Leon's Crane's penthouse was a fortress of glass and shadow. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked down over the city like a predator perched on a throne, watching, waiting.
Aria wandered through the space alone, barefoot on cold marble. Her reflection followed her in the glass—polished, poised, pretending.
This wasn't her world. Not really.
She didn't belong in designer gowns and million-dollar rooms. But she'd worn masks long enough to blend in with any crowd—even this one.
Her fingers skimmed over a framed photograph on a hallway console.
It was the only one she'd seen in the entire place.
Leon, younger. Smiling.
And beside him... a woman with sea-glass eyes and a warm, natural laugh captured mid-motion.
Aria didn't recognize her.
She heard footsteps behind her.
Leon.
"I thought you didn't keep memories out in the open," she said, not turning.
"I don't," he replied. "That one slipped through."
"Who was she?"
He paused. "My sister."
Aria turned to him. "You loved her."
"Of course I did."
"She's gone?"
He didn't answer, but his silence was thunder.
Aria didn't press further. She knew what grief felt like. It didn't matter how much money you had—it still bled the same in the dark.
Leon stepped closer. "You're not what I expected."
"And what did you expect?"
"A social climber. A gold-digger. A yes-woman."
She tilted her chin. "Sorry to disappoint."
His gaze dipped to her lips. "You're not a disappointment."
The silence between them charged like a live wire.
Aria stepped past him, deliberately brushing her shoulder against his chest as she did. "I don't need your approval, Leon. Just your signature when this charade ends."
But her voice cracked slightly as she said it.
And he heard it.
That night, sleep wouldn't come.
Aria lay on the massive bed in her wing of the penthouse, staring at the ceiling. The sheets were silk, but they couldn't warm the cold coiling in her stomach.
That man at the gala—he knew.
Knew her past.
Knew her real name.
She sat up, reached for her burner phone tucked deep in her purse. One number stored. One lifeline she hadn't touched in months.
She hovered her thumb over the call button.
Then didn't press it.
The past couldn't help her now. It could only burn everything she'd built.
Instead, she got up and crossed the hall.
Leon's door was slightly ajar. A golden glow from inside.
She didn't knock.
He looked up from his laptop when she stepped in—shirtless, glasses perched low on his nose. It was the most disarmed she'd seen him.
"You can't sleep either," he said.
"No."
They stared at each other. One heartbeat. Then two.
"I keep waiting for this to feel normal," she whispered.
He stood. Walked to her.
Aria's breath hitched. She expected him to kiss her. To reach for her like he had in her dreams.
But instead he asked, "Who was he?"
Her heart stuttered.
"The man at the gala," he clarified. "He knew you."
She hesitated. "Just someone from a life I left behind."
"That life has a name?"
"Yes," she said. "But I'm not ready to share it."
Leon nodded once, and to her surprise, stepped back.
"I won't ask again. Not until you're ready."
She looked at him carefully. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Acting like you care."
"Because I do."
The honesty in his voice knocked the air from her lungs.
She turned to leave. Her hand lingered on the doorframe. "Good night, Leon."
"Aria."
She looked back.
His gaze was dark. Hungry. But he didn't move.
"Don't make me regret trusting you."
"You won't," she whispered.
Then left before the heat in her chest burned through the lie.