Chapter 7
Aria's hand froze on the brass door handle.
The system text burned bright red across her vision.
[Mandatory Task: Deliver a profound moral condemnation to the male lead before exiting. Leave him with a haunting silhouette. Reward: $100,000 USD transferred to untraceable account.]
Aria gritted her teeth. The dialogue the system wanted her to say was humiliating. But a hundred thousand dollars was exactly the kind of starting capital she needed to survive outside this hotel.
She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for one second, accessing the deepest well of her acting training. She relaxed her facial muscles, letting a mask of profound, exhausted sorrow wash over her features.
She slowly turned around. She pressed her spine against the heavy mahogany door, letting her shoulders slump slightly.
"Bowen," she whispered. Her voice cracked perfectly on the second syllable.
Bowen had already turned to walk back to the bar. At the sound of his name, his expensive leather shoes stopped dead on the hardwood. He slowly looked over his shoulder.
Aria's eyes were shining. In exactly three seconds, a pool of tears gathered, making her eyes look like shattered glass. She lifted her chin, a gesture of stubborn pride fighting against overwhelming pain.
She stared right into his dark eyes. "You think your money gives you the right to strip away my humanity. You look at me and you don't see a person. You see an object you bought."
Bowen was caught completely off guard. The raw pain in her voice hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to defend himself, to say he didn't buy her, her father sold her.
But Aria didn't let him speak. She fired her lines with the precision of a sniper.
She raised her hands and performed a violent, tearing motion in the empty air between them, pantomiming the destruction of their contract.
"I am tearing up your lifestyle agreement," she said, her voice rising in volume, echoing with righteous anger.
Bowen's brain stalled. The sheer force of her emotional performance paralyzed him. A sharp, unfamiliar ache bloomed in the center of his chest. He actually started to wonder if he was a monster.
Aria knew she had him. She reached behind her back and twisted the door handle.
She pulled the door open. The cold air from the hallway rushed in.
She threw her final line over her shoulder like a grenade. "Bowen Greene, you will never be able to buy my soul!"
She spun around and marched out the door. Her heels struck the hallway carpet in a fast, determined rhythm.
She grabbed the edge of the heavy door and pulled it shut behind her. The hydraulic dampener caught the heavy wood, slowing its momentum until it closed with a muffled, resolute click that felt far more final than any loud echo.
Inside the penthouse, Bowen stood frozen. The image of her tear-filled, defiant eyes burned into his brain. His heart gave a painful, violent thud against his ribs.
Outside in the hallway, the second the door clicked shut, Aria's face went completely blank.
The sorrow vanished. She let out a long breath and rubbed the corners of her eyes with her knuckles. Her facial muscles ached from forcing the tears.
"Pay me," she muttered in her mind.
A green notification popped up. [$100,000 USD deposited.]
Aria smirked. To avoid the paparazzi that might still be lurking in the main lobby, she turned left and walked briskly toward the service elevator at the end of the hall.
She pulled up the hotel's floor plan on her system interface. She navigated the back hallways, slipping past two maids pushing laundry carts without making a sound.
The service elevator dropped her directly into the underground parking garage. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and damp concrete.
She pulled the lapels of her Chanel jacket tight across her chest and walked fast, exiting through a heavy metal fire door that opened into a side alley.
The morning air of Manhattan hit her face. It was freezing.
She walked to the corner of the avenue and threw her hand up. A bright yellow taxi slammed on its brakes, pulling over to the curb.
The driver, a heavy-set man named Dwayne Boggs, leaned over. "Where to, lady?" he asked in a thick Brooklyn accent.
Aria opened the door and slid into the cracked vinyl backseat.
"Long Island," she said, giving him the address of the Mcgee estate.
The taxi merged into the aggressive morning traffic, leaving the towering glass hotel far behind.
Aria leaned her head against the cold window. Her adrenaline was finally crashing. Her bones felt like lead.
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