Chapter 1He Remembers My Touch Not My Face

The year I hit rock bottom, I took a hundred thousand dollars to pretend to be my sister and care for her blind fiancé.

The day he got his sight back, I vanished.

The next time we met, I was on one side of a press conference, and he was on the other. I was a nobody, an intern with a press pass. He was Ethan Prescott, back at the helm of his family’s empire.

A seasoned journalist from the Times was asking the question on everyone’s mind. "Mr. Prescott, it's been said that during your recovery, your fiancée, Ms. Sutton, was your rock. We hear wedding bells are in your future?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He lifted his hand, flashing a simple ring on his finger. "Yes. Olivia and I are getting engaged."

But his eyes, through the designer lenses of his glasses, drifted past the rows of eager reporters and landed, for just a moment, in the shadowed corner where I was standing.

* * *

The conference room buzzed with gossip before he arrived.

"The guy we're interviewing today? He's the one who really runs the Prescott Group now."

"I heard five years ago he went blind, got kicked out of the family and everything. If it wasn't for his fiancée sticking by him, he probably would've ended it all."

"Shh, keep it down—"

I sat on the folding chair at the back, forcing a smile onto my face. My nails dug so deep into my palms I was surprised they didn't draw blood.

Suddenly, Mark, the senior reporter I was shadowing, turned to me. "Leah, be a doll and grab me a bottle of water, will you? My throat’s sandpaper."

I had just reached the water cooler by the main doors when they swung open.

The familiar silhouette filled the doorway, and my brain went completely blank.

Three years had done more than just change Ethan Prescott; they had forged him into someone new. The slender frame of the boy I knew was gone, replaced by the broad shoulders of a man. The lines of his face were sharper, harder. And his eyes—the eyes that were once lost in a beautiful, milky haze were now clear, cold, and cutting.

"Excuse me."

His voice was low and detached. His gaze swept over me through his glasses, the way you’d look at a coat rack or a piece of furniture. A complete stranger. There was no flicker of recognition, not a single pause.

Flanked by a security detail, he moved toward the stage. As he passed, a cool, woody scent—sandalwood and something else I couldn't name—trailed in his wake.

I stood frozen for a few seconds before the reality of it hit me.

Of course he didn't recognize me. The two years I spent with him were the lowest point of his life. He’d been exiled from his family, his sight stolen in a car crash. He had no idea what I looked like.

…It was better this way.

By the time I returned with the water, the interview was underway. Ethan sat on stage, fingers steepled under his chin, commanding the room with an unnerving calm. He was fielding questions about market projections and corporate restructuring.

Suddenly, a side door opened.

Olivia Sutton swept in, a practiced smile on her face as she addressed Ethan.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," she cooed. "Things on set were just frantic."

She gathered the hem of her magnificent champagne-colored dress and took the seat reserved for her beside him.

The room, silent for a beat, erupted in a flurry of camera flashes and excited murmurs. The atmosphere turned electric, intimate.

Mark took a sip of water and glanced from the stage to me, his eyes widening in discovery. "You know, Leah," he whispered, "you and Olivia Sutton look kind of alike."

I pressed my lips into a thin line, managing a weak laugh. "She's a movie star, Mark. You're flattering me."

Of course we looked alike.

She was my sister.