Mistaken Identity, Forbidden Desire

Isabella Monroe POV

I lay Sophia on her bed and glance around her room. It’s beautiful. Not like mine. Mine is small, below average. But I won’t lie to myself. Sleeping in a soft, comfortable bed feels good. I work at a restaurant next to my studies just to afford my own needs. I don’t like depending on anyone.

She grabs my hand, her fingers weak and warm, and mumbles sleepily,

"Don’t go anywhere, please. Sleep next to me. I need you."

I sigh, annoyed but also soft inside,

"But I don’t want to stay here. You know I don’t want trouble with your mother. And honestly, I’d be more comfortable in my own place."

She stutters, half asleep,

"Stop being stubborn. They won’t be back early tomorrow. Trust me."

I give in. Like always. Her stubbornness beats my pride every single time.

She is my weakness. No one has ever given me this kind of care. This kind of attachment.

Suddenly, thoughts crash into my head out of nowhere.

I rush to her, shaking her shoulders in panic,

"Sophia, wake up. I’m screwed!"

Her eyes widen in fear, still heavy with sleep,

"What is it? You scared me. I’m not even drunk anymore."

I speak fast, words tripping over each other,

"I need to find a psychiatrist. Fast. That professor is going to fail me."

She opens her eyes halfway, then closes them again, already drifting off,

"What are you even saying…"

I shake her gently again, desperate,

"Wake up, Sophia. Tell me what I should do. I’m running out of time."

She finally opens her eyes, barely conscious,

"What’s the problem?"

I give in to my panic, biting my nails, my breath heavy with the smell of alcohol still inside me. I hate this feeling. I hate myself like this.

I’ve never left an assignment this late. Never. I’ve always been the top student. Always focused.

"The professor told us we need to do a research project. We have to find a professional psychiatrist, get real insights from their work, and submit it in three days."

She sighs like it’s nothing,

"Your best friend’s dad is one of the most famous psychiatrists, and you’re stressing over this? I’ll handle it for you."

My voice shakes the moment I realize what she means.

Her father.

I don’t want to see him. I don’t want that.

I refuse immediately,

"No. I don’t want to bother him. Go to sleep. I’ll figure it out myself."

She points her finger at me, warning,

"Don’t argue with me. My dad will help you. He’ll fix everything easily."

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe he could help. Maybe I’d even outshine everyone else. Getting information from someone like him would be far better than anything online.

I let out a quiet breath and slip under the blanket beside her. No answer. Just silence.

Four hours pass.

Everything is calm.

Then suddenly, deep into the night, I wake up from a nightmare. My body is drenched in sweat. My shoulders feel heavy, like they’re sinking into the bed.

That nightmare again.

It has followed me since I was a child.

Fire. A burning house. And a man holding me close to his chest. A firefighter. It has to be.

I throw off the blanket and walk toward the door, heading downstairs to the kitchen. I know the house well.

I grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge and drink fast. One gulp after another, like I’m racing against something inside me.

Then I stop.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Slow. Getting closer behind me.

I feel him before I even turn.

He’s tall. Big. His body blocks mine completely.

His hands grab both my arms. Cold. Strong. My heart jolts hard inside my chest.

He murmurs, his voice thick with alcohol, slow and rough,

"Sophia… what are you doing in the kitchen this late?"

My whole body trembles as he leans down, his lips close to my ear. The smell of alcohol mixed with his strong masculine scent and cigarette smoke makes my head spin. It hits me hard. Too hard.

He continues in a low, lazy tone, speaking to me like I’m his daughter,

"Didn’t I tell you to keep a water bottle by your bed? One day you’ll fall down the stairs walking half asleep."

I catch a glimpse of his face beside mine.

Then he presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

It’s gentle. Innocent. Meant for his daughter.

But inside me… something breaks.

Something burns.

I want to lean into him. I want more. Something deeper. Something wrong.

Even though he thinks I’m his daughter.

"You’re shaking… calm down, sweetheart."

He pulls back slightly, and I finally breathe again.

Then he turns away, his deep voice echoing as he walks,

"I don’t know how your hair got this long in one day. Must be fake. Take it off. Your short hair suits you better."

Sebastian Hawthorne.

The man I’ve always respected. Admired.

How do I explain what I just felt… from one innocent kiss?

I follow him quietly toward the hallway. I watch him enter his room.

Then I run.

I rush into Sophia’s room and slam the door shut, my chest rising and falling fast.

Her sleepy voice reaches me,

"Did you find the water, Isabella?"

I swallow hard, my voice thick, almost bitter,

"I found your father."

Her eyes snap open wide.

"You’re joking… right?"

I shake my head.

"No. And he was drunk."

She lowers her voice, tense,

"What happened?"

I whisper, barely able to say it,

"He touched me… kissed me… and the worst part… I didn’t want him to stop."