Alek's eyebrows pulled together in a hard line. He looked her up and down as if she were a complete stranger.

He let out a harsh laugh. He planted both hands on the marble counter and leaned forward. His massive frame cast a shadow over her.

"What kind of game are you playing now?" he demanded.

Emma stepped back from the sheer force of his presence. The small of her back hit the cold edge of the kitchen cabinets.

She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. She looked straight into his eyes.

"You need someone to help manage your life right now," she stated evenly.

Alek looked at her like she had lost her mind. He stood up straight.

"You don't even know how to use the microwave," he mocked.

Heat rushed to Emma's cheeks. She pointed toward the spotless living room.

"I just cleaned the entire apartment," she argued.

Alek followed her finger. He stared at the clean room, his jaw clenched tighter. This level of order was beyond her. A calculated performance, but how? His eyes narrowed, scanning her for any clue.

He lost whatever little patience he had left. He pushed the pen closer to her edge of the counter.

"This is your last chance. My creditors will be at the door any minute," he warned.

Emma stared at the bank card. She knew the balance was only a few thousand dollars. If she took that money and left, she wouldn't survive a month in New York.

She reached out. Her hand went right past the expensive fountain pen. She grabbed the thick stack of divorce papers.

Alek's tense jawline relaxed slightly. He thought she was finally giving up.

Emma gripped the top of the pages. She pulled her hands apart with brutal force. The crisp sound of tearing paper ripped through the quiet kitchen. She ripped the agreement right down the middle.

Alek's pupils shrank. He stared in absolute shock as the torn pieces fluttered down onto the marble island like snow.

Emma kept tearing. She ripped the thick paper again and again until it was nothing but useless shreds. She completely cut off her own retreat.

She swept the pieces off the counter and into the trash can. She dusted off her hands and turned back to him.

"The marriage vows said for richer or for poorer," she said.

Alek stared at her. The vows hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just glared at her.

The heavy silence stretched between them. Then, a low, distinct rumble came from Alek's stomach.

A faint trace of red crawled up the back of Alek's neck. He quickly turned his back to her to hide the physical reaction.

Emma caught the subtle shift in his posture. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.

"Let's go down to the convenience store and get something to eat," she suggested.

"I don't need your charity," Alek snapped coldly. He walked away from the kitchen and headed straight for the master bedroom.

Emma didn't try to stop him. She grabbed her phone and her coat and walked quickly to the entryway.

She slipped on a pair of flat shoes and pushed the front door open. The cold draft from the hallway hit her face and cleared her head.

She stepped into the elevator and watched the numbers drop. Her mind raced, calculating how to buy the most filling food with the tiny amount of change left on her phone.

Inside the master bedroom, Alek heard the heavy front door click shut. He immediately walked over to his security monitors and pulled up the hallway feed.

He watched Emma's back as she walked away without looking back. He let out a cold scoff. He was sure she couldn't handle the poverty and was running away.

He ripped his tie off his neck. He walked into the bathroom and stared at his exhausted reflection. He needed to plan his next move.

Emma walked into the 24-hour bodega down the street. She stood in front of the shelves, carefully comparing the prices of bread and eggs.

She grabbed a loaf of whole wheat bread, a carton of eggs, a pack of bacon, and a discounted jug of milk. She carried them to the register.

She used the digital wallet on her phone to pay. She watched the balance drop to nearly zero. A tight knot of anxiety formed in her stomach.

She carried the plastic bags out of the store. The freezing New York wind whipped through her thin coat. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked steadily back toward the apartment building.

Emma walked into the grand lobby carrying the cheap plastic bags. The night shift security guard stared at her. His mouth hung open. He was used to seeing the snobby socialite carry nothing but designer clutches.

Emma gave him a polite nod and a small smile. The guard scrambled to his feet and pressed the elevator button for her.

The elevator doors slid open on the penthouse floor. Emma walked quietly down the hall and punched the code into the door.

The master bedroom door was shut tight. No light spilled from underneath it. She figured Alek was asleep. She walked softly into the kitchen.

She loaded the groceries into the empty refrigerator. Seeing the shelves hold actual food made her chest feel a little lighter. She patted her hands together and went to the guest room.

The next morning, bright sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Emma woke up early. She tied a mismatched haute couture silk scarf around her waist to use as an apron.

She pulled the eggs and bacon from the fridge. She poured a small amount of olive oil into a skillet.

She dropped the bacon into the hot pan. It sizzled loudly. The rich, salty smell of frying meat quickly filled the cold apartment.

In the master bedroom, the smell reached Alek's nose. His eyebrows pulled together. His eyes snapped open.

He sat up fast. His first thought was that an intruder had broken in. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a heavy stun gun.

He stepped barefoot onto the hardwood floor. He moved silently toward the bedroom door. He peeked through the small crack.

He saw Emma standing at the stove. She was wearing her loungewear and the silk scarf. She expertly flipped a frying egg with a spatula.

Alek froze. The hand holding the stun gun slowly dropped to his side. Disbelief washed over his face.

Emma turned off the burner. She slid the perfect sunny-side-up eggs and crispy bacon onto a plate. She turned around to grab a fork.

She nearly dropped the plate. Alek was standing in the shadows of the hallway. Her heart jumped into her throat.

Alek quickly hid the stun gun behind his back. He stepped out of the shadows. His face was a mask of cold anger.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Emma forced her breathing to slow down. She carried the plate to the dining table.

"Making an American breakfast," she said lightly.

Alek pulled out a chair and sat down. He stared at the perfectly cooked food.

"You couldn't even boil water before. When did you learn to cook?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Emma's stomach did a flip. She knew she had hit a blind spot in the original owner's identity. Her brain scrambled for an excuse.

She avoided his sharp gaze. She poured milk into a glass.

"We had maids before, so I didn't need to. But I watched a lot of cooking videos," she lied.

Alek let out a cold laugh. He clearly didn't buy the terrible excuse. But he picked up his fork. He needed to taste this suspicious meal.

He cut a piece of bacon and put it in his mouth. The crunch was perfect. The heat was managed flawlessly. This was not the work of someone who just watched videos.

He chewed slowly. He looked up and stared hard at Emma. The suspicion in his chest grew heavier.

Emma felt her palms start to sweat under his intense stare. She rubbed her wrist.

"I need to go organize the closet," she blurted out. She turned and practically ran out of the dining room.

Alek watched her run away. He swallowed the food. He quickly finished the rest of the food on the plate. He hated to admit it, but it was the best meal he had eaten in months. He stood up, his mind racing with unsettling theories, and walked down the hall to step into his study. Locking the heavy mahogany door behind him, he stood in the secure silence of the room. He pulled out his phone and typed an encrypted message to his head of security, Dale.

The message read: Check if Emma suffered any recent trauma or contacted anyone unusual.

He hit send.

Emma locked herself in the massive walk-in closet. She leaned back against the heavy wooden door and exhaled a long breath. She had barely survived that interrogation.

She turned around. An entire wall of Hermes and Chanel bags stared back at her. Her eyes lit up.

She reached out and grabbed a Himalayan Birkin. She didn't see leather; she saw stacks of hundred-dollar bills. A plan formed in her mind.

Emma walked over to the display shelves. She ran her fingers over the expensive leather. She did the math in her head, estimating their secondhand market value.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. She downloaded The RealReal app.

She grabbed a pristine Chanel Gabrielle bag and carried it over to the window. She moved around until the natural light hit the leather perfectly.

She snapped several photos. She made sure to get clear shots of the hardware, the dust bag, and the serial number.

She opened the app and started typing. She used her past life's knowledge of luxury goods to write a highly persuasive product description.

She hit publish. She repeated the process. Within an hour, she had listed three of the original owner's most prized Hermes bags.

She was adjusting the angle for the fourth bag when footsteps approached. Alek stopped in the doorway of the closet. He was holding an empty coffee mug.

He looked down at the bags scattered on the floor. His jaw clenched tight.

"Are you so desperate for attention that you're showing off online?" he asked coldly.

Emma didn't even look up. She adjusted the focus on her camera.

"I'm selling them. We need cash for living expenses," she replied calmly.

Alek's grip on the coffee mug tightened. The original Emma would have starved to death before selling a single bag. This behavior completely shattered his understanding of her.

He scoffed. "A drop in the bucket," he mocked. He turned and walked toward his study. But his mind was racing. The suspicion was eating at him.

Emma ignored his insult. She kept listing the items. Her phone pinged loudly. The first bag had sold in minutes.

She stared at the thousands of dollars pending in her account. A genuine smile broke across her face for the first time since she woke up in this body.

She left the closet and went back to the master bedroom. She opened the original owner's MacBook. She needed to find freelance work.

There was no password. She opened the browser and searched for freelance copywriting platforms.

She started deleting old files to clear up storage space. She clicked on a hidden folder named "Memories."

Dozens of photos popped up on the screen. They showed the original Emma clinging to a blonde man on a yacht.

Emma recognized the man from the book's plot. It was Sterling Astor-Vance, a Wall Street trust fund kid and her ex-boyfriend.

A wave of disgust hit her stomach. These photos were a ticking time bomb for her marriage. She hit 'Select All' without a second thought.

She pressed delete. She emptied the trash bin. She completely wiped the dangerous history from the hard drive.

She opened a new tab to check the local news. An article about Alek's bankruptcy was trending. Right below it, in the comment section, an arrogant remark caught her eye-posted by Sterling Astor-Vance. Disgusted, she navigated back to her inbox, only to find a new email sitting at the top of her unread list. The sender was Sterling.

The subject line read: Heard he went broke. Meet me at the usual spot tonight. I'll save you.

Emma sneered at the screen. She clicked on the email, blocked the sender, and reported it as spam.

With the threat neutralized, she opened a Word document. She started typing up a marketing resume based on her own past experiences.

Down the hall in the study, Alek sat in front of his encrypted laptop. He was tracking his offshore funds. Dale Cooke's face appeared on a video call.

Dale looked serious. "The deep dive on Emma has started. No history of psychiatric issues so far."

Alek tapped his fingers against the mahogany desk. "Pull her recent communication logs and web browsing history."

Dale nodded. "Understood. Also, the old vultures in the Holden family are trying to lowball your core patents."

A vicious light flashed in Alek's eyes. "Feed them fake data. Keep throwing the bait until they choke on it."

He ended the call. He looked through the crack of the study door. He watched Emma typing furiously on her laptop. His eyes darkened with intense scrutiny.