Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, aggressive and blinding.
Aria groaned. A pounding headache split her skull in two. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
She stretched, her skin brushing against sheets that were impossibly soft. High-thread-count. Expensive.
Confusion set in. This wasn't Ignacio's apartment. The ceiling was too high. The smell was different-clean, sterile, masculine.
She sat up. The room spun. The decor was minimalist. Grey tones. Sharp angles.
Memories flashed in her mind like a broken film reel. The rain. The speakeasy. The man. The... chapel?
She looked down at her left hand.
A silver ring glinted back at her. It was heavy. Real.
"Oh my god," she gasped. She buried her face in her hands. "What did I do?"
The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of cedar and soap.
Burke walked out. He was wearing only a low-slung white towel.
Aria's breath hitches. The man was sculpted. Water droplets ran down his chest, tracing the definition of his abs. He looked like a statue brought to life, if statues could look dangerous.
Burke smirked, towel-drying his hair. "Morning, wife."
Aria scrambled backward, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Who are you?" she squeaks. Panic rose in her throat.
"Your husband," Burke said calmly. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "You proposed, remember?"
Aria's mind raced. He was too good-looking. This apartment... it was a penthouse.
A terrible thought struck her. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't a businessman. He was a professional. A high-end escort. A "kept man."
This apartment probably belonged to a client. Or he rented it to impress gullible women.
Shame washed over her, hot and prickly. She had bought a husband.
Aria jumped out of bed. She was fully clothed in her wrinkled silk pajamas.
"I... I need to go," she stammered. She looked around for her shoes.
Burke moved. He blocked her path to the door. His expression shifted from casual to amused.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked. "We haven't discussed payment."
Aria froze. Payment. She knew it. It was transactional.
She checked her pockets. Empty.
"I don't have money right now," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Burke stepped closer. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
"I don't work for free, sweetheart."
Aria felt threatened, but mostly humiliated.
She assumed a defensive posture, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'll pay you. Whatever you want. Just let me leave."
Burke studied her fear. He realized what she was thinking. She thought he was shaking her down.
He decided to lean into it. It was the perfect leverage.
