he doorman's eyes lingered on the hickey on her neck.

She pulled the collar up and practically ran to the elevator.

Illa was waiting in her doorway before the elevator doors even opened.

She was wearing a silk kimono that cost more than Evie's rent, her face a mask of tragic anticipation.

"Inside," Illa commanded, grabbing Evie's arm and hauling her into the foyer. "Shoes off. Spill."

She snatched the envelope from Evie's hand before she could even speak. Illa ripped it open, pulling out the certificate with the precision of a forensic scientist.

Her eyes scanned the paper. Then they widened. They kept widening until Evie thought they might pop out of Illa's skull.

"Everleigh Roman and... Williams?" Illa whispered, her finger tracing the last name.

The first name was a dark, ugly blotch. "What is this, a wine stain? I can't read his first name. But Williams?"

Evie collapsed onto Illa's plush white sofa. "I know. He signed the note 'G.' I've been calling him Gus in my head. It sounds like a grandfather's name. Or an antique dealer."

Illa looked up at Evie, her face pale. "Evie. Do you know who Williams is?"

"There are a thousand Williamses in New York," Evie said, rubbing her temples. "He's probably a hedge fund manager or something. He had a nice room."

Illa let out a breath that sounded like a deflating tire. "Right. Right. Of course." She laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. "For a second, I thought... but no. That's impossible."

"Thought what?"

"My tyrannical older brother," Illa said, shuddering. "His name starts with an A, not a G. And besides, we don't call him by his first name. We call him 'Sir' or 'Please Don't Kill Me'. He's a shark. If he got married, it would be on the front page of the Wall Street Journal, and the bride would have been vetted by a committee of lawyers."

"See?" Evie said, feeling a wave of relief. "Not him. My Gus left me a note. It was polite."

"My brother doesn't know the meaning of the word polite," Illa confirmed. She walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the park. "He lives right there. Next building."

She pointed to the penthouse terrace adjacent to hers. It was separated by a gap of maybe twenty feet, close enough to throw a rock, far enough to require a bridge.

"That's his lair," Illa said. "Don't look at it too long. You might turn to stone."

Evie shivered, pulling the trench coat tighter. "Well, I'm glad I didn't marry him."

"You can stay here," Illa said, turning back to Evie. "Your ex-boyfriend Darrin is probably camping out at your apartment. You're homeless and married. You need a base of operations."

"But... your brother is right there."

"He's busy," Illa dismissed. "He's in the middle of a hostile takeover of some tech firm. He hasn't stepped on that terrace in months. You'll be safe."

She led Evie to the guest room. It was beautiful, airy, and unfortunately, the room closest to the neighboring terrace.

"Get settled," Illa said. "I'll get you some honey water for that hangover."

As she left, Evie's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Awake? Headache?

Her heart skipped a beat. It was him. Gus.

Evie typed back furiously. Who are you? We need to talk. I want a divorce.

The reply came instantly. Three dots dancing on the screen.

Divorce isn't on the schedule today. Drink some water. I'm out of town. We'll talk when I'm back.

Evie stared at the screen. The audacity.

I am not waiting, she typed. This is a mistake.

You didn't think it was a mistake last night, he replied.

Evie's face burned. She threw the phone onto the bed just as Illa walked in with a steaming mug.

"Who are you fighting with?" Illa asked, eyeing the phone.

"No one," Evie said quickly. "Just... Gus."

Illa rolled her eyes. "Gus. Sounds like a plumber. Or a golden retriever."

Night fell quickly in the city. After a dinner of takeout sushi that Evie could barely keep down, she retreated to the guest room. She needed air.

She slid open the glass door to the balcony. The city hummed below, a river of light and noise. The air was cool, biting at her bare legs beneath the oversized shirt she was still wearing.

Evie looked to the left. The neighboring terrace was dark, a slab of concrete and shadow. Illa said he was a tyrant. A monster.

Then, a spark.

A tiny, orange glow flared in the darkness of the other balcony.

Evie froze.

A figure detached itself from the shadows.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. He was leaning against the railing, facing out toward the park, a cigarette in his hand.

The smoke drifted toward her, carrying that scent. Cedarwood. Rain.

Her breath hitched. The silhouette... the way he stood, weight on one leg, shoulders tense... it felt familiar. Viscerally familiar.

He turned his head.

Evie couldn't see his face, just the sharp angle of a jaw and the glint of eyes reflecting the city lights. He was looking right at her.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in her chest. Was that Illa's brother? Or was it...

No. It couldn't be.

Evie stepped back, stumbling over the doorframe, and yanked the curtains shut. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"It's just the brother," she told herself. "Just the scary neighbor."

Her phone buzzed on the bed.

Sleep well, Evie. The neighbors can be loud.

She stared at the text, the blood draining from her face.

He knew. He knew where she was.

The next morning, Everleigh was sitting at Illa's kitchen island, nursing a coffee, when her phone vibrated again.

It wasn't a text this time. It was a notification.

Invitation to download: Enigma.

"What is that?" Illa asked, leaning over Evie's shoulder, a piece of toast hanging from her mouth.

"I don't know. An app invite."

Illa squinted,"Enigma? That's military-grade encryption. The server is in a bunker in Switzerland or something. My brother uses it. All the paranoid Wall Street guys do."

A text from Gus popped up on Evie's regular message app.

Standard texts aren't safe. Download this.

Evie frowned. "He's paranoid."

"He's rich," Illa corrected. "Download it."

Evie did. The interface was stark black and white.

No profile pictures. Just one contact listed: Gus.

I had your number changed, the first message read. To stop your ex from calling. The new SIM card is with the doorman.

Evie bristled. "He changed my number? Without asking?"

"Control freak," Illa muttered, chewing her toast. "Definitely rich."

Evie typed back. You have no right to control my life.

I have every right, came the reply. I'm your husband. And I hold grudges against men who make my wife cry.

Evie stared at the word wife. It looked alien on the screen.

Ten minutes later, the doorman delivered a small package. Inside was a brand new, top-of-the-line smartphone and a SIM card.

Evie swapped the cards. The silence was immediate. No more barrage of hate-texts from Darrin. It felt... lighter.

The Enigma app pinged.

To apologize for the unilateral decision, and to show sincerity, you need a ring.

Evie rolled her eyes. We are getting divorced. I don't need a ring.

As long as we are legally married, you wear my ring, he wrote. It's a matter of principle for me.

"A matter of principle?" Illa scoffed, reading over Evie's shoulder. "Okay, that's weirdly formal. Maybe he's a distant cousin? Like, a third cousin twice removed who owns a car dealership in Jersey?"

You're bossy, Evie typed.

A moment later, an audio file appeared in the chat.

She pressed play.

"Be good, Evie."

The voice was low, rough,It was the voice from the hotel room.

Evie's face went nuclear red.

Illa grabbed the phone. "Play it again."

She listened, her eyes widening. "Okay. That voice? That is the voice of a man who has never flown economy. That is a private jet voice."

She handed the phone back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's test him."

"Test him?"

"If he wants to buy you a ring, let him. We'll see if he's a Jersey car dealer or... something else." Illa grabbed Evie's phone and typed. Fine. But I want to pick it out.

Go ahead, Gus replied instantly. Send me the link.

Illa opened the browser on her iPad and went straight to Harry Winston.

"Illa, no!" Evie tried to grab the tablet. "That's insane."

"Hush," Illa swatted her hand away. "If he's a fake, he'll ghost you the second he sees the price. If he's real... well, you get a ring."

She didn't go to the engagement ring section. She went to High Jewelry. The stuff that didn't have prices listed, just "Price upon request."

"This is too much," Evie said, feeling dizzy as Illa scrolled past diamonds the size of grapes.

"It's a stress test," Illa insisted.

Next door, in a soundproofed study, Agustus Williams sat at the head of a mahogany table. Twelve men in suits were arguing about a merger.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He held up a hand. The room went instantly silent.

"Five minute recess," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He opened the app. He looked at the link Illa had sent. It was a generic page. He knew exactly what she was doing. Illa. His annoying, meddling little sister.

He opened his gallery and selected a photo he'd taken at a private viewing in Sotheby's last week.

Back in Illa's apartment, Evie's phone pinged.

An image loaded. It wasn't a link. It was a photo of a rough, uncut stone. It glowed with an inner, vibrant pink fire.

Do you like this one? the caption read. Or do you prefer it cut?

Illa gasped. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated shock. She dropped the toast.

"That..." She pointed a trembling finger at the screen. "That is a raw pink diamond. Evie, that's not from a website. That's from an auction catalog. A private one."

"Is it expensive?" Evie asked, feeling like a child.

Illa looked at her, her face deadly serious. "That stone? It could buy this entire building. Twice."

"It has to be a Google image," Illa said, her voice shaking slightly. "He's bluffing. He has to be."

She snatched Evie's phone and typed: Nice picture. Did you download it from Pinterest?

The three dots appeared immediately.

Cartier, Fifth Avenue. Ask for Jean-Luc,He's expecting you. Pick two,One for you, and one for the noisy friend.

Illa stared at the phone. "The noisy friend? Did he just call me the noisy friend?" Then her eyes lit up. "Wait. He said pick one for me?"

"I am not doing this," Evie said, standing up. "This feels like... like I'm being bought. I'm not a sugar baby."

It's a wedding ring, Evie, Gus texted, as if reading her mind. You are a wife, not a mistress. Go. Before I have security drag you there.

"He's bossy," Illa said, already running to her room to change. "I love him. Get dressed. We are going to Cartier."

An hour later, they stood in front of the Cartier Mansion.

Evie felt like an imposter in her jeans and blazer, but Illa marched in like she owned the place.

Before they could even approach the counter, a man in an impeccable suit materialized.

"Mrs. Williams?" he asked, bowing slightly to Evie.

Her stomach did a flip. "Uh, yes?"

"Mr. G has arranged everything. Please, follow me."

He led them past the tourists, past the glass cases, up the sweeping staircase to a private room that smelled of lilies and money. Champagne was already poured.

Jean-Luc donned white gloves and brought out two velvet trays.

"For the bride," he said, opening the first one.

A yellow diamond sat on the velvet. It was radiant cut, flanked by two white trillions. It looked like a captured piece of the sun. It was massive.

"A Canary diamond," Illa breathed. "Vivid fancy yellow. My god, Evie, the clarity..."

"And for the friend," Jean-Luc opened the second box. A pink diamond pendant. Smaller than the raw stone in the picture, but still exquisite.

"Mr. G said the yellow suits Mrs. Williams' warmth," Jean-Luc said smoothly. "And the pink is for... amusement."

Illa didn't care about the insult. She was already holding the pendant up to her neck. "He can call me whatever he wants. This is gorgeous."

Evie looked at the ring. "I can't wear this. It's too big."

"Mr. G insisted," Jean-Luc said. "He said if you don't take it, he will question my competence."

Emotional blackmail. Effective.

Evie slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Not just close-perfectly. A chill went down her spine. How did he know?

"It's beautiful," she whispered. For a second, the weight of the gold on her finger felt like an anchor. A promise.

The door to the VIP room opened.

"I demand to see the manager!"

Evie froze. That voice.

Darrin walked in, a blonde girl hanging off his arm. He stopped dead when he saw Evie.

"Everleigh?" He blinked, then his face twisted into a sneer. "What are you doing here? Applying for a janitor job?"

The blonde girl giggled. "Is this the ex who lived in your basement?"

Evie instinctively put her hand behind her back. She didn't want to engage.

But Illa stepped forward. She held up the pink diamond pendant, letting it catch the light. "Oh, sorry, is the glare bothering you? It's just so... flawless."

Darrin's eyes bulged. "Where did you get that?"

"Gift," Illa said breezily. "From Evie's husband."

"Husband?" Darrin laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You mean the guy she picked up at the bar? What did he give her? A cubic zirconia?"

Jean-Luc stepped forward, his face like stone. "Sir, please lower your voice. You are disturbing our VIP clients."

"VIP?" Darrin sputtered. "She's broke! She has nothing!"

Evie felt a surge of anger. Not for her, but for the man who had sent her here. Gus wasn't nothing.

She brought her hand out from behind her back. The yellow diamond caught the overhead lights and practically exploded with brilliance. It cast a literal reflection on the wall.

Darrin stopped breathing. The blonde girl's jaw dropped.

"My husband," Evie said, her voice steady, "has excellent taste. And unlike you, he doesn't need to shout to be heard."

Darrin looked from the ring to Evie, his face turning a mottled shade of red.

He knew jewelry.

He knew what that stone was worth. It was worth more than his life.

"You..." he stammered.

"Jean-Luc," Evie said, turning to the manager. "Could we have some privacy?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Williams." Jean-Luc gestured to security. "Sir, please escort these guests out."

As Darrin was ushered out, sputtering, Evie looked down at the ring. It felt like armor.

She pulled out her phone.

Ring received. It fits. Thank you... husband.