The tires of the Porsche squealed against the polished concrete as Aryanna whipped into her reserved spot in the underground garage of the Central Park penthouse. The first hints of dawn were breaking over the East River when she finally returned.
She killed the engine.
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. Three rapid text messages from JPMorgan Chase.
She picked it up. The bright screen burned her tired eyes.
Notice: Your family trust account has been frozen.
Notice: Black Card ending in 4091 declined.
Notice: Black Card ending in 8823 declined.
A second later, an email notification popped up from the Garza Family Legal Department. Her 2% shares in the family corporation had been forcibly revoked.
Aryanna stared at the "Insufficient Funds" warning on her banking app. A dark, mocking smile curled her lips. Damian moved fast. He was making sure she had absolutely nothing left to run with.
She pushed the car door open and walked to the private elevator. She pressed the button for the penthouse. The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected her face. Her left cheek was swollen and bright red from Damian's hand.
The doors slid open.
The penthouse was pitch black. The moment she stepped into the foyer, a smell hit her. It was the sharp, clinical scent of hospital disinfectant mixed with the heavy, floral notes of Chanel No. 5.
She slammed her hand against the wall switch.
The massive crystal chandelier flared to life, flooding the living room with blinding light.
Branden was sitting on the center of the leather sofa. His tie was pulled loose, his top button undone. Deep exhaustion lined his face, but his blue eyes were wide awake.
He squinted against the sudden light. His gaze swept over Aryanna's messy hair and pale face.
He stood up. His massive frame instantly dominated the room.
"Where the hell have you been all night?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
The smell of Kaylen's perfume on his clothes made Aryanna's stomach heave. She felt physically sick.
She ignored him. She walked straight past him to the marble wet bar, grabbed a glass, and filled it with ice water to wash down the nausea.
Branden's jaw tightened. He hated being ignored. He closed the distance between them in three long strides and grabbed her wrist. His grip was entirely too tight.
"The condom stunt was over the line," Branden warned, his voice dropping an octave. "I will not let you turn this marriage into a joke for your socialite friends."
Aryanna violently yanked her arm out of his grip.
The ice water sloshed out of the glass, splashing directly onto his custom suit jacket, leaving a dark, spreading stain.
She tilted her head up, meeting his furious blue eyes with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"You want to talk about a joke?" Aryanna sneered. She pointed a shaking finger at his collar. "You have another woman's lipstick on your neck. If you're going to cheat, at least learn how to wipe your mouth."
Branden froze. His hand instinctively went to his collar.
His face darkened. The lipstick was from a medical emergency with Kaylen at the hospital, a situation so complex and classified he was forbidden to speak of it. But he couldn't say that. The NDA locked the words in his throat.
His silence felt like a physical knife twisting in Aryanna's chest. He wasn't denying it. He was protecting the other woman.
Aryanna took a slow step backward, putting physical space between them.
She looked at the man she had desperately loved for two years. The man she thought she could warm up. He looked like a total stranger. She was just so tired.
Branden's eyes suddenly dropped to her face. He finally noticed the angry red welt on her left cheek.
His eyebrows pulled together. Without thinking, he reached his hand out, his fingers brushing the air near her bruised skin.
Aryanna flinched violently. She jerked her head away as if his touch carried a deadly disease.
Branden's hand stopped in mid-air. A sharp, unfamiliar pain pricked his chest, but he quickly buried it under a layer of annoyance.
He dropped his hand. He adjusted his silver cufflink in a sharp, jerky motion.
"Go wash your face and go to sleep," Branden ordered coldly. "You need to look presentable for the charity gala tomorrow night."
Aryanna stared at his arrogant posture. A laugh bubbled up from her throat. It started small, then grew into a loud, hollow sound that echoed terribly in the empty apartment.
She stopped laughing abruptly. Her eyes were dead.
"I am not playing pretend with you anymore, Branden."
Branden sighed heavily. He assumed this was another one of her dramatic tantrums, perhaps over some perceived slight from the night before.
"I'm not dealing with this tonight," he muttered, ripping his tie completely off. He turned his back on her and walked toward the master bedroom.
Aryanna stood in the dim light of the living room, watching his broad shoulders disappear down the hall.
Her nails dug into her palms one last time. She knew exactly what she had to do.
