HOW I BECAME THE BILLIONIARE’S SURROGATE.
Not from the father's account, which he absolutely controlled, but from a separate, secret life, carefully maintained, quite apart, with the quiet discipline of a woman who had figured out something about her marriage that no one else was supposed to know.
Third: a journal. Aria found a place to sit on the floor of the storage unit, putting her back against the cool, metal wall, then started reading. She was home at seven. Adrian was working in his study. She noticed the light under the door and, held to the hallway outside by the journal that she had pressed against her chest, she stood there for a long time, mother's handwriting residing behind her sternum like a second heartbeat. She had
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