For three years, I drew his face on my walls. Grey eyes. A jaw I knew by heart. Hands that found me in the dark like they'd memorized every inch of me. I told myself he wasn't real. Then I agreed to marry Victor Ashford — a billionaire old enough to be my father — because my grandfather was dying and I had no other choice. And on the night of the engagement party, a man walked across the room. I recognized his eyes before I recognized anything else. Grey. Still. Exactly the ones I'd been drawing for three years. His name is Ivan. He's thirty. He's brilliant, dangerous, and furious. He's also Victor's son. My future stepson. And the only man I have ever dreamed of.