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.

Aria exited the luxury tower, blending into the morning rush hour. She felt like a ghost haunting the living.

She realized she had no cash for a cab. She dug through her coat pocket and found a crumpled twenty-dollar bill-a miracle, or forgotten change.

She hailed a yellow cab. "Upper East Side," she told the driver, giving Ignacio's address.

The ride was slow. Traffic mocked her urgency.

She planned to beg Ignacio. Just for her clothes. Her wallet. Her jewelry.

The cab pulled up to her old building.

Aria's heart sank.

There was a pile of cardboard boxes on the wet sidewalk. She recognized her designer luggage, thrown haphazardly on top.

Aria rushed out of the cab, forgetting to wait for her change.

The doorman, a man she had tipped generously for two years, avoided her gaze.

She dropped to her knees on the pavement. She ripped open the boxes.

Her clothes were wrinkled. Some were stained with coffee-Ignacio's spite.

She searched frantically for her jewelry box.

It was gone. Or empty. Ignacio had kept the valuables.

Aria screamed in frustration. A pedestrian jumped, startled.

She tried to run into the building lobby.

The doorman stepped in front of her. "Mr. Cohen said no visitors."

"I lived here!" she screamed. "My name is on the mail!"

"Not anymore, Ms. Chaney. Please. Don't make me call the cops."

Aria backed away, defeated.

Rain started to drizzle again, soaking her pajamas and the ruined coat.

She sat on her suitcase. She looked up at the grey sky.

She was truly homeless. No fiancé. No home. And a fifty-thousand-dollar debt to a man named Burke.

A black car drove by slowly. The tinted windows hid the occupant, but Aria was too miserable to notice.

She needed to call someone. She remembered her phone. Maybe it was in the box.

She dug through the mess of clothes. Her fingers brushed against cold metal.

Her phone. The screen was cracked, spiderwebbed, but it lit up.

A barrage of notifications flooded the screen.