It was 2:00 AM. The massive Levine Estate was dead silent. Only a few dim wall sconces lit the second-floor hallway.

Aracely pushed the heavy cleaning cart. She walked softly. She ran the quiet vacuum over the thick Persian rug.

She glanced at the closed doors of the study. A thin line of light spilled out from underneath. The dangerous man inside was still awake.

Sweat beaded on Aracely's forehead. Her lower back ached from bending over for hours. But she didn't dare stop.

Inside the study, Brennen had been awake for forty-eight hours straight. His nerves were snapping one by one.

His eyes were bloodshot. He ripped his tie off completely. He paced the room like a caged beast.

His throat closed up. He couldn't breathe. He yanked the study door open to get some air.

The door swung wide. The air in the hallway shifted. The sweet, clean scent of gardenia hit him right in the face.

Brennen's vision was blurry. He only saw a slender back pushing a cart a few feet away.

The extreme sleep deprivation cut his logic completely. His body took over.

He stumbled forward. He lunged at her back like a dying man reaching for water.

Aracely heard the heavy footsteps. She spun around in terror. Before she could see his face, a massive force slammed into her.

Brennen pinned her hard against the cold wall. His arms locked around her waist like steel bands.

Aracely opened her mouth to scream. Brennen's hot, calloused hand clamped over her lips.

He buried his face deep into her neck. He inhaled the scent off her skin. He breathed her in like a drug addict.

The miracle happened again. The explosive pain in his head washed away instantly.

Brennen let out a low groan of pure relief. His hard muscles relaxed. He dropped his entire body weight onto Aracely.

Aracely couldn't breathe under his weight. She struggled wildly. She pushed her hands hard against his chest.

Brennen felt his prey fighting back. His arms tightened instinctively. One of his hands slid down her waist and slipped under the rough fabric of her uniform.

The contrast between the cheap cloth and her silky skin confused him for a second. But the hunger swallowed the confusion.

Aracely squeezed her eyes shut. She thought her identity was going to be exposed right here in the hallway.

Brennen lowered his lips to kiss her neck.

A guest room door further down the hall suddenly flew open, the brass handle clicking loudly in the quiet night. Evelyn walked out, having heard the muffled commotion. She wore a sheer red lace lingerie set, her makeup perfectly touched up in anticipation of being summoned. She was holding a glass of warm milk.

She saw the two bodies tangled against the wall. Her eyes went wide. A piercing scream ripped from her throat.

The scream hit Brennen like a bucket of ice water. He snapped out of his daze.

He opened his eyes. He looked down. He was holding the ugly maid with the hideous scar.

Intense self-hatred and nausea hit him at the same time. Brennen shoved Aracely away like she was on fire.

Aracely lost her balance. She crashed into the cleaning cart. Her elbow slammed into the metal edge. She hissed in pain.

Evelyn stomped over in her heels. She raised her hand to slap Aracely. "You cheap slut! Trying to seduce the master!"

"Stop!" Brennen roared. His face was pale. He looked at his own shaking hands. He couldn't believe he had just forced himself onto a monster.

He turned around, walked back into his study, and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

The afternoon sun beat down on the pavement. Taking advantage of Brennen’s afternoon board meeting, Aracely walked down the tree-lined street back to the estate. She had just finished secretly consulting specialized research at the medical school library.

She carried a faded canvas tote bag. She had stopped at a public restroom outside campus to glue the suffocating scar back onto her face and put on the heavy glasses.

A loud engine roared behind her. A silver Aston Martin sped down the street, hugging the curb.

The sports car swerved sharply toward her. A massive puddle of muddy water splashed up.

Aracely's muscles reacted instantly. Her training kicked in. She dodged the water perfectly. But then she remembered her "clumsy maid" persona. She forced herself to slip and fall hard onto the wet grass.

Her tote bag hit the ground. The zipper burst open. Cheap notebooks, old pens, and a pink, heart-shaped piece of paper spilled out.

The Aston Martin screeched to a halt. The door swung up. Erasmo Clark stepped out wearing limited-edition designer clothes. He whistled.

Erasmo walked over and stood over her. "Look at the ugly duckling rolling in the mud."

Aracely locked her jaw. She ignored him. She kept her head down and started picking up her pens.

Erasmo saw the pink paper. He snatched it off the grass before she could reach it.

Aracely's face tightened. She reached for it. It was a cruel prank note some bullies had shoved into her bag at the lecture hall.

Erasmo dodged her hand. He unfolded the paper. He cleared his throat and started reading it out loud in a mocking, theatrical voice.

The letter was a forged, pathetic love note directed at a wealthy heir on campus, shamelessly begging for his affection and heavily hinting at needing financial support for her tuition. It painted her as a desperate gold digger willing to throw away her dignity and pride for a few scraps of cash.

People walking by stopped to watch. They pointed at Aracely sitting in the mud. Disgust covered their faces.

Aracely curled her hands into fists. Her nails broke the skin of her palms. She had to swallow the anger. She couldn't show her fighting skills here.

The passenger window of the Aston Martin rolled down. Brennen Levine sat inside. His profile was carved from stone.

He wore dark sunglasses. He watched the scene coldly. The memory of losing control in the hallway last night made his stomach turn with disgust.

He heard the filthy words in the letter. His brow furrowed in deep revulsion. He pushed the car door open and stepped out.

Brennen walked over to Erasmo. He snatched the pink paper out of his nephew's hand.

He scanned the handwriting. His eyes looked at it like it was toxic waste. He threw the paper right at Aracely's face.

The paper slid down her scarred cheek and landed in the mud. Brennen looked down at her.

"You are not only physically repulsive," Brennen said, his voice dripping with ice. "Your soul reeks of rotting garbage."

He leaned in slightly. "If you ever try your cheap tricks on anyone in the Levine family again, I will make you wish you were dead."

Aracely looked up. She stared right into Brennen's eyes through her thick lenses. Her eyes weren't scared. They were dead and cold.

Brennen felt a sharp sting in his chest at her gaze. It made him angrier. He turned to Erasmo. "Get in the car. Stop wasting time with trash."

Erasmo shrugged. He whistled again and got into the driver's seat. The car roared away, blowing exhaust smoke into Aracely's face.

Aracely sat alone in the mud. She picked up the dirty pink paper. A cold, mocking smile touched her lips.

She stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. Her mind replayed the moment Brennen snatched the paper.

As a top medical expert whose career had been ruthlessly sabotaged into forced anonymity, she didn't miss it. Brennen's index and middle fingers were twitching uncontrollably.

It was the physical symptom of a nervous system on the verge of total collapse from chronic insomnia. Aracely narrowed her eyes. She had just found the tyrant's fatal weakness.

Heavy rain lashed against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom. It was past midnight. Brennen sat alone in the dark.

He hadn't slept a full hour in three days. The twitching in his fingers was getting worse. The blood vessels in his temples felt like they were going to burst.

Humiliating the maid on the street today didn't make him feel better. It only made the rage inside him grow wilder.

Brennen grabbed his crystal whiskey glass and hurled it at the fireplace. It shattered into a hundred pieces. He hit the intercom button.

"Arthur," Brennen rasped. "Bring Evelyn to the master bedroom. Now."

Arthur paused for a second on the other end. "Right away, sir."

Down the hall in the guest suite, Evelyn got the call. She almost screamed with joy. She thought her days of waiting were over. She was finally going to secure her place as Mrs. Levine.

Evelyn ran into her walk-in closet. She stripped and put on her most revealing Victoria's Secret lingerie.

She was sweating from excitement. To cover it up, she grabbed a bottle of limited-edition Chanel N5 from her vanity.

She sprayed it wildly. On her neck, her wrists, her inner thighs. The room choked on the heavy, chemical floral scent.

Evelyn put on her stilettos. She swayed her hips as she walked down the hall. She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the master bedroom.

The room was pitch black. A flash of lightning illuminated the space for a split second.

Brennen was leaning against the headboard. His eyes were closed. He heard the sharp click of her heels. He frowned. On their wedding night, the woman had been barefoot.

"Brennen, darling." Evelyn cooed. She kicked off her heels and crawled onto the edge of the large bed.

As she moved closer, the suffocating cloud of Chanel perfume hit him. It was like a chemical bomb going off in the closed room.

Brennen waited for the sweet, clean scent of gardenia. It wasn't there. Only this cheap, powdery stench filled his nose.

His stomach violently rolled over. Pure physiological rejection hit him. He snapped his bloodshot eyes open.

Evelyn reached out and placed her hand on his bare chest.

Before she could speak, a steel hand clamped around her throat.

Brennen grabbed her and threw her off the bed like a bag of garbage. She hit the floor hard.

Evelyn gasped in pain. She grabbed her throat, staring up at the man in the dark. He looked like a demon.

"Get out!" Brennen roared. Murder burned in his eyes. Evelyn knew he would snap her neck if she stayed a second longer.

She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room, leaving her shoes behind.

The bedroom fell dead silent again. Brennen's chest heaved. He walked to the window and threw it open. The freezing rain blew in, washing away the stench.

The cold air cleared his mind. A terrifying realization hit him.

The woman he slept with on his wedding night-the woman with the natural scent who cured his pain-was not Evelyn Hickman.

Brennen spun around. He marched to the door and ripped it open. Arthur was standing down the hall.

"Lock down the estate," Brennen ordered. His voice was lethal. "I don't care if you told me the security footage from the wedding night was corrupted," Brennen ground out, his jaw tight with barely suppressed rage. "Rip out the hard drives. Find the best data recovery experts in the world, pay them whatever they want, but I need to see every single second of that night! No one leaves this estate until I have answers."

Arthur saw the dark look on his boss's face. He bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

Brennen leaned against the doorframe. He rubbed his fingers together. He thought about the scent in the hallway last night. The maid.

The two scents merged perfectly in his memory. Brennen's eyes turned pitch black. He was going to find the ghost playing games with him.