Burke deposited Aria into the backseat of his Maybach. The leather was cool and smelled of new money.

Donato looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening slightly. It was the most emotion Burke had seen from his assistant in years.

"Where to, sir?"

"There's a twenty-four-hour chapel in New Jersey," Burke said, his voice flat. "Drive."

Donato didn't argue. He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

In the backseat, Aria leaned her head on Burke's shoulder. She was muttering to herself. "Revenge. Sweet revenge."

Burke pulled out his phone. He texted his legal team. Draft a digital NDA and a prenup. Standard protection. Send it now.

Aria began to play with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers were cold. She fumbled with the top button, her coordination shot.

Burke captured her hands in his. "Behave," he murmured against her hair. "Future Mrs..." He let his voice trail off, not finishing the name. She just giggled.

The car arrived at a tacky, neon-lit chapel an hour later. A plastic cupid fountain spat recirculated water near the entrance.

Burke shook Aria gently. "Wake up. Time to pay up."

Aria stumbled out of the car. She looked at the plastic statues and laughed. "It's perfect. Ideally hideous."

They entered. The officiant, a man with a stained tie, looked up from a magazine. He saw Burke's suit and straightened up immediately.

"We need a ceremony," Burke said. "Now."

He produced his ID. He reached into his pocket-Donato had handed him Aria's purse, recovered from the bar. He pulled out her ID. Aria Chaney.

He knew the name. Everyone in finance knew the name. Berg's stepdaughter.

The officiant rushed through the ceremony, intimidated by the sheer force of Burke's presence.

"Do you take this man?"

"I do," Aria said. She felt like she was floating. It was a dream. A weird, feverish dream.

"I do," Burke replied. His voice was heavy, anchoring her to the ground. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that burned.

He placed a simple silver band on her finger-he had taken it from his own pinky. It was loose, but it stayed.

They signed the papers. Burke slid the document in front of her, the text a meaningless blur in her drunken haze. "Sign here," he commanded, his finger tapping a blank line. Aria scrawled her name, the letters barely legible, not even glancing at the name printed beside hers: Burke Justice. Her mind was a fog of whiskey and rebellion; the legal print was just static.

Back in the car, the adrenaline crashed. Aria fell into a deep sleep before they even hit the Lincoln Tunnel.

Burke watched her sleeping face. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb.

"Home," he ordered. "The Penthouse. 432 Park."

Donato cleared his throat. "Sir. Is this wise? The Berg connection..."

Burke silenced him with a look in the rearview mirror. "She's mine now."

The car glided through the city, arriving at the ultra-luxury tower that pierced the clouds. Burke carried her through the private lobby, nodding to the security guard who knew better than to ask questions.

The elevator ascended ninety floors in silence.

He laid her on his king-sized bed. The city lights sprawled below them, a grid of diamonds.

Burke removed her shoes. He covered her with a duvet.

He stood by the window, looking at the reflection of his sleeping wife in the glass. He was plotting.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, aggressive and blinding.

Aria groaned. A pounding headache split her skull in two. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

She stretched, her skin brushing against sheets that were impossibly soft. High-thread-count. Expensive.

Confusion set in. This wasn't Ignacio's apartment. The ceiling was too high. The smell was different-clean, sterile, masculine.

She sat up. The room spun. The decor was minimalist. Grey tones. Sharp angles.

Memories flashed in her mind like a broken film reel. The rain. The speakeasy. The man. The... chapel?

She looked down at her left hand.

A silver ring glinted back at her. It was heavy. Real.

"Oh my god," she gasped. She buried her face in her hands. "What did I do?"

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of cedar and soap.

Burke walked out. He was wearing only a low-slung white towel.

Aria's breath hitches. The man was sculpted. Water droplets ran down his chest, tracing the definition of his abs. He looked like a statue brought to life, if statues could look dangerous.

Burke smirked, towel-drying his hair. "Morning, wife."

Aria scrambled backward, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"Who are you?" she squeaks. Panic rose in her throat.

"Your husband," Burke said calmly. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "You proposed, remember?"

Aria's mind raced. He was too good-looking. This apartment... it was a penthouse.

A terrible thought struck her. He wasn't a prince. He wasn't a businessman. He was a professional. A high-end escort. A "kept man."

This apartment probably belonged to a client. Or he rented it to impress gullible women.

Shame washed over her, hot and prickly. She had bought a husband.

Aria jumped out of bed. She was fully clothed in her wrinkled silk pajamas.

"I... I need to go," she stammered. She looked around for her shoes.

Burke moved. He blocked her path to the door. His expression shifted from casual to amused.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked. "We haven't discussed payment."

Aria froze. Payment. She knew it. It was transactional.

She checked her pockets. Empty.

"I don't have money right now," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Burke stepped closer. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing her whole.

"I don't work for free, sweetheart."

Aria felt threatened, but mostly humiliated.

She assumed a defensive posture, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'll pay you. Whatever you want. Just let me leave."

Burke studied her fear. He realized what she was thinking. She thought he was shaking her down.

He decided to lean into it. It was the perfect leverage.

Aria pushed past Burke, rushing into the massive living room.

She stopped dead. The view. Central Park was laid out below like a green carpet. This was Billionaire's Row.

Burke followed her. He had slipped on a silk robe, tying the sash loosely. He looked like a king in his castle.

"My fee structure is complex," he said, sitting on a black leather sofa.

Aria turned to him, desperate. "I'll wire you money. Just tell me your name."

She realized she didn't know it. Or she had forgotten it in the blackout.

"You can call me Burke," he said. "And you are?"

Aria hesitated. She couldn't let him know she was a Berg. The scandal. The bankruptcy. The shame.

"Nobody," she lied. "My name is Nobody."

Burke raised an eyebrow. He knew exactly who she was. Donato had run the check. But he played along.

"Well, Ms. Nobody. My overnight fee is fifty thousand dollars."

Aria choked. "Fifty thousand?! For sleeping?!"

"I'm the best in the city," Burke shrugged. "And we are married. That costs extra."

He pulled a notepad and a fountain pen from the coffee table.

"Consulting Fee: $50,000. Marriage License Expediting: $2,000."

He ripped the page off and held it out to her.

Aria stared at the paper. It was an exorbitant debt. She didn't have fifty dollars, let alone fifty thousand.

"I can't pay this," she whispered, terrified.

"Then you'll owe me," Burke said smoothly. "You can work it off."

Aria's face paled. She misinterpreted "work it off" immediately.

Burke saw the fear and corrected her, subtly. "I accept installments. But I need collateral."

He glanced at her ring finger. "Keep the ring. It marks my investment."

Aria tried to pull the ring off. It was stuck. She clawed at the silver band on her finger, but it wouldn't budge. Her skin was swollen from the alcohol and the salt of her tears, trapping the ring like a shackle.

Panic rose. She needed to get out of this pimp's lair.

"I'll pay you," she lied. "Just let me go get my things."

Burke stood and opened the front door.

"Go ahead. But I know where to find you, Ms. Nobody."

Aria sprinted to the elevator. She pressed the button frantically.

The doors closed, cutting off Burke's enigmatic smile.

Aria collapsed against the elevator wall, sliding down to the floor. She was terrified of her new creditor.