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ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

Author: Rovelt Vell
last update publish date: 2026-09-06 09:08:33

Aria’s POV

Vivian’s apartment looked the same as the last time I’d visited, small and deliberately anonymous, though something about walking up those narrow stairs felt different this time. I wasn’t arriving with suspicion clenched in my chest, searching for evidence of betrayal in every careful word she offered. I was simply arriving to listen.

She opened the door before I finished knocking, like she’d been watching for me through the window, waiting. “Aria,” she said. “I wondered if you’d
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  • THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE   ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE

    Aria’s POV Dmitri spent eleven days chasing the offshore relay server before he called us back into the study, and I knew from the way Marta said his name over the intercom that whatever he’d found had changed something. We found him surrounded by printouts, the desk barely visible beneath layers of network diagrams and timestamped logs, more paper spread across that room than I’d seen since before the safe house was emptied. “Sit down,” he said, not looking up right away. “Both of you. This is going to take a minute to explain properly.” Romanov sat. I remained standing, too restless after eleven days of waiting to fold myself into a chair just yet. “Start with what you actually found,” Romanov said. “We can catch up on the explanation after.” Dmitri finally looked up, an expression I hadn’t seen since before the safe house disappeared. Not triumph, exactly. Something quieter than that. Certainty. “I mapped the entire network,” he said. “Every channel, every relay point, ever

  • THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE   ONE HUNDRED THIRTY

    Aria’s POV Constance woke up four days later, on a gray Tuesday morning that felt too ordinary for something that important. I was there when it happened, though I’d nearly missed it, having stepped out for coffee I didn’t actually want just to have something to do with my hands. When I came back, her eyes were open, unfocused at first, then finding mine with recognition slowly returning. “Aria,” she said, her voice rough from the tube they’d only just removed. “I’m here,” I said, taking her hand carefully. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” “The notebook,” she said immediately, her grip tightening around mine despite how weak she looked. “Did they find it? Under the couch cushion?” “Dmitri has it,” I said. “He got there before anyone else did. Everything’s safe.” Relief settled into her expression alongside the exhaustion. “Good,” she said. “That’s good.” She fell back asleep within minutes, the doctors explaining that this was normal, expected, her body still working h

  • THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE   ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE

    Constance’s POV The apartment went quiet in a way I noticed before I understood why. The refrigerator’s hum, gone. The soft blue glow from the hallway nightlight, gone. I sat up on the couch, the notebook Dmitri had given me still open on my lap, three pages of names I’d spent the evening writing from memory. Power outage, I told myself. Just a power outage. I didn’t believe it even as I thought it. I crossed to the window first, checking the street below. The building across from mine still had lights on, steady and ordinary, windows glowing yellow against the dark. Only my building had gone dark. That wasn’t a power outage. That was a choice. I moved fast then, sliding the notebook under the couch cushion, out of easy sight, and reaching for the small canister of pepper spray Dmitri had insisted I keep in the drawer by the door, the one I’d rolled my eyes at when he gave it to me. I heard the lock give before I heard the door itself. Not forced, not loud. Someone who knew e

  • THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE   ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT

    Aria’s POV Constance arrived at the estate without calling first, something she’d never done since I’d known her. Marta let her in, and I found her standing in the entryway still wearing her coat, like she hadn’t decided yet whether she intended to stay. “I need to speak with all three of you,” she said. “Together, if that’s possible.” Romanov appeared behind me before I could answer, Dmitri close behind him. Something in Constance’s face must have told them this wasn’t a social visit either. “The study,” Romanov said. We sat around the same desk that had held Dmitri’s photographs of empty evidence boxes three days earlier. Constance remained standing, her hands folded in front of her, the posture of someone bracing for something. “I’ve been reading everything,” she said. “The board meeting. The foundation. The safe house. I have contacts who still tell me things, even now.” “Why are you telling us this,” Dmitri said, not unkindly, though the question carried weight. “Because

  • THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE   ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN

    Aria’s POV Dmitri called an emergency meeting three days after the failed server attack, and the moment I walked into the study, I knew whatever he’d found wasn’t going to be good. “Sit down,” he said. “Both of you.” Romanov didn’t sit. “Just tell us.” “The safe house,” Dmitri said. “The one storing the physical evidence we pulled from Cedar Hollow. The original ledgers, the property deeds, the witness statements we spent four months collecting.” “What about it,” I said, my stomach already tightening. Dmitri didn’t answer right away. He reached into a bag beside his chair and set three photographs on the desk instead, turning them so we could both see. Romanov picked one up first. “This is the storage room,” he said slowly. “The shelving’s still there.” “Look closer,” Dmitri said. I leaned in. The folders were still in place, labeled exactly the way we’d labeled them, rows of neat tabs in Dmitri’s own handwriting. But the folders themselves sat too flat, too light, none of t

  • THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE   ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX

    Aria’s POV I woke before the sun, though I hadn’t really slept enough to call it waking. Romanov was already awake beside me, watching the ceiling with the quiet stillness of someone who’d spent the night thinking instead of resting. “You’ve decided,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “I think I decided somewhere around three in the morning,” I said. “I just needed the sun up before I could actually say it out loud and believe it.” He turned to look at me, waiting. “I’m not giving him the charter,” I said. “I’m not announcing anything is closed. Whatever happens to the foundation, whatever he does next, I’m not the one who gets to decide my mother’s fight was for nothing.” Something eased in Romanov’s expression, though he didn’t say anything right away, just reached over and pulled me closer, my head finding the familiar space against his shoulder. “I was hoping you’d say that,” Romanov said. “I would have supported you either way. But I was hoping.” “Even knowing what it might

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