The apartment was too quiet.

Aria sat curled on the leather couch, knees tucked to her chest, staring at the glittering Manhattan skyline through the vast glass windows. The city pulsed with life—horns, laughter, sirens—but inside Ethan Blackwood’s penthouse, it was silent. A suffocating kind of silence.

Her phone buzzed for the fifth time in an hour. Mom.

Aria’s heart twisted. She couldn’t answer. Not yet. What could she say? Hey Mom, don’t worry, I’ve sold myself to a ...