Aria's POV
The rain tastes like rust and broken promises.
I press myself deeper into the cardboard box, but it's already soaked through. The alley stinks of garbage and piss, and somewhere nearby, a rat scratches against concrete. Three years ago, I wouldn't have believed this could be my life. Three years ago, I had everything.
Now I have nothing.
My stomach cramps with hunger. I haven't eaten in two days. The shelter downtown stopped letting me in after someone stole a phone and they blamed me. Because of course they did. Everyone blames Aria Quinn, the thief. The liar. The murderer.
Except I didn't do any of it.
A flash of memory hits me—my old apartment with the big windows, sunlight streaming across hardwood floors. Me in a clean dress, heels clicking as I walked through the gallery. My fiancé David kissing my forehead before work. "Love you, Ari. See you tonight."
I squeeze my eyes shut. That girl is dead.
Thunder cracks overhead and the rain comes harder. I'm shivering so badly my teeth chatter. I need to move, find somewhere dry, but my body won't cooperate. I'm too weak, too tired, too broken.
That's when I hear the footsteps.
Three sets, heavy and purposeful. They're not rushing past like normal people do. They're slowing down. Stopping.
My heart pounds as I peek through a rip in the cardboard. Three men stand at the alley entrance, looking right at me. The biggest one smiles, and it's the kind of smile that makes my skin crawl.
"Well, well," he says, his voice oily. "What do we have here?"
I try to shrink back, but there's nowhere to go. The alley is a dead end. I'm trapped.
"We can help you, sweetheart," the second man says. He's shorter but meaner looking, with a scar across his cheek. "Get you out of the rain. Get you warm. Fed."
Nothing in this world is free. I learned that the hard way.
"No thank you," I whisper, my voice cracking from disuse.
The third man laughs. He's thin, twitchy, his eyes wild. "She said no. How polite." He takes a step closer. "But we weren't really asking."
Panic explodes in my chest. I scramble out of the box, my legs screaming in protest. My torn shoes slip on the wet pavement, but I manage to stay upright. I have to run. I have to—
The big one moves faster than I expect. He blocks my path, his massive frame filling the narrow alley.
"Where you going?" he asks, still smiling that horrible smile.
I spin around. The other two are closing in from behind. I'm surrounded.
My mind races through options. Scream? No one in LA stops to help a homeless woman. Fight? I'm so weak I can barely stand. Beg? These men don't care about mercy.
"Please," I try anyway, hating how small my voice sounds. "I don't have anything worth taking."
"Oh, I think you do," Scar-face says, his eyes sliding over me in a way that makes me want to vomit.
That's when I remember. I remember being strong once. I remember being someone who didn't give up. I remember the girl who stood up to her boss when he tried to underpay the artists. The girl who testified in court even when everyone called her a liar.
That girl might be buried under pain and hunger and shame, but she's still in here somewhere.
I grab a broken bottle from the pile of trash beside me. My hand shakes as I hold it up like a weapon.
"Stay back," I warn.
All three men laugh.
"Oh, she's got some fight in her," the twitchy one says. "I like that."
They move in together, coordinated, like they've done this before. My heart hammers against my ribs. The bottle feels useless in my hand. I'm going to die in this alley, and no one will even know I'm gone.
The big one lunges first.
I swing the bottle wildly. It connects with something—his arm maybe—and he curses. But then Scar-face is on me, grabbing my wrist and twisting. The bottle falls from my numb fingers and shatters on the ground.
"Stupid bitch," he snarls.
I try to fight. I really do. I scratch, bite, kick. But I'm so weak, and they're so strong. They slam me against the brick wall and pain explodes through my shoulder. I taste blood in my mouth.
This is it. This is how Aria Quinn dies. Not in a courtroom. Not in prison. But in a filthy alley, at the hands of men whose names I'll never even know.
The big one pulls back his fist.
I close my eyes and wait for the impact.
Then everything changes.
A car engine roars into the alley—impossible, the space is too narrow. Headlights flood the darkness, blinding bright. Tires screech. The men holding me stumble back, confused.
A car door slams.
"Let her go."
The voice is cold. Calm. Absolutely terrifying in its control.
I force my eyes open and see a man stepping out of a black SUV that somehow squeezed into the alley. He's tall, dressed in an expensive suit that's completely wrong for this place. Even through my blurred vision, I can see he's beautiful—sharp jaw, dark hair, eyes like ice.
He looks at my attackers the way someone might look at insects.
"I said let her go."
The big one laughs nervously. "This ain't your business, man."
The stranger's expression doesn't change. "You have three seconds to walk away. One."
"Listen, we saw her first—"
"Two."
Something in his voice makes my attackers hesitate. This man isn't bluffing. This man is dangerous in ways they can't comprehend.
"Three."
The stranger moves.
What happens next is violence—pure, controlled, brutal. He's fast, efficient, terrifying. Within seconds, all three men are on the ground, groaning or unconscious. He didn't use a weapon. Just his hands.
I slide down the wall, my legs finally giving out. I can't process what I'm seeing.
The stranger straightens his suit, not even breathing hard. Then he walks toward me and crouches down. Up close, his eyes are even more intense—gray, calculating, missing nothing.
"What's your name?" he asks.
"A-Aria," I manage. "Aria Quinn."
He studies me for a long moment, and I have the strangest feeling he already knew my name. That he knew exactly who I was before he ever stepped out of that car.
Then he does something that changes everything.
He smiles. It's not warm. It's not kind. It's the smile of a man who just found exactly what he was looking for.
"I can give you a life, Aria," he says softly. "A real life. Safety. Purpose. Everything you've lost."
Hope flares in my chest, desperate and painful.
"But?" I whisper, because there's always a but.
His smile widens, and for the first time, I see something dark swimming in those gray eyes. Something that should make me run screaming.
"But it comes with a price," he says, extending his hand. "And once you take my hand, Aria Quinn, you belong to me. Completely. Forever."
I stare at his offered hand. At the choice between certain death in this alley and uncertain fate with this terrifying stranger.
Thunder crashes overhead.
I reach out and take his hand.