Chapter 2: The List
Aria's penthouse smelled of espresso and desperation.
Three days had passed since the gala attack, and the tabloids were still howling. STERLING ICE QUEEN FREEZES OUT KILLER, one headline jeered. Another speculated about Kai's "mystery heroics" with a photo of him carrying her through the service door, his grip too possessive, her cheek too close to his neck.
She shredded the papers, scattering them into the fireplace. The flames hissed, hungry for drama.
"Ms. Sterling?" Her assistant, Clara, hovered in the doorway, clutching a tablet like a shield. "The board approved the preliminary list. They've requested your feedback by noon."
Aria didn't turn. "Leave it." she snapped.
"They also… suggested a press statement about the attack. To reassure investors."
"Tell them to draft it themselves. They'll rewrite it anyway."
Clara hesitated. "There's one more thing. Your, ah, marriage portfolio."
Aria stiffened. Portfolio. As if love were a stock to trade.
"Set it on the desk."
The door clicked shut.
The file was sleek, black, and embossed with the Sterling crest, her father's final joke in physical form. Inside, twelve profiles glared up at her, each man more polished and lifeless than the last.
Charles Whitlock III. Harvard MBA. Collects vintage watches and silent wives.
Dr. Ethan Cole. Neuroscientist. Prefers "structured relationships."
Marcus Renley. Tech heir. Recently divorced (reason: "irreconcilable boredom").
Aria's lip curled. Puppets in pinstripes, every one. The board's idea of "safe": men who'd smile for cameras and sign NDAs, their ambition neutered by prenups.
She reached for her whiskey, then stopped. Weakness. Victor's voice slithered through her mind: "You'll marry a man who knows his place, Aria. Or you'll marry no one at all."
"Wrong," she whispered, crushing the file in her fist. "I'll marry a ghost." she smirked.
"You're joking."
Kai's voice cut through the sterile hum of her office. Aria didn't look up from her screen, though her pulse betrayed her, quickening at his sardonic drawl.
"I don't recall summoning you, Mr. Donovan."
"You didn't. But your security feed did." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his black tactical gear at odds with the room's chrome minimalism. "You've been staring at that file for twenty minutes. Thought you might be dead."
"Disappointed?"
"Ecstatic. I'd finally get a decent boss."
Aria's gaze snapped to his. He was smirking, of course that infuriating half-smile that made her want to crack his teeth or claw his shirt off. Both, maybe.
"Is insubordination part of your job description?"
"No, that's free of charge." He sauntered to her desk, snatching the marriage portfolio before she could stop him. "Let's see what's got the Ice Queen brooding…"
"Put. It. Down."
He flipped a page, whistling. "Marcus Renley? Really? Guy's got the charisma of a PowerPoint slide."
"His family owns a third of Silicon Valley."
"And his last wife got a billion dollars to never speak again. Tempting." Kai dropped the file, his knuckles brushing hers. "Marry one of these drones, and I'll quit."
Aria froze. "Is that a threat?"
"An observation." He braced his palms on her desk tilting closer to her. "You'd suffocate within a week. Or murder him. Either way, bad for business."
She stood, nose-to-nose with him now. "And what do you know about my business?"
"Enough." His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a heartbeat. "You need a partner who'll fight you, not fetch your coffee. Someone who doesn't give a damn about your money."
"Like you?" The words slipped out, sharp and reckless.
Kai laughed, low and dangerous. "Careful, Queen. Almost sounds like you're flirting."
"With a hired gun? Don't flatter yourself."She stepped back, her chair screeching. "Get out. And send Clara in."
He saluted, that damn smirk lingering like a brand. "Your wish, my command."
Clara arrived, trembling, with a fresh espresso. "You wanted to see me?"
Aria ignored the coffee, sliding the marriage portfolio across the desk. "Burn this. Find me new candidates."
"But the board approved—"
"Men with spines, Clara. Or at least a pulse."
"I… Yes, ma'am."
"And track down Kai Donovan's service contract. Now."
Clara paled. "Are you terminating him? The board said he's the best—"
"No." Aria stared at the security feed on her screen Kai in the lobby, joking with a receptionist, his laugh effortless. Disarmingly human. "I'm considering a promotion."
That night, Aria dreamt of fire.
Her father's funeral pyre, built from marriage contracts and silicon chips. Kai stood beside her, dousing the flames with gasoline. "Ready to burn, Queen?"
She woke at 3 a.m., her skin feverish, the penthouse too silent.
In her vault, she unearthed her mother's wedding ring, a modest sapphire drowned in her father's vault of diamonds. The last relic of a woman who'd loved poetry and physics, who'd died whispering, "Don't let him make you cold, Aria."
Too late.
She opened Kai's file again.
Born: Brooklyn, NY. Parents: Deceased. Brother: KIA, Afghanistan. Skills: Close combat, explosives, cyber security.
Weaknesses: None listed.
A lie, she suspected. Everyone had weaknesses.
Even her.