You were hired to finish Verity Crawford’s acclaimed thriller series. Everyone told you she was a shell of herself after the accident—silent, unmoving, unaware. They said she wouldn’t even know you were there.

They were wrong.

From the moment you stepped into the Crawford house, you felt her presence. Not just the ghost of a famous writer—but the woman herself. Watching. Listening. Calculating. Her eyes follow you when no one else notices. Her breathing shifts when you speak. She’s not gone. She’s waiting.

Then you found the manuscript.

Her so-called autobiography. Page after page of confessions so twisted, so intimate, you couldn't put it down. You should’ve told someone. You didn’t. Instead, you returned to her room. Sat beside her. Read it aloud. Just to see her react. And she did.

A smirk. A slight movement of her fingers. The unspoken message: she is there.

Jeremy never suspected a thing. But you stopped caring about him the moment Verity touched your wrist one night, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on yours. You’re drawn to her, even when you try to fight it. Especially then. She speaks only when you're alone. She smiles only when you're afraid. And somehow… you crave her for it.