Chapter3

I wore the only thing left in my closet—a secondhand black dress.

The fabric was thin enough to see through, with a barely noticeable loose thread under the arm.

The doorman at the Four Seasons looked at me once, his eyes like he was scanning a piece of trash awaiting disposal.

"The members-only bar is on the top floor. Do you have a reservation?"

"I'm here to see Mr. Aston," I said.

He picked up his radio and said a few words, then shook his head at me.

"Sorry, there's no Lily Carter on the list. You might need to contact your party to come down and get you."

My face started burning. I stood there on the marble floor in this fifty-dollar dress, everyone walking past perfectly put together. I could smell the cheap laundry detergent on myself.

"He told me to come," I said, my voice a bit urgent. "Three o'clock, he said three o'clock here."

The doorman shrugged. "Then I suggest you call and have him—"

"She's with me."

A man's voice came from beside me. I turned and saw him walking over.

Dark gray suit, expression exactly the same as that day on the street—cold, like wearing a mask.

Leo Aston.

The doorman immediately stepped back. "Mr. Aston, my apologies, I didn't realize this lady was your guest."

Aston ignored him. He glanced at me, eyes sweeping from my dress to my shoes. "Let's go."

I followed him into the elevator.

The walls were mirrors. I saw my own pale face.

He stood next to me, finger pressing the button for the top floor.

"You wore this?" he asked.

"This is my best dress," I said.

He laughed once, short. "You really are broke."

The top floor bar was almost all glass. You could see half of Manhattan.

We sat in a corner booth. The sofa was so soft you sank into it.

A waiter came over. Aston didn't look at the menu.

"Whiskey, single malt. For her..." He glanced at me. "Lemonade."

"I can order for myself," I said.

"You'll need a clear head in a moment." He leaned back into the sofa. "Let's get straight to it. You owe loan sharks twenty thousand, three months back rent, plus my eighty-five. Total about a hundred and ten. And... you're about to lose your mother's burial plot."

I clenched my hands in my lap. "You said you had a solution."

"Right." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "A contract marriage. For this year, you'll live in the Aston house, attend necessary events, appear loving in public. In return, the Aston family will pay off all your debts, including that eighty-five thousand. After a year, divorce, you get a settlement payment, and you walk away."

I stared at him. Were my ears malfunctioning?

"Are you insane?" I said.

"It's the most efficient solution." His voice was calm. "You legally marry, debts legally paid. One year, in exchange for the rest of your life debt-free."

"I don't sell myself," I said, my voice shaking.

"You're already selling." He leaned back. "You almost sold an organ for money, didn't you? The loan sharks suggested that."

A chill ran down my spine. How did he even know that?

"It's not the same," I said.

"How is it different?" He picked up the whiskey the waiter had just delivered and took a sip. "Either way you're sacrificing something for money. At least this way, you keep all your organs and your aunt's hot dog cart."

I froze. "My aunt's hot dog cart?"

Aston set down his glass. "The loan company is approaching your aunt. They want to use her hot dog stand as collateral for a new loan for you. Forty percent interest. She hasn't signed yet, but she's considering it."

All the blood rushed to my head. "She won't sign. She knows that cart is—"

"She knows you're about to be homeless." Aston cut me off. "She knows about your mother's burial plot. She knows you're being sued for eighty-five thousand. What do you think a sixty-year-old woman who raised you like her own daughter will do?"

My mouth hung open. No words came out.

I could see Aunt Rose's face. Always wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes crinkling when she smiled.

That hot dog stand was everything to her. She used it to pay off her mortgage, put me through community college.

"If you agree," Aston's voice pulled me back, "I can wire the money this afternoon. Loan shark debt cleared, your rent paid, dismissal documents sent to your email. Your aunt's shop is safe."

My eyes started blurring. I blinked hard.

"Why?" My voice came out hoarse. "Why would you do this? What do you want?"

"The specific reasons don't concern you. You just need to decide. Sign, or don't."

The waiter placed the lemonade in front of me. Water droplets beaded on the outside of the glass.

I looked at that glass. I thought of the constantly leaking refrigerator in Aunt Rose's shop, how she always said she couldn't afford to fix it, just used towels to catch the water.

I thought of the photo on my mother's headstone. She was only forty-two.

Aston watched me for a few seconds. "The contract will state that the marriage is legal formality only. Nothing you're unwilling to do will happen."

I calculated in my head. One year. Three hundred sixty-five days.

"What if I refuse?" I asked.

"Then you can leave now." He lifted his hand to check his watch. "But the loan sharks will go to your aunt's shop at four o'clock. With a contract."

I grabbed the edge of the sofa. The fabric was slippery. My nails couldn't dig in.

Time ticked by. I could hear laughter from the next booth, the sound of glasses clinking.

"Ms. Lily," Aston's voice rose, carrying a subtle urgency, "you know, for people like us, time is more precious than money."

"I'll give you twenty more seconds."

My heartbeat seemed to stop.

20, 19, 18...

I seemed to hear the sound of a nonexistent stopwatch.

I wanted to run. I wanted to throw the water in his face and bolt.

But I saw Aunt Rose's face. Heard the loan shark enforcer saying "burial plots can be sold for money too."

"Last ten seconds."

I closed my eyes.