Chapter 2 The Cold Ceo

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?"