Victor shoved the heavy oak door open. He marched straight to the edge of the bed, his tall frame casting a dark shadow over the mattress.

Aria had just managed to sit up against the pillows. When she saw the sheer, unadulterated murder in his eyes, her breath hitched. She shrank back against the headboard, her arms instinctively crossing over her flat stomach.

"Listen to me very carefully," Victor hissed, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. He leaned over her, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "You will not get a single cent from the Sterling family for that parasite in your stomach."

Before Aria could open her mouth, Madam Sterling marched into the room. She didn't hesitate. She swung her silver cane and cracked it hard against the back of Victor's calf.

Victor flinched, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth. He spun around, staring at his grandmother in absolute disbelief. She had just struck him over a stranger.

"Get out of my sight and cool your head," Madam Sterling ordered, her voice like cracking ice.

Victor's jaw tightened until a muscle ticked in his cheek. He shot one last, venomous glare at Aria before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

Madam Sterling's face instantly softened. She sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to pat Aria's trembling hand.

Aria pulled her hand back slightly. "Please," she whispered, her throat still raw. "I don't want his money. I can raise this child on my own."

"Nonsense," Madam Sterling interrupted. Her tone was gentle, but there was a steel rod running through it. "Sterling blood does not live in the gutter."

The old woman reached into her tailored jacket pocket. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and laid it flat on the blanket over Aria's lap.

Aria looked down. It was a billing statement from the Brooklyn nursing home where her grandmother, Mary Miller, lived. The final balance at the bottom was circled in red. It was a number Aria saw in her nightmares.

Aria's pupils dilated. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. This was her throat, exposed and bare.

"Marry Victor. Have the child," Madam Sterling said smoothly. "And Mary will be moved to a private suite in Manhattan . Every medical bill, every specialist, fully paid for."

Aria stared at the red ink. Her pride screamed at her to tear the paper up. But the image of her grandmother's failing heart monitor flashed behind her eyes. She couldn't afford pride.

The silence in the room stretched until it felt like a physical weight pressing down on Aria's chest. Finally, she closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek and soaked into the collar of her shirt.

"Okay," Aria choked out.

Madam Sterling smiled, a genuine, happy smile. She patted Aria's knee, stood up, and walked out of the room.

She found Victor in the first-floor study. He was standing by the liquor cabinet, aggressively pouring amber liquid into a crystal glass. The ice clinked sharply against the sides.

"I've scheduled the appointment at City Hall for tomorrow morning," Madam Sterling announced from the doorway.

Victor slammed the glass down on the mahogany desk. The whiskey splashed over the rim, staining the wood. "I am not marrying that grifter!" he roared.

Madam Sterling didn't blink. "If you refuse, I will use my authority as the matriarch. I will freeze every liquid asset and strip every voting share you have outside the trust."

Victor stared at her. He felt like a caged animal. He knew the family bylaws. She wasn't bluffing. She could cripple his operations on Wall Street by noon tomorrow.

He raised his fist and brought it down hard on the desk. The wood groaned. His knuckles split, a thin line of blood welling up. He ground his teeth together. "Fine."

The next morning, a black Rolls-Royce idled outside the estate gates. A cold, miserable drizzle fell from the gray sky.

Aria stood on the wet pavement, wearing a faded khaki trench coat. She twisted her fingers together, staring at the tinted windows.

The front doors of the mansion opened. Victor walked out. He wore a bespoke dark suit. He didn't look at her. He didn't even acknowledge she existed. He walked straight to the car, opened the rear door, and slid inside.

Aria pulled her collar tight against the rain. She walked to the other side of the car, pulled the heavy door open, and got in. She brought the damp chill of the rain with her.

The air pressure inside the cabin was suffocating. An invisible wall of ice separated them. Victor stared out his window. Aria stared at her hands.

They arrived at City Hall. Victor put on a pair of dark sunglasses before stepping out. He walked fast, his long legs eating up the concrete stairs. Aria had to jog slightly to keep up.

Inside, they stood before a confused clerk. They signed the standard forms mechanically. There were no rings. There were no vows.

The clerk handed them the thin piece of paper. "Congratulations."

Victor let out a sound that was half-scoff, half-snarl.

Aria took the paper. She stared at their names printed side by side in black ink. It felt entirely fake.

They walked out of the building and stopped at the top of the stairs. The rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy and damp. Victor turned his head slowly. He looked down at her, his eyes cutting through her like a serrated blade.

"Welcome to hell." he said.

Victor didn't wait for a response. He walked down the concrete steps, leaving Aria standing alone with her canvas bag. He pulled open the door of the Rolls-Royce and dropped into the leather seat.

Aria pulled her khaki coat tighter around her body. The damp wind bit through the thin fabric. She walked down the steps, went to the opposite side of the car, and slid in. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing them inside the silent, tension-filled cabin.

Victor kept his eyes fixed forward. "Drive," he ordered. He gave the driver, Sean, an address on the very edge of Queens.

Sean's hands jerked on the steering wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with shock. He opened his mouth to ask if there was a mistake, caught the lethal glare from his boss, and immediately put the car in gear.

Aria knew New York. She knew exactly what kind of neighborhood that address belonged to. Her hands, resting in her lap, went completely rigid. She didn't say a word.

The Rolls-Royce glided away from the towering glass skyscrapers of Manhattan. Slowly, the scenery shifted. The clean streets gave way to cracked asphalt. The luxury boutiques were replaced by boarded-up storefronts and chain-link fences.

The car finally rolled to a stop in front of a decaying brick apartment building. The exterior walls were covered in faded graffiti. A pile of uncollected trash bags sat leaking on the curb.

A group of teenagers in oversized hoodies stopped walking. They stood on the corner, whistling and pointing at the half-million-dollar vehicle parked in their neighborhood.

Victor turned his head slowly. He looked at Aria. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a cruel, satisfied smirk. "Your new home."

Aria looked out the window. She saw the grime on the glass doors of the lobby. She knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to break her. He expected her to scream, to cry, to beg him to take her back to the mansion.

Instead, Aria turned back to him. Her face was completely blank. She gave a single, short nod. "Understood."

She reached for the door handle.

Victor's smirk vanished. His chest tightened with a sudden, violent surge of frustration. It felt like he had swung a baseball bat and hit empty air.

Just as Aria pushed the door open, Victor's hand shot out. He slammed his palm against the lock button. The doors locked with a heavy clunk. He leaned toward her, his eyes dark and dangerous. "Don't play games with me. You won't last two days here."

Aria met his gaze. She didn't flinch. "I know you want a divorce. The second this baby is born, I will sign whatever you want. I will leave with nothing."

Victor let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Leaving with nothing? A classic negotiation tactic. You think playing the martyr will make me lower my guard."

Aria didn't argue. She reached over, manually flipped the lock, and shoved the heavy door open. She stepped out into a puddle of murky water. The cold water soaked instantly through the canvas of her cheap sneakers.

A gust of wind blew a crumpled newspaper past her legs. She looked incredibly small standing against the backdrop of the massive, rotting building.

Victor watched her back. A sudden, irritating thought pierced through his anger. She was pregnant. If she miscarried in this dump, the old woman would have his head.

He rolled down the window. "Sean will pick you up every morning," Victor snapped. "Don't flatter yourself. It's just to keep my grandmother off my back."

Aria stopped walking. She didn't turn around. "I can take the subway."

Victor's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together. "I said, Sean will drive you. Do not test my patience."

Aria closed her eyes for a second. She was too tired to fight over a car ride. She gave a slight nod and walked toward the building.

She pulled open the heavy glass door. The lobby was dark. The overhead light fixture was shattered. She pulled out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and walked towards the elevator.

Inside the Rolls-Royce, Victor sat perfectly still. His gaze fixed on the third floor. He kept watching until the light disappeared on the third floor.

Sean looked back nervously. "Sir? Should I arrange a security detail?"

"Drive," Victor spat.

The Rolls-Royce pulled away from the curb, speeding out of the neighborhood as if trying to outrun a disease.

Aria stood in front of apartment 3B. She pushed the rusty key into the lock and turned it. The door groaned open.

A thick smell of dust and stale air hit her face. The living room was completely empty. Spiderwebs hung in the corners of the ceiling. The floorboards were scuffed and dull.

Aria dropped her canvas bag on the floor. She didn't cry. She walked into the tiny kitchen, found a plastic bucket under the sink, and rolled up her sleeves. She had work to do.