is your chance. Play the part of the stand-in. You were made for this role.”
I shook my head so hard my neck ached, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.
“Absolutely not,” I hissed back. “He’s not interested in me. Not like that.”
1
I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I would see Harris again like this.
I was accompanying my boss, Mr. Davies, to a dinner with potential investors. He’d told me there was a not-
oriously difficult billionaire tycoon-worth hundreds of billions-that only I could win over. He’d even promis- ed me a promotion and a hefty raise if I sealed the deal.
I thought he was banking on my negotiation skills. I didn’t realize he was planning on taking a much darker,
more desperate path.
The moment we entered the private dining room, he pointed to the back of a man sitting at the head of the table, his words a conspiratorial hiss.
‘That’s him. Tonight’s deal is all on you. I’ve done my homework-you’re a dead ringer for the woman on Mr. Croft’s phone wallpaper. This is your big break, the classic stand-in story. You got this.”
I only needed to see his back. I knew him instantly.
The
youngest heir to the Croft Corporation. My brother, in name only. Harris.
I shook my head, a frantic, silent plea, already backing toward the door. “No way, boss. Absolutely not. He’s not my type.” My mind raced for an excuse. “I-I have a sudden stomachache. I have to go. Don’t try to stop me.”
But Mr. Davies’s hand shot out, his grip surprisingly strong. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me forward, his
voice a low, insistent growl.
“Don’t you dare run off. How do you know if you don’t even try? I’ve looked into this. Harris Croft is famous for being an ice king. Women throw themselves at him, and he doesn’t even blink. It was his best friend, Carter, who let it slip one night when he was drunk. He said, ‘You idiots have no idea how to get to him. If you want to give him a gift, find the girl on his phone screen. He’s been looking for her like a madman, calls out her name in his sleep.””
Mr. Davies tightened his hold, practically frog-marching me to the table. “If you didn’t look so much like her, this opportunity would’ve never fallen into your lap. Now pull it together. The investment is counting on you.”
For a man who only ever drank herbal tea and never worked out, he had a shocking amount of brute force. He propelled me forward and pushed me down into the empty chair to Harris’s left.
He pressed a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay seated, and plastered a greasy smile on his face as he began his sales pitch to Harris. He sounded like a pimp selling his prize girl.
“Mr. Croft, this is the hidden gem of our company, Stella Crawford. Don’t let her age fool you; her capabilities are second to none. She’s the one who single-handedly cracked all of my toughest accounts.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I was sure everyone could hear it. I cursed myself for not chec- king my horoscope before leaving the house. From the corner of my eye, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing
a glance at the man I had thought about every single day for five years.
His face was still devastatingly handsome, a single look enough to make my defenses crumble. He wore a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of cool restraint, an ascetic appeal with a terrifying stillness that hinted at something wild just beneath the surface.
My carefully constructed composure shattered.
As I was frantically trying to figure out how to greet him after all this time, the man sitting to Harris’s right- his assistant-shot to his feet and glared at me.
“Mr. Davies, what is the meaning of this?” he snapped. “Are you not aware of Mr. Croft’s rules? No woman sits next to him. Especially not one who’s surgically altered her face to look like… that. Are you that despera- te to play the part of a substitute? Get out!”
