Chapter 1
I lie on my work desk, exhausted.
I’m Sophie, a nineteen-year-old designer in Los Angeles. I left Dominic this year, and I am trying to build a new life for myself. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I cannot return to the life I left behind. I’ve finally given birth to my son, Ethan.
My eyelids grow heavy, and the lines on my design begin to blur. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m standing outside my bedroom at home. I open the door.
Is this… my stepbrother Dominic?
His features have matured, and his height makes him seem even more imposing than before. His gray eyes are still the same, calm on the surface but capable of making me feel as though he can see right through me.
He’s twenty-three now.
“We can’t do this!” I close my door.
My heart pounds. I lean against the door, hoping he won’t follow me inside. Why am I dreaming about him? I have enough problems in my waking life without having to deal with Dominic in my sleep.
“Why is he shirtless?!” I mutter.
Of all the things I could have dreamed about, why this?
Before I can calm myself, Dominic pushes the door open.
“Why else? You know it.”
Dominic pulls me into a tight hug, then kisses my lips. I don’t want to engage in this forbidden relationship with my own stepbrother, but my tongue is already intertwined with his.
Why do I keep getting feeling drawn to him as though I’m his fated mate? I should resist him. I should remind him that we cannot return to the relationship we once had, that everything between us became too complicated, and that I left for a reason.
Instead, I find myself responding to his kiss.
His closeness awakens feelings I have spent years trying to suppress. I remember the way he used to look at me when we were alone and how difficult it became to pretend our relationship was nothing more than a family bond.
I hate how easily my dream brings those feelings back.
I have thought about Dominic countless times since leaving him. I have wondered how he is doing and whether he ever remembers our time together. However, I haven’t allowed myself to think about him this way for a long time.
Apparently, my mind has decided to betray me.
I jolt my eyes open. I’m on my desk again. What kind of dream was that? My face is hot, as if I wished that dream had never ended.
I stare at the computer screen, hoping the unfinished design will distract me.
It doesn’t.
I rub my face and take a deep breath. I have responsibilities now. I cannot spend my days thinking about someone I deliberately left behind, especially when I have a son who depends on me.
October 2026
Ethan runs toward me.
I hug my son, who is six years old. I left Dominic in 2019, when I was nineteen, and Ethan was born later that year. Seven years have passed since I left the Steeles, and I have spent those years raising Ethan while building my career as an interior designer.
Ethan looks like Dominic, whom I don’t want to see.
Sometimes, looking at Ethan is like looking into the past. His gray eyes remind me of his father’s, and his expressions occasionally resemble Dominic’s so much that I have to remind myself to stop staring. Yet Ethan is different in many ways. He is affectionate, expressive, and quick to tell me about his feelings.
I love that about him.
“How was your day?” Ethan looks at me with sparkly eyes.
“It was great.” I smile. “How was yours?”
“It was amazing. I wish my dad was there with me.”
My smile fades.
You don’t need your dad. He won’t come, anyway.
I immediately regret the thought. Ethan has done nothing to deserve such bitterness. He is only a little boy who wants his father to be present in his life.
I know how it feels to see other children enjoying something you cannot have. I don’t want Ethan to experience that disappointment, but I also don’t know how to give him what he wants.
“I’ll go to school with you tomorrow.”
His eyes brighten.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
He hugs me again, and I stroke his hair. I wish I could promise him that his father would come to see him someday. Unfortunately, I cannot promise something when I don’t even know how Dominic would react if he learned about Ethan.
“My stomach is empty,” Ethan says, looking around for food.
“Who is this guy on the magazine cover? You’ve been staring at him for a while.”
My heart tightens. The man showing a cold yet calm expression is Dominic Steele, Richard Steele’s only child.
I look at the business magazine. Dominic appears composed and confident, as though nothing in the world can disturb him. His photograph reminds me that he is no longer the boy I once knew. He has grown into a man with his own life, responsibilities, and future.
I wonder whether he has forgotten me.
“His gray eyes resemble mine. I wonder if he is my father.”
I bite my lip. “He’s just a famous figure. Having gray eyes doesn’t mean you’re his son.”
Ethan looks at me, waiting for a more convincing answer.
“Who is my father?”
I turn back to my canvas.
I don’t know how many times I have heard that question. Each time, I feel as though I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, unable to move forward or backward.
I want to tell him the truth, but I am afraid of the consequences. What if Dominic refuses to acknowledge him? What if he thinks I have returned only to cause trouble? What if Ethan discovers that his father knows nothing about him and feels unwanted?
I cannot bear the thought of my son being hurt because of my decisions.
I continue drawing on my canvas. Ethan eventually gives up and waits patiently for me to finish my job.
I glance at him when he thinks I’m not looking. He sits quietly, occupying himself while I work. He has become accustomed to waiting for me, and that makes me feel both grateful and guilty.
“Finally.” I stretch.
Ethan springs up.
“Let’s go have dinner.” I hold his hand.
He follows me happily, and I try to leave my worries behind for the evening.
The Next Day
It is the beginning of another bright day.
At seven a.m., I prepare my coffee, then sip it while looking at the interior designs I made yesterday. Some are perfect as they are, but some need adjustment. I check my emails. Yesterday’s client sent feedback.
“Hi, I want to thank you for your services. My wife is happy with the final look of the interior.”
I smile at the message. Positive feedback makes the long hours worthwhile. I enjoy seeing my clients satisfied with the results, especially when I have managed to turn their vague ideas into something practical and beautiful.
“Hi, Sofie. We are Interior Marble Corporation. We took a look at your portfolio and would like to hire you. Please reach out to us for more details.”
Thanks, but I won’t reach out to your corporation, as I’m already satisfied with my job here.
I close the email. The offer is flattering, but I prefer working independently. I like choosing my projects, managing my own schedule, and deciding how to approach each design.
My career hasn’t always been this busy. I began accepting clients when I was eighteen. After leaving the Steele family in 2019, I had to find a way to support myself and build a future for Ethan.
I spent countless hours teaching myself how to use design software. Richard gave me a laptop that allowed me to practice, and I paid for online courses using the monthly allowance he gave me.
Balancing motherhood with developing my career was difficult, but I kept practicing until I had enough work to build a portfolio. Richard also recommended me to his acquaintances, helping me gain experience and attract more clients.
I still remember how proud he looked when he saw my first serious designs. His encouragement made me believe that I could turn my interest into a profession.
I check my website for client inquiries and feedback.
“5/5, I like Sofie’s design.”
“I always come back to ask Sofie for a new design because the results are great.”
Good, the customers are satisfied. I scroll down to look for new customers. Sixteen people have already requested my services.
I take another sip of coffee and consider which projects deserve my attention first. Time management is essential when working independently. If I accept too many projects without organizing them properly, I risk missing deadlines or disappointing clients.
At nine a.m., a client visits me before I select the clients I will design for today.
“I need this specific design for my house project.”
He hands me a house mock-up and one of my best previous designs, which I included in my portfolio.
I examine the model. The house has an unusual shape, and the corner where he wants the design incorporated does not provide enough room for the original arrangement.
“You need a larger area for the design.”
“Try to make it suitable for my house. I need this done as fast as possible. I promised my client it would be ready soon. My client is waiting for the design to start building the interior.”
“I’ll get it done as fast as possible.”
His impatience is understandable. He has a deadline to meet, and someone else is waiting for him to deliver the design. However, I cannot simply copy my previous work and hope that it fits.
I study the model from different angles, thinking about how to make the space feel larger without changing the shape of the house. I am used to clients being picky and requesting adjustments, so I don’t let his demanding attitude discourage me.
I know I can find a solution.
I’ll spend the rest of the day working on this client’s design. I’ll work on floor plans, furniture layouts, lighting, color palettes, and 3D renderings. I usually use AutoCAD.
I begin by checking the measurements and recreating the floor plan. Then I experiment with furniture placement, trying to find an arrangement that leaves enough room for movement. I adjust the proportions and consider how the lighting will affect the atmosphere.
A design can look beautiful on a screen but become impractical when someone tries to use the space. I have learned to pay attention to both appearance and function.
At noon, I take a pause to eat lunch and answer urgent client messages. I don’t have any urgent messages today, so I gobble up my homemade lunch.
I am relieved to have a quiet break. Working from my own studio means I can prepare my meals without leaving my workplace, although I sometimes wish I could spend more time relaxing instead of thinking about deadlines.
From one p.m. to three p.m., it’s time for meetings and revisions. I discuss projects with clients, present designs, adjust furniture placement, and revise plans based on feedback.
“The living room should feel brighter,” today’s client says.
I examine the design again and consider his request. I can change the color palette and adjust the lighting arrangement to create a more open atmosphere. I make a few notes and continue refining the layout.
I have learned not to take criticism personally. Clients are entitled to their preferences, and my job is to understand what they want while ensuring that the final design remains practical.
From three p.m. to five p.m., depending on the project, I visit a renovation site, check measurements, speak with contractors, order materials, or follow up on deliveries. This time, I went to the site to check measurements. They are exactly as instructed.
I am satisfied with the result. Correct measurements prevent unnecessary problems later, particularly when furniture or materials have already been ordered.
From five p.m. to seven p.m., I send revised drawings, organize project files, prepare invoices, and make a to-do list for the next day. If a deadline is approaching, I may work late. Luckily, I’m done with today’s project. I send it to my client via email.
I get to eat dinner with Ethan.
He’s waiting silently in the corner. He thinks I didn’t see him. How adorable!
He has been doing this for a long time. He waits patiently while I work because he wants to go home with me as soon as I finish. Even when he has other things to occupy himself with, he prefers to remain nearby.
I sometimes feel guilty that he has to spend so much time waiting for me. However, I work hard because I want to provide him with a comfortable life.
Over the next few days, I’ll stay late to finish the projects of the sixteen remaining clients.
In the evenings, Ethan and I joke together while watching television. Sometimes, we watch his favorite series; other times, he wants to watch soccer, the news, fashion programs, or even political discussions.
He often asks questions about what he sees, and I answer as best I can. His curiosity makes me laugh, especially when he tries to explain something with the seriousness of an adult.
We eat our meals while watching television. Sometimes, we share bread with butter or enjoy sweets during coffee time. After dinner, I help Ethan with his school subjects while he tells me about his day.
I treasure those moments.
I may not be able to give him everything he wants, but I want him to know that he is loved.
The Following Week
The doorbell rings.
Who could be at the door?
I leave my desk and open the door, but nobody is there. Someone has left a letter for me. A lawyer sent it.
I pick up the envelope and return inside. My name is written on it, and the formal appearance makes me uneasy. I open it and begin reading.
Tears stream down my face.
“Dear Ms. Hart,
We regret to inform you that Richard Steele passed away on October 15, 2026, because of a terminal illness. His funeral will take place in three days. Your presence is requested by the family.”
Dominic’s father, my stepfather, has passed away.
I stare at the letter, hoping I have misunderstood it. Richard cannot be gone. He has always seemed like someone who would remain in our lives for a long time.
My mother, Vivian, married the wealthy Richard Steele. My stepfather had a child who died in infancy. Perhaps his own experience of loss was one of the reasons he treated me with such kindness.
Richard never mistreated me. He was good to me. Attending his funeral is the least I can do as a token of gratitude.
I remember the laptop he gave me and the way he encouraged me to pursue my dreams. He never made me feel less important because I wasn’t his biological child. He supported my interests and helped me build a future for myself.
I will always be grateful to him.
I also remember a birthday celebration for my mother. Richard smiled at her and promised, “I will live to see you become one hundred years old. Wolves live long, after all.”
My mother had pouted at him.
“I don’t want to get old.”
At the time, his words had sounded reassuring. Richard was a werewolf, and his family was not bound by the same expectations of lifespan as ordinary humans. I had never imagined that I would have to read a letter announcing his death while I was still so young.
“You left too early,” I whisper. “You didn’t see me grow. My mother hasn’t reached one hundred years old yet, either.”
The words fail to escape my mouth. I can only stare at the letter as the tears continue to fall.
I have spent seven years avoiding Dominic and trying to move forward with my life. Now, his father’s death means I must return to New York and face the family I left behind.
I don’t know how Dominic will react to my presence. Perhaps he will be cold toward me, or perhaps he will act as though nothing happened between us. I have no idea whether he ever wondered why I left or whether my disappearance mattered to him at all.
And there is Ethan.
I look at my son sleeping peacefully. His gray eyes are closed, and his face is relaxed. He has no idea how much his resemblance to Dominic troubles me sometimes. He has asked me about his father repeatedly, and I have never given him the answer he deserves.
I wonder what awaits me when I go back to New York.
