Let her come

MARK

The elevator door to my penthouse slid open with a soft ding, revealing the sprawling luxury of the penthouse at 432 Park Avenue.

I stepped inside, loosening my tie with one hand while tossing my keys onto the marble console table with the other. The silence of the apartment was a blessing after the chaos of the gala.

"God," I breathed out, walking straight to the wet bar. "I love the smell of money."

I didn't bother with a glass. I grabbed the bottle of Macallan 25—Elara’s father’s collection, which I had happily inherited—and took a long swig. The burn down my throat was magnificent. It tasted like victory.

For the last three months, I had been suffocating. The auditors were circling like sharks, the offshore accounts were bleeding dry, and I was losing sleep wondering which one of my lies was going to collapse first. I had been praying for a miracle and tonight, she had walked right through the front door wearing a red dress.

"Twenty-five million," I said aloud, testing the weight of the words.

It wasn't just an investment. It was a getaway car.

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the glittering grid of Manhattan. I owned this view. Well, technically, Elara had owned it, but possession was nine-tenths of the law and soon, I wouldn't need it anymore.

The plan was already forming in my head, sharp and perfect. Get Aria to sign the papers tomorrow night. Initiate the wire transfer. The moment the funds cleared on Friday, I would route them through the shell company in the Cayman Islands, hop on the Gulfstream, and disappear. Brazil. Maybe Dubai. Somewhere with no extradition treaty and plenty of sun.

"You look disgusting when you gloat."

I turned around. Zane was standing in the hallway, having kicked off her heels. She looked disheveled and angry, her arms crossed over her chest, the white dress wrinkling around her waist.

"And you look like a buzzkill," I countered, taking another drink. "We just secured our freedom, Zane. Try to smile."

"You secured your freedom," Zane snapped, walking into the living room and throwing her clutch onto the sofa. "I saw the way you looked at her, Mark. You were practically drooling. 'Oh, Aria, let me kiss your hand.' It was pathetic."

I rolled my eyes. "It’s called salesmanship, Zane. She is a jackpot. A literal gold mine. Do you think I care about her personality? Do you think I care about her sharp little comments? No. I care about the checkbook."

"You invited her here," Zane accused, her voice rising. "To our home."

"It’s not our home," I corrected her coldly. "It’s a crime scene we’ve been living in for three years and tomorrow, it’s going to be a closing room."

I walked over to her, gripping her shoulders. I needed her to get in line.

"Listen to me. Tomorrow night, Aria comes here. I turn on the charm, I get the signature, and I get the money. Once that transfer hits, we are gone. We leave this apartment, we leave the debts, we leave the company to rot. We take the cash and we vanish."

Zane looked at me, her eyes searching mine for the truth. The jealousy was still there, but the greed was starting to win.

"And Aria?" she asked.

"Aria is a pawn," I said, smoothing her hair back. "She’s a tool. We use her to fix the hole in the accounts, and then we discard her. Just like we did with the last one."

Zane shivered, pulling away from my touch. She walked over to the window, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared at the city lights.

"I don't know, Mark," she whispered. "There’s something... wrong about her."

"She’s a billionaire," I scoffed. "They’re all weird."

"No," Zane insisted, turning to face me. Her face was pale. "It’s not that. It’s the way she moves. The way she commands the room. When she stood in front of me at the gala... I felt small. I felt like I was back in the office, being scolded for spilling coffee."

She paused, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"She gives off that aura, Mark. That same heavy, suffocating presence that Elara used to have. The way she looks at you... it’s like she knows things she shouldn't know."

I froze.

For a second, the memory of Aria’s hand in mine flashed through my mind. The grip. The bone structure. The way my thumb had brushed a scar on her palm.

Have we met before?

I shook my head, physically shaking off the thought. It was ridiculous. It was impossible.

"Stop it," I snapped. "Elara is dead. We both knew the warehouse burnt her alive. We have the footage, I just needed it to be sure.

A human body does not survive that kind of fire, and it certainly doesn't survive a sixty-foot drop into a ravine even if she managed to escape."

"But—"

"There are no buts!" I shouted, slamming the bottle onto the marble counter. "Elara Vance is ash and mud! Aria is a stranger from Chicago who happens to be rich and arrogant. That is it."

Zane flinched at my tone, but she didn't back down completely. "Just... be careful tomorrow. If you think she’s just a checkbook, you might be underestimating her. Elara wasn't stupid, Mark. She was just in love with you. Aria isn't in love with you."

"Everyone has a price," I said, regaining my composure. "And everyone has a weakness. Aria thinks she’s a shark? Fine. I’ve been killing sharks since I was twenty."

I pointed a finger at Zane.

"Tomorrow night, you are not here. You go to the spa. You go shopping. I don't care. But I need this apartment empty so I can close the deal. Do not interfere with her again."

Zane glared at me, but she nodded. "Fine. I’ll go. But if she ruins this... don't say I didn't warn you."

She grabbed her purse and stormed down the hall toward the master bedroom—Elara’s old bedroom.

I stood alone in the living room. The silence pressed in on me.

I looked around the apartment. The velvet curtains Elara had picked out. The expensive art she had bought. It was a shrine to a dead woman, and I had been living in it like a parasite.

I walked to the window and looked at my reflection in the glass.

Elara?

I snorted. The idea was laughable. Elara was weak. Elara was soft. She cried when she saw stray dogs. Aria was cold steel and sharp edges. They were nothing alike.

"You're just paranoid," I muttered to my reflection. "Take the money. Leave the country. Forget the girl."

I finished my drink in one gulp.

Let Aria come tomorrow. Let her bring her arrogance and her checkbook. I would charm her, I would drain her accounts, and if she became a problem... well, I still had Jason on speed dial.

I smiled, a cruel twist of my lips.

I had buried one fiancée. Burying a business partner would be even easier.