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ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN
Veröffentlichungsdatum:
24.10.2026 04:58:16
Aktuellstes Kapitel
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
THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE
Aria’s POV The message arrived at eleven that night, through an account I didn’t recognize, on a platform I barely used. No name attached. Just a single line under the profile photo of a blank gray silhouette. I think it’s time we talked honestly, Aria. I stared at it for a long moment before I typed back. Who is this? You already know. I set the phone down on the kitchen counter like it had gone hot in my hand. Romanov was upstairs, and some instinct told me not to call for him yet, not until I understood what I was looking at. What do you want, I typed. The same thing I’ve wanted from the beginning. To stop this before it costs more than either of us intends. You’re the one causing the cost. Am I. Or am I simply showing you what happens when truth insists on surfacing regardless of who it harms along the way? I read that twice, feeling something cold settle behind my ribs. Say what you’re actually offering, I typed. Stop being clever about it. There was a pause, longer
THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOUR
Aria’s POV The foundation’s office smelled like burnt coffee and printer paper, the same as it always did, except nobody was answering phones the way they usually did on a Tuesday morning. I found Renee at her desk, staring at a spreadsheet instead of typing into it. “How bad,” I said. She turned the monitor toward me. Red cells, most of the way down the column. “Fourteen recurring donors paused their monthly gifts since yesterday,” she said. “Two corporate sponsors sent formal letters this morning withdrawing support entirely. Not pausing. Withdrawing.” “Which sponsors?” “Harrow Textiles,” she said. “And the Bellmont Group.” Bellmont had funded the winter coat drive for three years running. I sat down across from her, feeling the number settle into my stomach like a stone. “There’s more,” Renee said, hesitating in a way that told me she didn’t want to be the one saying it. “Tell me.” “Someone’s been calling our families,” she said. “Not the office. Directly. Telling them t
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