So Close Read online

  Praise for Sylvia Day

  “A dangerous and sultry novel about lies, secrets, and the line between love and obsession. The perfect first entry of a two-book series, So Close drew me in and kept me reading, desperate to know what happened next. Domestic suspense at its sexiest.”

  —Samantha Downing, USA Today bestselling author

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  “Will have you furiously flipping pages.”

  —Glamour

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  “You know you’re in for a good book when other authors—and I mean LOTS of other authors—recommend it.”

  —USA Today

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  “Brilliantly blends danger and desire.”

  —Booklist

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  “Dark passions and darker secrets.”

  ―Shelf Awareness

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  “This bold, erotic tale of passion and revenge features a cast of colorful characters and a complex and intriguing plot.”

  —Library Journal

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  “A page-turner!”

  —Access Hollywood Live

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  “Exhilarating adventure.”

  —Publishers Weekly

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  “[A] highly charged story that flows and hits the mark.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

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  “Great characters and terrific storytelling in a hot-blooded adrenaline ride.”

  —Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author

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  “Gripping, exciting storytelling with soaring lyricism.”

  —Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling author

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  “Sylvia Day’s storytelling dazzles.”

  —Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author

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  “A master storyteller.”

  —RT Book Reviews

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  “Sophisticated, engaging, clever and sweet.”

  ―Irish Independent

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  “Move over Danielle Steel and Jackie Collins, this is the dawn of a new Day.”

  —Amuse

  Other Books by Sylvia Day

  THE BLACKLIST SERIES

  So Close

  Too Far

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  Contemporary Romance

  THE CROSSFIRE® SAGA

  Bared to You

  Reflected in You

  Entwined with You

  Captivated by You

  One with You

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  Paranormal Romance

  THE RENEGADE ANGELS SERIES

  A Dark Kiss of Rapture

  A Touch of Crimson

  A Caress of Wings

  A Hunger So Wild

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  THE DREAM GUARDIAN SERIES

  Pleasures of the Night

  Heat of the Night

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  Historical Romance

  THE GEORGIAN SERIES

  Ask for It

  Passion for the Game

  A Passion for Him

  Don’t Tempt Me

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  Urban Fantasy

  THE MARKED SERIES

  Eve of Darkness

  Eve of Destruction

  Eve of Chaos

  Marked

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  Single Titles

  In the Flesh

  Pride and Pleasure

  Seven Years to Sin

  The Stranger I Married

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  Omnibus

  Afterburn/Aftershock

  Carnal Thirst

  Love Affairs

  Scandalous Liaisons

  Spellbound

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  Novellas

  THE SHADOW STALKERS MINISERIES

  Razor’s Edge

  Taking the Heat

  Blood & Roses

  On Fire

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  All Revved Up

  Butterfly in Frost

  “Hard to Breathe” in Premiere

  “Mischief and the Marquess” in The Arrangement

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  First published in the United States by Rōnin House, an imprint of Sylvia Day LLC.

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  SO CLOSE. Copyright © 2023 by Sylvia Day, LLC. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address Sylvia Day LLC, 5130 S. Fort Apache Rd., Ste. #215-447, Las Vegas, NV 89148.

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  www.sylviaday.com

  www.roninhousebooks.com

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2022941100

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  ISBN 978-1-62650-003-7 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-62650-002-0 (e-book)

  ISBN 978-1-62650-004-4 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-62650-005-1 (large print)

  ISBN 978-1-49152-668-2 (Audio CD)

  ISBN 978-1-49152-669-9 (MP3 Audio)

  Cover concept and design by Croco Designs

  Snake © Sad, Woman © eugenepartyzan, Skyline © deberarr, Lily flower and leaves pattern illustration © suwi19, all Adobe Stock.

  Interior Chapter Graphics © Raman Maisei, Adobe Stock.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Part II

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Shanna

  1

  WITTE

  The party is a lively crush, yet I’m keenly aware of one singularly significant presence – my employer’s wife, a woman who has been dead for many years. Manhattan glitters in the vast night enfolding the penthouse tower. Clouds froth against the floor-to-ceiling windows, at turns obscuring then revealing the stygian spread of Central Park and its reservoir far below. The tower creaks as it sways ever so slightly in gusts of evening wind, the plaintive sound hidden beneath the music and sea of conversation.

  Within the glass walls, tension seethes. Dangerous electricity charges the air, the inevitable result of confining rivals in a neutral space. Restrained by decorum and the fear of losing face, adversaries bristle, claws and fangs only briefly and resentfully sheathed.

  The event is a black-tie reception in honour of a new cosmeceutical line. The attendees are the best known of Manhattan’s young elite, a collective pool of the too-beautiful and too-rich. Among them are celebrated friendships and infamous feuds. It’s a testament to Mr Black that he could bring such a diverse – and divisive – group together in his home.

  Like chess players, the guests have chosen their positions for the best advantage. Mr Black’s longest-known friend, Ryan Landon, stands opposite the spacious living room from Mr Black’s business partner, Gideon Cross, the two men perpetuating an enmity passed down from their fathers. As regretful as their discord is, I can still admire the purity of their open dislike of one another.

  In contrast, Mr Black’s main adversaries – his half-brothers Ramin and Darius – undermine him whenever it benefits them. And then there is Amy, Darius’s wife, the only woman in the room who won’t look at Mr Black. Not even a surreptitious peek.

  The spaces between these key players are filled with reality television personalities and influencers, models and musicians. Bursts of light bounce off the glittering dresses and wide windows as mobiles capture a seemingly endless number of selfies that will be shared with millions of followers. Most companies pay exorbitant fees for such photographic endorsements, but that is not the case tonight. An invitation to the penthouse is a social coup, as is proximity to Cross and his wife, Eva, seemingly the world’s most popular couple, if measured by media coverage.

  I glance around the living room, assuring myself that the waiting staff are present but unobtrusive, supplying canapés and beverages while clearing away the di
scarded Baccarat glasses and Limoges plates.

  Extravagant bouquets of Blacklist lilies decorate the sterling-silver tops of African blackwood tables, adding texture and glamour without colour or fragrance. Music weaves through the room, effervescent and of the moment. The singer is present, slouched against a wall with his arm around a woman’s waist and his lips to her jaw. His eyes are on Mr Black, but they shift to me just as the smartwatch on my wrist gives a haptic signal announcing the arrival of new guests.

  I move to the foyer.

  The moment the sleek brunette glides through the front door on limousine heels, I know my employer will seduce her. She’s arrived on the arm of an attractive gentleman, but that’s irrelevant. She’ll succumb; they all do.

  The lady resembles the late Mrs Black: inky hair, sultry green eyes, crimson lips. A beauty, yes, but a pale imitation of the woman immortalized in the portrait Mr Black treasures. They all are.

  I greet them both with a nod and offer to take her wrap, standing by as her attentive escort assists her instead.

  “Thank you,” she says as her companion hands me her shimmery wrap. She’s speaking to me, but Mr Black has already captured her attention and her gaze is on him. Despite his deliberate withdrawal to the fringes of the room, his towering height makes him impossible to ignore. His energy is a lashing inferno checked only by a tremendous force of will. He is a man who composes himself with a stark economy of movement yet somehow gives the impression of furore. I can see the effort it takes for our new guest to look away from him and take stock of the festivity.

  Mr Black’s sister, Rosana, holds the command position in front of the windows. She is a tall, dark beauty in a beaded turquoise dress. Gleaming hair the colour of mahogany drapes her shoulders, a striking contrast to the silvery blond of Eva Cross, who stands beside her, petite and curvaceous and dressed in elegant blush-hued silk. Eva is Rosana’s co-ambassador in the new venture; the two women so very different, yet both are tabloid and social media darlings.

  I look at Mr Black, searching for his reaction to the latest arrival. I see what I expected: a focused gaze. As he scrutinizes her, his jaw tightens. The signs are subtle, but I sense his terrible disappointment and the resulting surge of self-recrimination.

  For a moment, he’d hoped it was her. Lily. A woman whose exquisite beauty is immortalized in a single image that hangs in his private rooms but whose profound significance haunts this home and the man who is its master. That he continues to search for her in every woman is heartbreaking.

  Lily was absent from Mr Black’s life before he acquired my services, so I know her only posthumously, but I’m in the position of overhearing a great deal. That she was incredibly lovely is universally acknowledged; many say she remains the greatest beauty they’ve ever seen. Though her given name suggests delicacy and fragility, acquaintances describe her as independent, sharp-witted and bold. She’s remembered as being kind and encouraging, entertaining and deeply interested in others, a quality which I would argue is far better than being interesting.

  For some time, I had only those scant impressions and opinions until a tormented night, when Mr Black was wild with drink and half-mad, no longer able to suppress the furious grief inside him. I understood then the extraordinary hold she continues to have on him; I can sense her power when I look at the massive portrait of her that dominates the wall opposite his bed.

  In his room, her image is the only spot of colour, but that isn’t what makes the photograph so striking. It is the look in her eyes, feverish and incisive.

  Whoever Lily was, her love for Kane Black consumed them both. That obsession remains the most perilous element of his life to this day.

  I watch as our newest guest wades through the others, separating from her escort as she moves towards Mr Black. She is fire-bright in a crimson dress, but she is the moth, and he is the flame.

  A popular periodical recently declared him one of the sexiest men alive. Mr Black is nearing thirty-three and wealthy enough to afford me, a seventh-generation majordomo of British lineage, impeccably trained to handle any situation from mundanity to extreme crises. He is remote and unreadable, yet women are drawn to him without any thought of self-preservation. Despite their best efforts, he remains staunchly unavailable. He is a widower who remains deeply, thoroughly married.

  His most frequent escort, the slender blonde who hovers nearby, gleams in ivory and pearls. She’s his mother, although no one would suspect the relationship if it weren’t widely known. Age isn’t the only thing Aliyah hides well. The lone clue to her nature is her manicure, the long nails filed into a modish almond shape resembling talons.

  As I turn away from the coat cupboard, I hear the pop of a champagne cork. Crystal flutes clink merrily, and conversation hums. A small fortune in designer shoes clicks and taps across obsidian floor tiles so liquid-like in their pristine reflectiveness one is reminded of the calmest of nocturnal waters. Mr Black’s residence is a study in maximalism: dark woods, natural stone, rich leathers and hides … all in the darkest of shades, creating a space as elegant and masculine as its owner.

  My daughter assures me he is blessed with uncommonly good looks and cursed with something she claims is even more compelling: a brooding, edgy torridity. The fact that he once loved so deeply and remains so shrouded in private grief has potent allure. His air of unattainability is irresistible, she says.

  It’s not artifice. His many sexual liaisons aside, Mr Black is taken in the most profound sense of the word. Lily’s memory hollows him. He is a husk of a man, yet I’ve come to love him as a father would his son.

  A woman laughs too loudly. Too much to drink, clearly. And she’s not alone in over-indulging. A flute falls from someone’s careless grip and shatters, with the unmistakable discordant music of tinkling shards of glass.

  2

  WITTE

  “Did you show her out, Witte?”

  Mr Black enters the kitchen the next morning dressed for the day in a Savile Row business suit and perfectly knotted tie, neither being part of his attire prior to my employ. I schooled him in the fine points of bespoke clothing for gentlemen, and he was an avid learner.

  On the exterior, I can scarcely see the unpolished young man who hired me six years ago, so recently widowed and paralysed with grief that my first task was managing anyone who approached with queries or condolences. In time, he harnessed his pain into fiery ambition. That – and his singular intelligence – revived the pharmaceutical company his father had made insolvent through embezzlement.