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.

Alek pulled his gaze away from the door. He shut his encrypted laptop. He walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out an older, slightly worn suit.

He put it on but left the tie off. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He looked in the mirror and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up to look stressed and defeated.

He walked out of the study. As he passed the master bedroom, he stomped his feet slightly to make sure she heard him.

"I'm going to see the bankruptcy lawyers," he called out.

Emma looked up from her screen. She saw his messy hair and tired posture. A pang of sympathy hit her chest.

"Be careful out there," she said softly.

Alek's jaw tightened. He looked away quickly, muttered a response, and walked out the front door.

He took the elevator down. He didn't walk toward the subway. Instead, he turned down a blind alleyway. A black, bulletproof SUV was idling in the shadows. He climbed into the back seat.

Dale handed him a tablet. The screen displayed Emma's live web browsing history.

"She's selling her bags on secondhand sites," Dale said, sounding confused. "And she's looking for freelance writing gigs."

Alek swiped down the screen. His finger stopped on the most recent activity. She had just added Sterling Astor-Vance's email to her block list.

Alek's eyes flickered. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. She was actually cutting ties.

"Sterling has been running his mouth at the clubs about your bankruptcy," Dale warned. "Want me to handle him?"

Alek raised a hand. "Let the clown perform a little longer. Focus all resources on the Somnium VR underground tests."

The heavy SUV pulled out of the alley and headed toward the Nevada transit hub.

Back in the apartment, Emma finished submitting her resume. She stretched her arms over her head. Her back popped.

Her throat felt dry. She went to the kitchen, but the milk was gone. She decided to go downstairs for a coffee.

She threw on a cheap white sweater and a pair of jeans. She tied her hair into a messy bun and grabbed her keys.

The elevator took her down to the lobby. She walked across the marble floor and pushed through the revolving glass doors.

A loud, obnoxious engine roar echoed off the buildings. Pedestrians turned to look.

A bright red Porsche 911 parked illegally right in front of the building. The door swung open. A man in a custom-tailored suit stepped out.

Emma squinted against the wind. She recognized the blonde hair and arrogant face. It was Sterling.

Sterling pulled off his sunglasses. He looked at Emma's plain sweater. Fake pity washed over his face.

He walked toward her with his arms wide open. "Oh, my poor Emma."

Emma's stomach turned. She took a quick step to the side. Sterling's arms grasped empty air.

He dropped his arms, looking awkward. He looked her up and down and clicked his tongue. "Alek actually lets you walk around looking like this?"

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were cold. "What do you want?"

Sterling stepped closer. He lowered his voice. "I know Alek is finished. Divorce him. I'll rent you a place on the Upper East Side today."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. His thumb rubbed against her skin. "We can go back to how things were."

Emma yanked her arm back with violent force. Her skin burned where he had touched her. Her wrist turned red.

She took a large step back to create distance. "Show some respect. I am a married woman."

Sterling's face hardened. His ego was bruised. He let out a nasty laugh. "Don't play the saint with me. Alek is worse than a beggar right now."