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If I hadn’t tried to make him jealous, that would be on my finger instead.

I stare at the ring. Ten million dollars of certainty that means nothing—because the woman in the burgundy dress thinks she’s the endgame, and the contract in Christian’s office says she might be right.

"Aria."

I turn.

Everett is watching me in the dark of the car. The city lights slide across his face—gold, then shadow, then gold again.

"You were extraordinary tonight," he says quietly.

The words land somewhere deep, in a place Sienna’s certainty hasn’t reached yet.

I don’t answer. I just turn back to the window and press my fingertips against the cold glass and try to remember that this is temporary.

All of this.

Every touch. Every look. Every coffee order he lets me claim.

Twelve months.

That’s the deal.

The problem is, my chest didn’t get the memo.

Chapter Eleven

ARIA

By Thursday, I'm starting to resent Everett Kauffman's office couch.

I know that sounds ridiculous. The man paid Brookhaven through the quarter. Handed me a black card like money grows on trees. Bought me a ten-million-dollar ring and told his stylist there's no budget. He's marrying me in forty-eight hours to save his inheritance and keep my father exactly where he needs to be.

And still, every time I wake in the penthouse and realize he slept downstairs again, my stomach twists.

He can stand in his penthouse kitchen in a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up and look like a thought I shouldn't be having.

He can kiss me in front of a wall of flashing photography and make it look like he's kissed me a million times before, not just for the second time.

He can put that ring on my finger and say something to his stylist about no limits.

But he can't sleep in the same penthouse as me.

Not where he runs the risk of passing me in the hallway and being forced to partake in small talk with his soon to be wife. A wife he never wanted.

And after La Maison Aurelle, after watching Sienna lean into him like she'd earned the right, after hearing her talk about me like I'm a placeholder someone should probably thank for the practice, his decision to sleep as far away from me as possible, hits a little deeper.

Why did he pick me if he could have had her?

I know the answer. I eavesdropped on it weeks ago outside his office. He didn't want Sienna falling in love with him. Didn't want to risk her wanting more than a one-year arrangement.

So he picked the woman he fired.

The woman desperate enough to climb into his lap in his office.

The woman he can't even share a floor with.

I kill the engine at Brookhaven and grip the steering wheel until my fingers cramp. Then I open my car door and will myself to move. There's nothing I can do about Everett right now.