Aria Scott stared at the number on her phone. $200,000. That's how much her father's surgery would cost. And she had exactly $47.23 in her bank account. "Excuse me, miss? Your order is ready." She looked up at the café counter, her tired eyes meeting the barista's. She'd been working at this coffee shop for three years, pouring lattes and smiling at rude customers who never tipped. "Thanks, Tom." She grabbed the tray and walked toward the corner table where a man in a black suit sat with his laptop. He was always here. Every day. Same table. Same black coffee. Same cold, blank expression that made her want to throw something at his perfect face. Christian Knight. She knew who he was. Everyone did. The 29-year-old billionaire CEO of Knight Corp, voted "Most Eligible Bachelor in New York" three years running. And also "Most Ruthless" four years running. He never looked at her. Never said thank you. Just drank his coffee and typed on his laptop like the rest of the world didn't exist. "Here you go," she said, placing the cup down. "Black. No sugar. Just like you." Okay, so she couldn't help the sass. Sue her. She was having a really bad day. Christian's eyes flicked up to her for the first time in months. Cold, gray, like a storm about to break. "Excuse me?" "Nothing." She turned away. "Aria!" She froze at the voice coming from her phone. It was Dr. Reynolds. Her father's doctor. "I'm sorry to call again," he said. "But we need a decision by tomorrow. The surgery... it's his only chance." Aria's hand shook. "I'm working on it, Dr. Reynolds. I promise. I just need a little more-" "Listen to me." The doctor's voice was gentle but firm. "If you can't pay by Friday, we'll have to move him out of the ICU. And without the proper care, he won't survive." The words hit her like a punch to the chest. "Friday. I'll find it. I swear." She hung up, her vision blurring with tears. She couldn't cry here. Not at work. Not in front of customers. She turned to grab the tray and found Christian Knight staring at her. "Problem?" she snapped, defensive. "Your father." His voice was low, smooth, like dark chocolate. "He's sick?" "That's none of your business." "I heard what you said. Two hundred thousand dollars?" Aria clenched her jaw. "I said it's none of your business." Christian closed his laptop. "I can help." She laughed bitterly. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England." "I'm serious." "Look, Mr. Knight, I don't know what kind of games billionaires play, but I'm not interested. I'm not some charity case you can throw money at to feel better about yourself." For the first time, something flickered in his cold eyes. Amusement? No... something darker. "I don't do charity," he said. "I do business." "I don't have anything you want." "Oh, but you do." He stood, and suddenly the café felt much smaller. At six-foot-three, he towered over her petite frame. "I need a wife." Aria blinked. "What?" "A contract wife. Thirty days. No feelings. No complications. You'll live with me, attend events with me, play the role of my loving wife. In exchange, I'll give you one million dollars." She stared at him, certain she'd misheard. "One... million?" "Tax-free. Paid in full upfront. You can save your father tonight." Her heart raced. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. "Why me?" she asked. "You could have any woman you want. Supermodels. Heiresses. Actresses." "They want more than money. They want my soul." His lips curved into a cruel smile. "You just want to save your dad. Simple. Clean. Temporary." "Thirty days?" "Thirty days. No sex. No romance. Just... appearances." Aria's mind spun. One million dollars. Her father's life. Thirty days with the most dangerous man in New York. "What's the catch?" "The catch is me." He stepped closer, and she caught his scent-cedar and something else. Something dangerous. "I have enemies. Being my wife means being a target." "I can handle myself." "We'll see." He pulled out a folded paper from his pocket. A contract. "Sign this, or watch your father die." Her breath caught. "Tonight. Your father's hospital. I'll transfer the funds as soon as you sign." He placed a pen on the contract. "What's it going to be, Aria Scott? Your father's life... or your pride?" Aria looked at the contract. Then at him. Then at her phone, where a picture of her father in that hospital bed haunted her every waking moment. She picked up the pen. "Just so we're clear," she said, signing her name with a shaking hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for him." Christian smiled-a real smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And just so we're clear... for the next thirty days, you're mine. Only mine." He grabbed her hand before she could react. His touch was electric. "Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Knight." CLIFFHANGER: As they walked out of the café, a black car pulled up. The window rolled down, revealing a man with a scar across his face. "Well, well. If it isn't the great Christian Knight. I heard you were looking for a wife. Funny... I heard your father was looking for one too. Right before he killed that woman." Christian's grip on Aria's hand tightened to the point of pain. "Aria, get in the car. Now." "What? Who is-" "Get in the car!" he roared. The man laughed. "See you soon, Mrs. Knight. Tell your new husband... I'll be watching."

The car peeled away from the curb, tires screaming against the asphalt. Aria's heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. "What the hell was that?" she demanded. "Who was that man?" Christian didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. The car was sleek and black and probably cost more than her entire apartment building. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" She grabbed his arm. "You can't just shove me into a car and-" "Don't touch me while I'm driving." His voice was ice. Cold enough to freeze the words in her throat. Aria pulled her hand back like she'd been burned. "Fine. But you owe me an explanation." "I owe you nothing except one million dollars and thirty days of your time." He took a sharp turn, and she grabbed the door handle. "The man you just saw? His name is Victor Cruz. He works for people who want me dead." "People who want you dead?" Her voice cracked. "You didn't think to mention that before I signed your stupid contract?" "You didn't ask." "I didn't-" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You're insane. You're actually insane." "Possibly." He glanced at her, and for a split second, she saw something human in those gray eyes. "But I'm also the only person in New York who can protect you now." "Protect me? From what?" "From Victor. From my enemies. From everyone who wants to use you to get to me." He pulled into an underground parking garage. "Welcome to your new home." Aria looked out the window. They were underneath the tallest building she'd ever seen. Knight Tower. The crown jewel of Manhattan. "This is where you live?" "This is where we live." He killed the engine and got out. "For the next thirty days." --- The penthouse was obscene. That was the only word for it. Floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the entire city. Marble floors so polished she could see her reflection. Furniture that probably cost more than her father's entire medical bill. Aria stood in the middle of the living room, her worn sneakers sinking into a rug that felt like clouds. "This is... a lot." "It's adequate." Christian walked past her, loosening his tie. "Your room is down the hall. Second door on the left. You have your own bathroom. Don't touch anything in my study." "Wouldn't dream of it." She crossed her arms. "So what now? Do we hold hands and sing Kumbaya?" He turned to look at her. Really look at her. His gaze traveled from her cheap sneakers to her faded jeans to her coffee-stained apron. "You need new clothes. I'll have someone take you shopping tomorrow." "I don't need your charity." "It's not charity. It's strategy." He walked toward her, and she instinctively stepped back. "You're Mrs. Knight now. You'll dress like it." "I'm not your doll." "No. You're my wife." He stopped inches from her face. "And my wife doesn't wear clothes from a thrift store." Aria's blood boiled. "You know what? You're exactly what I thought you'd be. A cold, arrogant, heartless-" "Careful." His eyes darkened. "You're under contract. You can't quit. And if you break the rules, you pay back every cent." She wanted to slap him. She wanted to scream. But more than anything, she wanted to cry. Because he was right. She couldn't quit. Her father's life depended on this. "Fine," she whispered. "Whatever you say, husband." She turned and walked toward her room, but his voice stopped her. "Aria." She froze. "The rules." He pulled a paper from his pocket. "Rule number one: no leaving the penthouse without my permission. Rule number two: no contact with anyone from your old life without my approval. Rule number three-" "No contact with my old life?" She spun around. "What about my father? My friends? My job?" "Your job is done. You work for me now." He handed her the paper. "Your father will receive the best care money can buy. But you don't see him unless I say so." "You can't do that." "I can. And I will." His voice was soft but deadly. "Victor knows about you now. He knows your father is your weakness. If he gets to you through your father, I can't protect you." "He's just a sick old man!" "And you're just a girl who signed a contract." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You're mine now, Aria. Only mine. And I don't share. Not with enemies. Not with friends. Not with anyone. Understand?" Her heart hammered. His hand was warm against her skin. His eyes burned into hers. "I understand," she whispered. "Good." He released her. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start your training." "Training?" "You have to learn how to be a billionaire's wife." He walked toward his study. "It's not as easy as it looks." He disappeared behind a door, leaving Aria alone in the massive living room. She looked at the paper in her hand. Three pages of rules. Three pages of restrictions. Three pages of her new prison. And at the bottom, in bold letters: Failure to comply will result in termination of contract and full repayment of funds. She couldn't repay one million dollars. She couldn't even repay fifty. Aria walked to her room-a room bigger than her entire apartment-and collapsed on the bed. The sheets were silk. The pillows were silk. Everything was silk and expensive and cold. She missed her father. She missed her crappy apartment with the leaky faucet. She missed her annoying coworker Tom and his terrible jokes. She missed being nobody. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. UNKNOWN: Did you really think you could marry Christian Knight and I wouldn't find out? Aria's blood ran cold. UNKNOWN: I know where your father is. I know where you are. I know everything. UNKNOWN: The question is... does Christian know everything about you? Does he know what you really are? Aria's hands trembled. She typed back: Who is this? UNKNOWN: Someone who's been waiting twenty-one years to meet you. We have so much to discuss... heiress. Aria dropped her phone like it was on fire. Heiress? That didn't make any sense. She was nobody. She was a waitress. She was Aria Scott, daughter of a dying mechanic. Unless... She looked around the room. Something felt different now. Wrong. She walked to the closet and opened it. Rows of dresses. Designer labels. All in her size. And on the shelf, a single photograph. Aria picked it up. It was old, faded at the edges. A woman holding a baby. The woman looked... like her. Same dark hair. Same eyes. Same smile. And written on the back: My darling daughter. I'll find you. I promise. - E. Aria's breath caught. She heard footsteps behind her. "Put that down." She turned. Christian stood in the doorway, his face unreadable. "What is this?" She held up the photo. "Who is this woman? Why does she look like me?" Christian's jaw tightened. "Where did you get that?" "It was in the closet. In my room." She stepped toward him. "You knew, didn't you? You knew who I was before you found me in that café." "Aria-" "Answer me!" Her voice cracked. "Who am I? Really?" Christian closed his eyes. For a moment, he looked almost... human. Almost vulnerable. Then he opened them, and the cold mask was back. "You're my wife," he said. "That's all you need to know." "That's not an answer!" "It's the only one you're getting." He turned to leave. "Stay in your room. Don't answer your phone. Don't open the door. Tomorrow, everything changes." "Christian!" He paused at the doorway. "I know you're hiding something," she whispered. "And I will find out what it is. Even if it takes more than thirty days." He didn't turn around. But his voice was soft when he replied. "That's what I'm afraid of." CLIFFHANGER: He closed the door, and Aria heard the lock click. Not the lock to his study. The lock to her room. He'd locked her in. And through the door, she heard his voice, muffled but clear: "I found her, Elena. After twenty-one years... I finally found your daughter. But if Victor gets to her first, everything we've worked for is lost. I need you to tell me the truth. Did my father kill your sister? Or is there something you're not telling me?"

"Good morning, wife." Aria sat up so fast her head spun. "You locked me in." "I protected you." He set the coffee on the nightstand. "Victor's men were spotted two blocks away last night. The lock was for your safety." "The lock was for your control." "Call it whatever helps you sleep at night." He glanced at the rumpled bed. "Though it seems you didn't sleep at all." She hadn't. She'd stared at that photograph for hours. The woman. The baby. The letter E. "Who is Elena?" Aria asked. Christian's expression didn't change. Not a flicker. The man had a face made of stone. "Eat breakfast. We have a busy day." "Who is Elena?" she said again, louder. "Someone from my past." He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The city sprawled below them, glittering and indifferent. "Someone who believed your mother was murdered by my father." Aria's stomach dropped. "My mother? I don't have a-my mother died when I was three. My dad told me." "Your adoptive father told you." Christian turned. "The man in the hospital is not your blood, Aria. You know that now. You saw the photo." "I saw a picture of a woman who looks like me. That proves nothing." "It proves everything." He walked toward her. "Your real mother was Elena Astor. Sister of Eleanor Astor. The Astor family. Fifty billion dollars. The biggest fortune in New York." Aria laughed. It came out shaky and wrong. "You're insane. I'm a waitress from Queens. My dad fixes cars." "Your dad found you in a church when you were three months old. A baby wrapped in a cashmere blanket with an Astor family crest embroidered in gold." Christian's voice was flat. "He raised you as his own because he was a good man. Because he loved you. But the truth is you were stolen. Kidnapped. And someone has been looking for you for twenty-one years." Aria pressed her hands to her face. The room felt too small. Too bright. Too much. "Stop. Stop talking." "Aria-" "I said stop!" She looked up, and her eyes were wet. "You're telling me my whole life is a lie? That my dad-the man who raised me, who taught me to ride a bike, who worked double shifts so I could go to school-he's not my dad?" "He's your father in every way that matters." Christian's voice softened, just slightly. "Blood doesn't make family." "Then why does it matter to you?" she demanded. "Why do you care who my blood is? Why did you hunt me down in that café and offer me a million dollars?" Christian was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded photograph. He handed it to her. It was a picture of two men. Young. Smiling. Arms around each other's shoulders. "Who are they?" "The man on the left is my father. Richard Knight." Christian pointed to the other. "The man on the right is your mother's husband. Marcus Astor." Aria stared at the photo. The man on the right had her eyes. The same dark brown. The same shape. "That's..." "Your birth father." Christian took the photo back. "He died the same night your mother did. A fire. The police said it was an accident. I don't believe them." "My parents were... murdered?" "I think so. And I think the person who did it is still out there." He met her eyes. "That's why I need a wife. My grandfather's will states I inherit Knight Corp and the Astor estate holdings only if I'm married by my thirtieth birthday. I have exactly sixty days left. If I don't marry, the company goes to my uncle. A man who has been trying to destroy my family for thirty years." "So you picked me. The lost Astor heiress." Aria laughed bitterly. "Because if you marry me, you get my family's fortune too." "No." Christian grabbed her shoulders. "Because if I marry you, I can protect you. And together, we can find out who killed our families." His hands were warm. His face was so close she could see the faint scar above his eyebrow. The tired lines around his eyes. "You could have told me this from the beginning," she whispered. "You wouldn't have believed me." "I still don't believe you." "That's fine." He released her. "Belief isn't required. Cooperation is." He walked to the door and held it open. "Now. Get dressed. We have a wedding to plan." --- Two hours later, Aria sat in the back of a black SUV, staring out the window as the city blurred past. Christian sat beside her, typing on his phone. "I thought we were going shopping," she said. "We are. But first, we're meeting my lawyer." "Why?" "To sign a prenup." Aria turned to stare at him. "A prenup? You're already my husband on paper and now you want a prenup?" "The contract you signed is binding. But it doesn't cover what happens if we actually divorce." He didn't look up from his phone. "If you leave me, you walk away with nothing. The million dollars reverts to my estate. You get no claim to Knight Corp, no claim to the Astor fortune, no claim to anything." "That's insane. That's-" She sputtered. "That's completely one-sided!" "That's business." He finally looked at her. "And this, Aria, is a business arrangement." "I hate you." "Good. Hate is simpler than love." He went back to his phone. "Hate keeps people alive." The SUV stopped outside a glass skyscraper. Christian got out and walked around to her door. He opened it and held out his hand. Aria stared at him. "I'm not taking your hand." "Everyone is watching." She looked. People on the sidewalk. Doormen. Security cameras. A woman with a camera phone. "I don't care." "You should." He leaned down, his voice low. "If Victor sees us fighting, he'll know we're faking. If he knows we're faking, he'll know you're vulnerable. And if you're vulnerable..." "He'll get to my father." Aria felt sick. "Exactly." Christian held out his hand again. "Smile, Mrs. Knight. You're madly in love with me." She wanted to hit him. She wanted to run. But she thought of her father, connected to machines, running out of time. She took his hand. The smile she gave him was a little too bright. A little too fake. But Christian's face softened, just slightly. And for one strange moment, he looked at her like she was the most important person in the world. "Good girl," he murmured. "I will kill you in your sleep," she whispered back, still smiling. "Promises, promises." --- The lawyer was a severe woman named Helen who looked at Aria like she was gum on the bottom of her shoe. "So you're the wife," Helen said. "Interesting choice." "Interesting is one word for it," Aria muttered. "Sign here. Here. And here." Helen slid the papers across the table. Aria picked up the pen. Then she stopped. "What happens if Christian breaks the contract?" Helen blinked. "Excuse me?" "The contract says if I break the rules, I pay him back. What if he breaks the rules? What if he cheats? What if he hurts me?" Christian's head turned. His eyes narrowed. "There are no such provisions," Helen said stiffly. "Then I'm not signing." Aria put the pen down. "Add a clause. If Christian cheats, he pays me five million. If he harms me physically or emotionally, he pays me ten million and I get full custody of any... future children." The room went silent. Christian stood up slowly. "Aria. A word. Outside." He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the hallway. His grip was tight but not painful. "Are you trying to undermine me?" His voice was low, furious. "No. I'm trying to protect myself." She yanked her arm free. "You think I don't see what this is? You're a shark. You saw a desperate girl and you saw an opportunity. You've been taking advantage of me from the second you saw me." "I have been trying to save your life!" "I didn't ask you to save my life! I asked you to leave me alone!" Her voice cracked. "But you didn't. You couldn't. Because I'm useful to you. I'm a key to a fortune and a weapon against your enemies. So fine. I'll be your weapon. But even weapons need insurance." Christian stared at her. His jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth. "You want your clause?" he said finally. "Fine. I'll have it added." Aria's mouth dropped open. "Really?" "Really." He stepped closer. "But here's what you're not getting: if I go down, you go down with me. My enemies become your enemies. My danger becomes your danger. You are mine now, Aria. Only mine. And the day you forget that..." "I won't forget." "Good." He turned and walked back into the office. Aria followed, but her hands were shaking. When they walked out of the building an hour later, the contract amended and her signature on the paper, the paparazzi were waiting. Christian pulled her close. His arm wrapped around her waist. His lips found her ear. "Smile. And look at me like you love me." "Why?" "Because Victor is here." Aria's heart stopped. She looked around, past the cameras, past the reporters. And there he was. Victor Cruz. Standing in the crowd. Smiling at her. Christian tilted her chin up. "Look at me. Not him." "He's-" "Look at me, Aria." She looked. And Christian kissed her. It was not gentle. Not sweet. It was fierce, desperate, like he was claiming her in front of the entire world. His hands tangled in her hair. His body pressed against hers. When he pulled back, she couldn't breathe. "Now everyone knows," he said, loud enough for the cameras to hear. "You're mine." CLIFFHANGER: He pulled her toward the car, but Aria looked back. Victor was gone. In his place, a woman. Tall. Blonde. Expensive. She was holding a sign. One word, written in red lipstick: LIAR. And the woman was staring directly at Christian with tears streaming down her face. Christian froze. His face went white. "No," he whispered. "Not her. Anyone but her."