Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Mistaking Her For Mrs. Lewis

The truth was Baila hadn't always looked like this.

She was a daughter of the Nelson family, just like Phoebe. But years ago, a mistake had been made-the wrong child had been brought home. While the imposter, Talia Nelson, was raised in luxury, she, the rightful daughter of the Nelson family, spent her childhood in the countryside.

By the time the Nelson family discovered the truth and brought her back, their disappointment was instant. To them, she was nothing more than a disfigured girl with a scarred face-an outsider who lacked refinement. They never truly accepted her.

She had been staying in the servant's room of the Nelson family and was looked down upon.

Phoebe, the favored daughter, enjoyed tormenting her the most.

Just when Baila had resolved to leave and return to the countryside, the Hayes-Nelson marriage alliance had taken shape. The Nelson family snatched her grandmother, using her grandmother as leverage to force her into becoming Phoebe's stand-in. From that moment on, she had been at their mercy.

Baila lowered her face, hiding the cold determination in her eyes. No matter what it took, she would get her grandmother back.

***

Rowan returned to the master bedroom, taking off his shirt before stepping into an ice-cold shower.

After the shower, dressed in black silk pajamas, he stood before the towering French window, his sharp face cast in a mesmerizing glow as city lights refracted through the glass.

Lifting a goblet of red wine, he took a slow sip, the rich, velvety taste spreading across his tongue.

Yet, even as the smooth liquid warmed his throat, a different sensation lingered in his mind. The memory of that kiss. Soft. Fresh. A sweetness unlike anything he had ever tasted-smoother than the finest wine.

His Adam's apple moved slightly. He should have punished Phoebe today. Yet, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he hadn't done that.

"Shh. If you need an answer, just know this-I'm your wife."

Her words that night echoed in his mind. Setting the glass aside, Rowan lowered himself onto the soft bed.

She had slept on this bed before, and it carried the faintest trace of fragrance.

The delicate scent clung to the pillows.

Last night, Rowan had smelled the same scent. And, for the first time in years-he had slept soundly.

Insomnia had plagued him for as long as he could remember. But last night, he had fallen asleep easily.

Was it because of her scent?

Did he need that to fall asleep?

Testing the thought, Rowan rose and made his way downstairs. Soon, he spotted the familiar, slender figure in the living room.

He walked over and placed his hands on her waist.

Baila had been awake for a while. Standing by the living room, she carefully pruned a handful of fresh flowers, arranging them delicately into a vase. Just then, a set of steady footsteps echoed behind her.

Before she could react, a pair of strong hands touched her waist. She was pulled into an embrace. Through the thin fabric of her clothes, she felt the warmth of a man's chest.

Baila stiffened.

She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Rowan. The master of the house. No one else would dare do something like that except him.

Why was he holding her?

Had he figured it out that she had been the woman at the hotel?

A sudden heat crept up Baila's neck as his handsome face moved closer. His breath fanned against her skin. He muttered, "Phoebe, why do you smell so good? What perfume are you wearing?"

A rush of warmth surged to Baila's face.

Immediately, she turned to face Rowan. "Mr. Hayes, you've mistaken me for Mrs. Hayes!"