Chapter 4

Aria waited until she heard the heavy thud of Bowen throwing himself onto the bed in the other room.

She turned away from the mirror and walked into the massive walk-in closet attached to the living area.

Rows of designer dresses and sharp suits lined the walls. She reached out, letting her fingers drag across the cold silk and heavy wool fabrics.

She sat down on the round velvet ottoman in the center of the room. "System. Give me the full background file."

A glowing blue screen expanded in the air. Pages of text detailing the plot of 'The Sterling Contract' scrolled past her eyes.

Aria read fast. The original Aria Mcgee was the unwanted second daughter of a decaying Long Island family.

The Mcgee corporation was drowning in debt. They needed Bowen Greene's capital to survive.

Her father, Preston, and her older sister, Ivy, had set a trap. They drugged Aria, shoved her into a town car, and delivered her to Bowen's penthouse like a piece of meat to secure the lifestyle agreement.

Aria let out a harsh, barking laugh. The plot was so incredibly stupid she couldn't believe a human brain wrote it.

She kept reading. The original Aria didn't even have access to her own trust fund. She lived in a converted broom closet on the ground floor of the Mcgee estate.

A cold, heavy anger settled in Aria's chest. Her jaw tightened. She hated weak characters. She despised victims who just laid down and took the beating.

Handler 377 chimed in. [Host must follow the tragic trajectory. Endure the family's abuse. Suffer the male lead's misunderstandings. Achieve the ultimate painful romance.]

"Shut up," Aria said out loud.

She stood up and started pacing the length of the closet. Her mind shifted into problem-solving mode.

First, she had to cut ties with Bowen. He was a distraction.

Second, she needed to go back to Long Island. She was going to rip that trust fund out of her father's greedy hands and burn her sister's life to the ground.

Aria stopped in front of a rack of women's clothing Bowen had apparently pre-purchased. It was a row of perfectly hung, delicate designer dresses-exactly the kind of fragile, ultra-feminine wardrobe a man like him would buy for a helpless victim. She grabbed a sleek, dark navy silk wrap dress that looked the most structured of the bunch.

She stripped off the nightgown and pulled the dress on. The fabric hugged her ribs perfectly. The original owner was weak, but her bone structure was built for high fashion.

Aria stood in front of the closet mirror. She pulled her hair back, picking up a stiff black bobby pin from the vanity tray and casually pinning a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She practiced a cold, dead-eyed socialite smile. It was flawless.

A loud, muffled bang came from the living room. It sounded like heavy wood hitting bone.

Aria dropped her smile. She walked to the closet door and pressed her ear against the wood.

Bowen's voice leaked through, hissing a string of violent curses. He had stubbed his toe on the coffee table.

Aria rolled her eyes. The big, bad billionaire couldn't even walk across a room without injuring himself.

She grabbed the brass handle of the closet door, ready to march out and leave the hotel.

Before she could turn the knob, a sharp, hollow cramp twisted her stomach. Her body let out a loud, embarrassing growl.

She hadn't eaten anything since she woke up in this body. Her blood sugar was crashing.

Aria let go of the handle. She looked out into the living room and saw the leather-bound room service menu sitting on the side table.

She wasn't going to leave on an empty stomach.

She walked over to the phone, picked up the heavy receiver, and dialed the kitchen. She ordered the Beluga caviar breakfast.

She hung up the phone and sank into the plush cushions of the sofa. She crossed her legs, ready to make the billionaire pay for her breakfast.