Sunlight hit Aria's face. She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in a pillow that smelled like... him.
She sat up. She was in the bed. Harland was gone.
Panic flared for a second, then she saw him. He was in the corner, standing in front of an easel. He was moving a brush across a canvas, but he stopped when he heard her move.
He quickly threw a cloth over the painting.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," Aria rubbed her eyes. "What were you painting?"
"Abstract," he said quickly. "It's ugly. Don't look."
Aria stretched. The loft looked different in the daylight. The furniture was mismatched, but the armchair in the corner looked like genuine mid-century modern.
"Harland," she said. "How much is the rent here?"
He paused. "Two thousand."
"In Brooklyn? For this space?" Aria frowned. "That's impossible."
"Landlord is a friend," Harland said, wiping his hands on a rag. "I watch the place for him."
"Okay," Aria stood up. "I'm paying half. One thousand. Once I get a job."
"You don't have to-"
"Yes, I do," she said firmly. "We are partners. Roommates. I pull my weight."
Harland looked at her. He seemed amused. "Fine. One thousand."
Aria grabbed her notebook. "I need to budget. Utilities, food... oh! I need to send the marriage certificate to Pippa. She's freaking out."
She took a picture of the document, carefully folding it so Harland's last name-Wheeler-was covered by her thumb. She only showed "Harland" and the date.
She sent it via the burner phone.
It's real. I'm safe.
Pippa replied instantly. OMG. Is he hot?
Aria looked at Harland. He was wearing a tight grey t-shirt that clung to his chest. His arms were defined.
He's okay. For a starving artist.
Harland's phone buzzed. He checked it.
"I have to go," he said. "Delivery job. Moving some... sculptures."
"Good luck!" Aria said. "I'm going to apply for jobs at firms. Even if I have to start as an intern."
Harland grabbed his jacket. "Don't sell yourself short."
He walked out.
Aria sat down at the table. She opened her laptop. She tried to log into her bank account to check her remaining balance.
ACCESS DENIED. CONTACT ISSUER.
She tried her credit card portal.
ACCOUNT SUSPENDED.
Eugenia.
Aria closed her eyes. She had zero dollars. Just the cash in her purse.
"Okay," she whispered. "I have hands. I have a brain."
She opened a job site. Junior Architect. Draftsman. Barista. She applied to them all.
Downstairs, Harland walked three blocks away to a nondescript private garage. He slid into the back seat of a Maybach parked inside. Silas was waiting.
"Sir," Silas handed him a garment bag.
Harland pulled the curtains shut. He stripped off the t-shirt and jeans, changing into a bespoke Brioni suit. He tied the silk tie with practiced ease.
"The board meeting is in twenty minutes," Silas said, watching him in the rearview mirror. "Does your wife know you're the majority shareholder of the company trying to buy her father's debt?"
"No," Harland said, checking his cufflinks. "And Silas, one more thing. Contact our people at the City Clerk's office. Put a temporary encryption lock on our marriage record. Make it inaccessible to public searches for the next six months. She won't know why, but I can't have anyone connecting the name Wheeler to her yet."
"This is dangerous, Harland."
"Drive," Harland said.
