Chapter 5

The silver wheels of the room service cart squeaked softly against the hardwood floor.

The butler parked the cart in front of the sofa, lifting the silver domes to reveal a crystal bowl of Beluga caviar and a chilled bottle of champagne.

Aria flashed the butler a brilliant, practiced smile. She took the gold pen from his tray and signed Bowen Greene's name at the bottom of the absurdly expensive bill with a dramatic flourish.

The moment the butler closed the front door, Aria picked up the mother-of-pearl spoon. She scooped a large mound of black eggs and placed them on her tongue. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh as the salt hit her taste buds.

The bedroom door ripped open.

Bowen marched out. He was dressed in a sharp, custom-tailored navy suit. His face was a mask of pure thunder.

He saw Aria sitting there, eating his caviar. The muscle in his jaw ticked so hard it looked like it was going to snap the bone.

He closed the distance between them in three long strides. He slammed both hands down on the edge of the room service cart, leaning his upper body forward to trap her in his shadow.

Aria didn't even flinch. She kept her eyes on the caviar. She picked up the crystal champagne flute and took a slow, elegant sip, completely ignoring his aggressive posture.

Bowen opened his mouth to yell, but a sharp buzzing sound cut him off.

His private cell phone vibrated violently in his suit pocket.

He ripped the phone out and pressed it to his ear. "What?" he snapped.

Aria could hear the frantic, tinny voice of his assistant, Arthur, bleeding through the speaker.

Arthur was panicking. A swarm of paparazzi had breached the lobby. "They sneaked in under the cover of a bribed cleaning crew and bypassed the elevator's fire-service mode!" Arthur yelled over the line. Helen Mercer, the most vicious gossip reporter in the city, was already in the private elevator heading for the penthouse. "Our security team is rushing up the stairs to intercept them now!"

Bowen's face drained of color. His dark eyes snapped away from the wall and locked onto Aria like laser beams.

Aria lowered her champagne glass. She raised an eyebrow, silently asking him what his problem was.

Bowen ended the call. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. He thought he had finally figured out her game.

He pointed a long finger right at her face. "You set a honey trap."

His voice was dripping with venom. He accused her of stalling for time, of calling the press to expose them so she could extort him for a massive payout to save her bankrupt family.

Aria stared at him for three full seconds.

Then, she threw her head back and laughed. It was a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the glass windows.

Bowen's face flushed with rage. He thought she was laughing because her evil plan had worked.

He reached across the cart, grabbed the stem of her champagne flute, and hurled it against the marble bar.

The glass shattered. Champagne sprayed across the floor.

Aria's laughter cut off instantly. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous, icy slits.

She stood up. She was shorter than him, but she tilted her chin up and stared directly into his eyes without an ounce of fear.

"You are clinically narcissistic," she said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

She took a step closer, invading his space. "If I wanted to blackmail you, I wouldn't need reporters. I already have the audio recording from last night."

Bowen's breath hitched. His chest stopped moving. He took a quick, involuntary step backward, his heel catching on the edge of the rug.

Aria didn't have a recording. She was bluffing, using her perfect vocal control to make the lie sound like absolute truth.

Before Bowen could recover, the sound of heavy footsteps pounded in the hallway outside.

Handler 377 flashed a red siren in Aria's eyes. [Critical Event: NPC Helen Mercer arriving in 5 seconds.]

The electronic lock on the heavy double doors beeped loudly. Someone had hacked the keycard reader.

The doors burst open.

A blinding wave of white light exploded into the room. The rapid-fire clicking of camera shutters sounded like a machine gun.

Aria threw her arm up over her face, squeezing her eyes shut against the painful glare. Her brain raced, trying to figure out how to hide her face.

Helen Mercer's shrill voice cut through the chaos, screaming questions about Bowen buying the Mcgee daughter.

Then, before Aria could move, Bowen's body did something completely irrational.