Chapter 1: The Ghost Who Hated His New Roommate
The first thing Zinnia Everhart noticed about the house was that it was ridiculously beautiful.
The second thing she noticed was that something was wrong with it.
Not the ordinary kind of wrong, like a leaking roof, broken windows, or a kitchen tap that screamed every time someone turned it on.
No.
This house had the kind of wrongness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
It was the kind of wrongness that made a perfectly sensible person wonder whether paying half the rent she had been offered was worth risking her life.
Unfortunately, Zinnia was not only sensible. She was also broke.
And broke people did not abandon beautiful houses because the atmosphere felt a little strange.
She stood in front of the enormous black door, holding two suitcases and a handbag, and stared at the building.
The house was a magnificent old mansion with cream-colored walls, tall windows, a wide staircase leading to the entrance, and a garden that looked as though it had been designed by someone with too much money and a questionable relationship with gardening equipment.
It was perfect.
Almost suspiciously perfect.
Zinnia checked the address on her phone.
Number seventeen.
She looked up at the brass numbers attached to the door.
Seventeen.
She looked at her phone again.
Definitely seventeen.
“Well,” she announced to the empty driveway, “if I die here, at least I’ll die in an expensive neighborhood.”
She pressed the doorbell.
Nothing happened.
She pressed it again.
Still nothing.
“Wonderful. A house with commitment issues.”
Zinnia reached for the handle.
The door swung open.
She froze.
She had not turned the handle.
She had barely touched it.
For three full seconds, she stared into the dark hallway beyond the entrance.
Then she straightened her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said politely to the empty doorway. “Very welcoming.”
She stepped inside.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Zinnia jumped so violently that one of her suitcases fell over.
“Oh, absolutely not!”
Her voice echoed through the hallway.
She spun around and grabbed the handle.
It opened immediately.
She stepped outside, took one deep breath, and looked at the sky.
“Nope.”
She dragged her suitcase back down the steps.
Then she stopped.
Her bank account flashed through her mind.
So did the rent at the apartment she had just lost because the landlord had decided that giving the room to his nephew was more important than honoring their agreement.
Zinnia slowly turned back toward the mansion.
“I’m not scared of a door,” she informed the building.
The door remained silent.
“Good. Because I pay rent, and I’m not going to let a dramatic piece of wood intimidate me.”
She marched inside again.
This time, she closed the door herself.
Then she locked it.
Then she checked the lock twice.
“See?” she muttered. “Normal. Perfectly normal.”
A chandelier hung above her head. A long staircase curved toward the upper floor, and a row of framed paintings decorated the walls.
Zinnia glanced at the paintings.
The people in them looked rich, serious, and deeply offended by the concept of happiness.
“Cheerful family.”
She wheeled her suitcase toward the staircase.
Her landlord had told her that the owner was rarely home. He had also assured her that the house was safe, the neighborhood was quiet, and the rent was affordable because the owner preferred having someone occupy the unused rooms.
He had neglected to mention that the house felt like it had swallowed a thunderstorm.
Still, the rooms were enormous, the kitchen was beautiful, and her bedroom had a balcony.
Zinnia was prepared to forgive a lot for a balcony.
She reached the first step.
“Put the suitcase down.”
The deep male voice came from somewhere behind her.
Zinnia stopped.
Slowly, she turned around.
Nobody stood in the hallway.
She blinked.
“Hello?”
Silence.
She glanced toward the front door.
Perhaps someone had followed her inside.
“Who’s there?”
“Your hearing works. Excellent. Put the suitcase down.”
Zinnia stared at the empty space beside the staircase.
Then she laughed once.
It was not a particularly convincing laugh.
“Okay. Either I’m tired, or this house has a very strange security system.”
“Neither.”
Her suitcase suddenly slid out of her hand.
It rolled backward across the polished floor.
Zinnia watched it travel three feet before it stopped.
Her mouth fell open.
For the first time since entering the house, she had absolutely nothing to say.
Then a man appeared at the top of the staircase.
And Zinnia forgot to breathe.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead, and his face possessed the kind of devastating beauty that seemed personally designed to irritate every woman who encountered it.
His jaw was sharp.
His eyes were a striking shade of silver-gray.
His expression suggested that he had never smiled at anyone without regretting it.
He descended the staircase with unhurried confidence.
Zinnia stared.
He stopped three steps above her.
“You’re in my house.”
His voice was even more irritatingly attractive up close.
Zinnia looked behind herself.
Then she looked back at him.
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Are you the landlord?”
“No.”
“Property manager?”
“No.”
“An extremely handsome burglar?”
His eyebrows rose.
Zinnia folded her arms.
“Because if you are, I should warn you that I’m not carrying anything valuable.”
His gaze moved slowly over her face.
“You’re standing in my hallway, touching my belongings, and insulting me in my own home.”
“Your belongings?”
He gestured toward the staircase.
“Everything you see belongs to me.”
Zinnia looked around.
The chandelier.
The paintings.
The staircase.
The enormous vase near the entrance.
She turned back to him.
“Congratulations. Would you like a certificate?”
His expression darkened.
“You have ten seconds to leave.”
Zinnia laughed.
Actually laughed.
It was a terrible decision.
She knew it was a terrible decision when his eyes narrowed.
But the alternative was to take an order from a stranger who had apparently developed an unhealthy attachment to the word mine.
“Listen, Mr. Handsome-and-Hostile, I don’t know who you are, but I have a signed rental agreement. I’ve paid my deposit, and I’m moving into the upstairs bedroom. So unless you’re prepared to refund my money, you can take your ten seconds and put them somewhere useful.”
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked at her suitcase.
“You’re moving in?”
“Excellent observation.”
“Here?”
She glanced around theatrically.
“No, the garden. I thought the roses looked lonely.”
His jaw tightened.
“You cannot live here.”
“Watch me.”
He stared at her as though she had just announced her intention to set fire to the entire mansion.
Zinnia picked up her suitcase.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have unpacking to do.”
She stepped toward the staircase.
He moved into her path.
She stopped.
He stared down at her.
She stared up at him.
“Move,” she said.
“No.”
“Move.”
“No.”
Zinnia smiled sweetly.
“Would you prefer I scream?”
His expression remained unchanged.
“Go ahead.”
She opened her mouth.
He disappeared.
One second, he stood in front of her.
The next, there was nothing.
Zinnia’s smile vanished.
She looked left.
Then right.
Then up the staircase.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m afraid not.”
His voice came from directly behind her ear.
Zinnia screamed.
She screamed so loudly that a bird flew away from the garden outside.
She spun around, stumbled backward, and grabbed the nearest object she could find.
A decorative cushion.
She held it in front of herself like a shield.
The man stood by the staircase, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
Zinnia pointed the cushion at him.
“WHAT ARE YOU?”
He glanced at the cushion.
Then at her.
“An idiot, apparently, for believing I could enjoy a peaceful afternoon.”
“You’re not human!”
“Very observant.”
“YOU DISAPPEARED!”
“Yes.”
“PEOPLE DON’T DISAPPEAR!”
“Clearly, some do.”
Zinnia stared at him.
Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
She looked at his feet.
Then at his hands.
Then at his face.
He looked solid. Entirely solid.
But the way he had vanished was impossible.
She swallowed.
“Are you…”
She could not finish.
His expression shifted.
For the first time, something resembling amusement touched his mouth.
“Go on.”
Zinnia tightened her grip on the cushion.
“Are you a ghost?”
“Unfortunately.”
She stared at him.
Then she looked toward the front door.
Then back at him.
Then toward the front door again.
“Right.”
She placed the cushion carefully on the floor.
“I understand.”
He folded his arms.
“Do you?”
“Absolutely.”
She picked up her handbag.
He looked almost satisfied.
Finally, the woman had developed some sense.
Zinnia walked toward the entrance.
She opened the door.
Stepped outside.
Closed it behind her.
Then she stood on the front steps, breathing deeply.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, Zinnia. You can do this.”
She pulled out her phone.
Opened her banking app.
Looked at her balance.
Her shoulders slumped.
“No.”
She looked back at the mansion.
“No, no, no.”
She could not afford another apartment.
She could not afford a hotel.
She could barely afford the groceries she had bought that morning.
She had a signed agreement, and she was not going to let a dead man ruin her life.
Zinnia marched back inside.
The ghost was standing in the hallway.
He looked genuinely surprised to see her.
“What are you doing?”
She wheeled her suitcase past him.
“Moving in.”
“I told you to leave.”
“And I heard you.”
“Then why are you still here?”
Zinnia turned around and gave him a bright, infuriating smile.
“Because, darling, unlike you, I have bills to pay.”
His face went blank.
Darling.
She had called him darling.
The audacity.
“You will regret this.”
“Probably. I regret most of my decisions. It’s part of my charm.”
She dragged her suitcase up the stairs.
He followed her.
Not walked.
Followed.
His feet barely seemed to touch the steps.
Zinnia looked over her shoulder.
“Do you mind?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop following me.”
“No.”
She sighed.
“You’re going to be an exhausting roommate.”
“I am not your roommate.”
“You live here. I live here. We share a building. Congratulations, roommate.”
He looked as though he wanted to throw her suitcase through a window.
Unfortunately for him, the suitcase was currently the only thing keeping Zinnia from doing the same to him.
She reached the upstairs landing and opened the first bedroom door.
It was enormous.
A four-poster bed stood in the center, dressed in white linen. Sunlight poured through the balcony doors, and a velvet armchair sat beside a beautiful dressing table.
Zinnia gasped.
“Oh, I love it.”
“This is my bedroom.”
She stopped.
Slowly, she turned toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“My bedroom.”
She looked at the bed.
Then at him.
Then at the bed again.
“Why is your bedroom listed as the room I’m renting?”
“It isn’t.”
She pulled out her rental agreement.
Read it.
Then read it again.
Her smile disappeared.
The room number was written clearly.
Bedroom One.
She looked at the ghost.
He looked insufferably pleased.
“Well,” she said slowly, “that’s inconvenient.”
“Leave.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
“You cannot possibly be serious.”
“I paid for a room. I’m taking the room.”
He stared at her.
Then, with the calmness of a man who had been dead long enough to lose patience with the living, he said, “I have occupied this house for years. No one has been foolish enough to challenge me before.”
Zinnia dropped her handbag onto the bed.
“Then it’s about time someone did.”
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then the ghost smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
It was devastating.
And Zinnia hated that she noticed.
“My name is Cassian Thornfield,” he said. “Remember it. You’ll be screaming it soon enough.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“It should.”
“Well, it doesn’t.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re a terrible host.”
She stepped around him and began unzipping her suitcase.
Cassian watched her in disbelief.
He had encountered rude people before.
He had encountered stubborn people.
He had even encountered a man who had once tried to sleep in the library because he refused to believe the house was haunted.
But Zinnia Everhart was something else entirely.
She was loud.
She was impossible.
She was infuriatingly beautiful.
And she had just made herself at home in the one place he had believed he could remain undisturbed.
He had spent years enjoying his solitude.
Now, a woman with a mouth that never stopped moving had arrived with two suitcases and the apparent intention of destroying it.
Cassian stepped closer.
“One rule.”
Zinnia continued folding her clothes.
“Make it quick.”
“Stay out of my way.”
She glanced up.
“Easy. Try doing the same.”
His eyes flashed silver.
The curtains behind her fluttered.
A cold breeze swept through the bedroom, despite the closed balcony doors.
Zinnia’s hair lifted around her face.
She stared at the curtains.
Then at Cassian.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Still not frightened?”
She considered the question.
Then she smiled.
“Honestly? A little.”
He looked satisfied.
Zinnia pointed at him.
“But mostly, I’m annoyed.”
His satisfaction vanished.
She returned to unpacking.
Cassian stood perfectly still, wondering whether the afterlife allowed a person to develop a second death.
Because if it did, Zinnia Everhart was going to be responsible for his.
And that was only the beginning.
Neither of them knew it yet, but before the month was over, the woman who had invaded his house would become the one person he could not bear to lose.
And the ghost who had sworn to make her leave would soon find himself doing everything in his power to make her stay.
Even if it meant breaking every rule he had lived—and died—by
