The "loft" in Brooklyn was actually a raw industrial space with exposed brick and drafty windows. Harland unlocked the heavy metal door and kicked it open.

"Home sweet home," he said.

Aria walked in. It was sparse. A mattress on the floor, a few easels covered in canvas, a small kitchenette. It was cold.

"I'm sorry," Aria said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I shouldn't have said that. Now they know."

Harland put the groceries on the counter. "So what? It's the truth."

Aria pulled out her phone. Her notifications were a solid block of white text.

Trending: AriaYoungMarried HomelessHusband

She opened Instagram. Her DMs were flooded with hate. You're pathetic. Did you pay him? Corina is so much prettier.

Her hands started to shake. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in.

"Stop," Harland said.

He was standing over her. He reached down and plucked the phone from her hands.

"Hey!"

"Garbage belongs in the trash," he said. He looked at the screen for one second, his eyes darkening, then he tossed the phone onto the mattress. "They want to hurt you. Why are you letting them?"

"Because they're my world!" Aria cried, tears spilling over. "My connections, my reputation... Julian will ruin me."

"Julian is a gnat," Harland said. "And that world? It's toxic. Do you want to be Aria, or do you want to be the Young family punching bag?"

Aria wiped her eyes. She looked at the phone. It buzzed again.

"I don't know how to be anyone else," she whispered.

"Start by deleting it," Harland said. "All of it. Disappear."

Aria stared at him. "Delete... everything?"

"Burn it down," he said. "Start fresh."

Aria picked up the phone. Her thumb hovered over the Delete Account button on Instagram. Her heart pounded. This was her history. Her photos. Her life.

She pressed it.

Are you sure?

Yes.

She went to Facebook. Twitter. She paused when she got to LinkedIn. Her professional life, her portfolio, her connections to the industry... that was different. She couldn't erase that if she ever wanted to work again.

She took a deep breath and changed the privacy settings to their maximum, making her profile visible only to her direct connections. She deactivated the account instead of deleting it, a temporary severing of ties. With every click, the tightness in her chest loosened.

When she was done, she looked at Harland.

"Now the SIM," he said.

Aria popped the tray open. She took out the small chip. She snapped it in half. It made a satisfying crack.

She threw the pieces into the trash can.

"I'm gone," she breathed. "I'm invisible."

Harland reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap-looking flip phone. "Here. Burner. Pre-paid. Nobody has this number except me."

Aria took it. It felt like a toy. "Thank you."

"Hungry?" Harland asked, turning to the kitchen. "I'll make that curry."

Aria watched him chop onions. His movements were precise, rhythmic.

"Harland?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you helping me? Really?"

He paused, the knife hovering over a carrot. "Because I know what it's like to be surrounded by sharks."

He didn't say anything else.

Back in the Young mansion, Julian threw his iPhone against the wall. It shattered.

"She deleted it," he screamed. "She's gone! I can't track her!"

Eugenia sipped her wine, looking bored. "Relax, darling. I just froze her credit cards. She'll be crawling back when she gets hungry."

In Brooklyn, Aria took a bite of the chicken curry. It was spicy, warm, and the best thing she had ever tasted.

Rain lashed against the large warehouse windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of neon. The loft was dark, lit only by a few candles Harland had found.

They sat on the rug, a bottle of cheap red wine between them.

Aria took a sip from a coffee mug. The wine was acidic, but it warmed her blood.

"I used to hate the rain," Aria said, staring at the window. "When I was little, Eugenia wouldn't let me in the main house if it was raining. She said I tracked mud. Corina could play in the puddles, but I had to wait in the garage until I was dry."

Harland swirled the wine in his glass. His face was in shadow. "She sounds like a witch."

"She is," Aria laughed, a bitter sound. "And Julian... he used to tell me I was lucky he put up with me. He said my designs were 'derivative.' That I had no eye."

Harland set his glass down. The sound was sharp against the wood floor.

"I saw your sketches," he said.

Aria froze. "What?"

"In your portfolio. When you dropped it at the bar," he lied. He had actually seen them when his team did due diligence on her family. "The Lloyd Center drafts."

"They're messy," Aria mumbled, looking down.

"They're brilliant," Harland said. His voice was firm. "The use of light? The structural tension? Julian is an idiot. He wouldn't know architecture if it fell on him."

Aria looked up. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Harland said. "You have a gift, Aria. They tried to bury it because they were threatened by it."

A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another. The dam broke.

She scrambled forward, dropping her mug, and buried her face in Harland's chest. She sobbed, her body shaking with years of suppressed grief.

Harland stiffened. He held his hands up for a second, unsure. Then, slowly, he lowered them. One hand settled on her back, the other on her hair.

He smelled of rain and something else-cedarwood and crisp linen. It was an expensive scent, incongruous with the setting, but Aria was too distraught to notice.

"They're garbage," Harland whispered into her hair. "Let them go."

Aria cried until she was empty. She stayed there, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It was slow, calm. It made her feel safe.

Eventually, her breathing evened out. She fell asleep right there on the rug, her head on his lap.

Harland looked down at her. Her face was pale, her eyelashes clumped together. She looked fragile.

He carefully scooped her up. She was light. He carried her to the mattress and laid her down, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

He walked to the window. He pulled out his encrypted phone.

"Silas," he said softly.

"Sir?"

"The Young construction project in Jersey. The one Julian is leading."

"Yes, sir."

"Pull the permits," Harland said. "Find the safety violations. I know they're cutting corners. Shut it down."

"That will cost them millions," Silas said.

"I want it to cost them everything," Harland said. "Make him busy. Make him suffer."

He hung up. He looked back at Aria sleeping on the floor. He knew he was crossing a line. He was supposed to be a neutral party.

But looking at her, he realized neutrality was no longer an option.

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.