THE BILLIONAIRE’S EXCHANGED BRIDE

Ariana ~

My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, the sound loud enough to echo in my own ears. I scrambled up from the cold bathroom floor, frantically wiping the remaining moisture from my cheeks with the back of my hand, and took a deep, shuddering breath to steady my voice.

"I'm—I'm coming out," I called out, forcing as much calm into the words as I possibly could.

I twisted the brass knob and pulled the heavy door open.

Ethan was standing right there in the hallway, his massive frame blocking the light. The relaxed, carefree husband from ten minutes ago was entirely gone. His broad chest rose and fell with controlled, heavy breaths, and his dark obsidian eyes burned with a dangerous, razor-sharp intensity as they swept over my face, searching for every trace of the panic I had just tried to hide.

"You've been locked in there for five minutes," Ethan said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that left zero room for argument. "And your face is pale."

"I told you, I'm just tired," I lied, forcing my posture to straighten as I tried to step past him. "I think the stress of the past few weeks is just catching up to me."

Before I could take another step, Ethan’s hand shot out, catching me gently but firmly by the upper arm. He didn't pull me hard, but the immovable strength in his grip stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

I hesitated, swallowing hard, and forced my gaze up to meet his dark, piercing eyes.

"Who were you talking to on that phone?"

The question hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched instantly, the cold fear creeping back up my spine.

"I—I wasn't talking to anyone," I stammered, my voice trembling ever so slightly despite my best efforts. "I told you, it was just a wrong number. A spam call."

Ethan stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. The silence in the hallway stretched out, heavy and suffocating, thick with unspoken suspicion. He leaned down slightly, closing the distance between us, his sharp gaze dissecting every micro-expression, every flutter of my eyelashes, every frantic beat of my pulse visible at the hollow of my throat.

"You're shaking," he noted quietly, his thumb brushing against my wrist where my pulse hammered wildly against his skin. "People don't shake like that over spam calls, Aria."

"Ethan, please," I whispered, the exhaustion and the overwhelming weight of the morning finally breaking through my fragile composure. "Can we just... can we just drop it? You said you wanted a quiet weekend. Just us."

The raw, desperate vulnerability in my voice seemed to strike a chord.

The dangerous, predatory edge in Ethan's eyes flickered, softening just a fraction as he looked down at me. The thought of ruining our first real weekend together—the rare peace he had fought to carve out—weighed heavier on him than his growing suspicions.

With a slow, reluctant exhale, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Alright," he murmured, his thumb gently smoothing over my skin one last time before he let go of my arm. "We'll drop it for now. But we are going to talk later."

A massive wave of relief washed over me, though it was instantly overshadowed by a cold, nagging dread. *Later* meant I had bought myself a few more hours, but the clock was ticking down.

"Come back to the kitchen," Ethan instructed, turning on his heel. "Your coffee is getting cold."

I followed him silently down the hallway, my mind racing a mile a minute. Aria's mocking laughter still echoed in my ears, alongside the haunting words she had left me with: *In two months, it will make it almost a year you were with my husband.*

Ten months. Almost a full year of living a complete lie.

As I sat back down on the high stool by the marble island, watching Ethan refill my cup with quiet, effortless care, a profound ache settled deep into my chest. He handed the porcelain mug to me, his fingers brushing against mine with a warmth that felt entirely too real, too earned, for someone who was holding a stolen identity.

I wrapped both hands around the hot ceramic cup, staring down into the dark liquid, making a quiet vow to myself.