THE INSTANT SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER! From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Crossfire® saga comes the beginning of a twisty tale of obsession and rage, as a trinity of women protect what they covet at any cost. You can't believe all of them, but can you trust any of them? Widower Kane Black is still ruinously married to his late wife, Lily. Grief has hollowed him . . . until he sees a woman with his wife's inimitable beauty on the streets of Manhattan. He whisks her up to his towering penthouse, protectively under guard, nestling her in dark opulence where Lily's memory is a possessive, beguiling force. Aliyah, Kane's mother, deals in science. There are too many questions, too few answers, and too much at stake. Lily has dangerous control over Kane and there can be only one queen on the throne. Amy, Kane's sister-in-law, has been bloodied by deceit and betrayal, and she's devolving into murderous rage. She's paid too high a price and now intends to claim what she's owed. Three women, linked by buried secrets, circle the man who unquestioningly accepts the return of his beloved long-dead wife. Kane is happier than he's ever been, and he'll do anything to stay that way. Propulsive and sly, So Close is a lushly gothic novel of domestic suspense with the emotional intensity, scorching sensuality, and complex exploration of female trauma that are the hallmarks of multimillion-copy, international bestseller Sylvia Day. "Sylvia Day...fans are going to be delighted with her latest offering, a dark, brooding, gothic story in her inimitable style that will have you gripped from the first sentence. Everything is not what it seems in this page turner. Expect another sell out."— Glamour UK "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 "Wow, is this book twisty and twisted! I am a huge fan of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, and So Close is almost an ode to Rebecca . I love a good psychological thriller, and top it off with unreliable narrators and the feeling that more than one of them is a little mental? Yes, please! This book was so fun to read, I read it all in one go." —Katie, bookseller Dear Readers, So Close  marks a shift in genre for me as a writer. The Blacklist Duology is a contemporary urban gothic women's psychological domestic suspense. Whew. That's a mouthful. Readers who are only familiar with my Crossfire saga may expect Blacklist to be similar. It isn't. Although they're both set in New York, and you'll incidentally glimpse familiar faces, the two series are very different in structure, tone, and focus. The Blacklist Duology has a central love story but isn't a romance. What's the difference? A romance is the evolution of a partnership through communication, transformation, and sacrifice. Further, romantic leads must be heroic. They may not start that way, but through that transformation I mentioned, they become the heroes of their fairytale. In a love story, the partnership is one piece of a larger puzzle, it may not evolve, and transformation and heroism aren't required. I'm not saying Blacklist isn't romantic because it has its moments. It just doesn't fit the definition of a romance. As someone who treasures the romance genre and intends to keep writing romance in the future, it's essential to be transparent. The primary characters in Blacklist are three women: Amy, Aliyah, and Lily. All three are struggling with Lily's return and the ramifications. All three are survivors of different and similar traumas. How those traumas impact their viewpoints is the core of Blacklist. —Sylvia Day, The Blacklist Blog (August 4, 2022) Mr Black sits still and silent, his eyes dark as coal, his face drained of colour. His gaze is sliding along the pedestrian crossing, following. I look that way, seeking. A statuesque brunette hurries away from us. Her hair is short and sleek, cut into a bob that skims her sculpted jaw. It's not Lily's luxuriant mane, not at all. But when she turns to walk down the pavement, I think it might be her incomparable face. The back door swings open violently. The cab driver behind us yells obscenities out of his lowered window. "Lily!" That my employer should go so far as to shout out his wife's name staggers me like the crack of gunfire. My lungs seize with shock. The woman's gaze darts towards us. She stumbles. Freezes in place. The resemblance is uncanny. Eerie. Impossible to comprehend. Mr Black leaps out just as the light turns green. His response is instinctual; mine is arrested by confusion. I know only that my employer is beside himself, and I am trapped behind the wheel of the Range Rover while the madness of New York City's morning commute rages on all sides. Her face,