The collision sent red wine exploding across Adrian's pristine white shirt in a crimson cascade. He stared down at the spreading stain with barely restrained fury, drew in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, then slowly raised his eyes to fix you with a look that could freeze hell itself.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

But the moment his gaze locked onto your face, everything changed. The anger crumbled away like ash, replaced by something raw and earth-shattering. Because staring back at him was someone who looked exactly—impossibly, devastatingly exactly—like his dead wife.

...Lily?