THE BILLIONAIRE’S EXCHANGED BRIDE

Ariana ~

The rest of Saturday passed in a strange, fragile blur.

True to his word, Ethan kept his phone locked away, turning his absolute, undivided focus onto me. We spent the afternoon in the private library, wrapped in a comfortable cocoon of silence while the autumn rain tapped softly against the tall glass windows. He read through dense portfolios of international real estate while I curled up on the velvet settee with a book, though my eyes constantly drifted away from the pages to watch him.

Every time he caught me staring, a slow, dark smirk would touch the corners of his lips, and he would set his work aside just long enough to cross the room, pull me into his lap, and kiss me until my racing thoughts completely dissolved.

It was intoxicating. And it was terrifying.

By Sunday evening, the heavy reality of our situation had settled back over the mansion like a thick fog. The weekend was ending, and the real world—with all its ruthless demands, corporate pressures, and looming secrets—was waiting just outside the gates.

Ethan stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite, buttoning the cuffs of a crisp white dress shirt. The dark slacks hugged his tall, powerful frame, and the dim evening light cast sharp shadows across his chiseled jaw.

I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, watching him in quiet reflection.

"I have an early meeting with the board tomorrow morning," Ethan said, his deep voice breaking the quiet as he glanced at me through the large vanity mirror. "Marcus is flying in from the regional office to review the European logistics reports. I probably won't be back until late afternoon."

"Alright," I whispered, pulling my knees up slightly toward my chest.

Ethan finished buttoning his cuff and turned around. He walked over, stopping right in front of me, and knelt down on one knee so our eyes were level. His large, warm hands rested gently on my knees, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the fabric of my trousers.

"You've been quiet all afternoon," Ethan noted softly, his obsidian gaze searching my face with sharp, unyielding intensity. "Even quieter than usual. Are you still thinking about that phone call yesterday?"

My breath hitched. For a split second, the temptation to blurt out the entire truth—to confess everything about Aria, about the switch, about the terrible, inescapable lie—burned hot on the tip of my tongue.

*In two months, it will be a year.*

The timeline echoed in my mind like a ticking bomb.

I forced the confession back down, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, and offered him a small, fragile smile.

"I'm just tired, Ethan," I lied softly, reaching out to rest my hand against his cheek. The skin beneath my fingers was warm, rough with the faint shadow of a shave. "Just enjoying the last few hours of quiet before your schedule takes over again."

Ethan leaned his face into my palm, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if grounding himself against my touch.

"You don't have to worry about my schedule," he murmured, opening his dark eyes to look up at me with fierce, quiet devotion. "No matter how chaotic things get at the office, you are always my priority."

The words felt like physical stabs to my heart. *My priority.* If he only knew how undeserving I was of that fierce loyalty, he would walk away without a second glance.

"I know," I breathed, blinking back the sudden sting of hot tears.

Ethan stood up slowly, pulling me up with him until I was pressed flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent as if he were trying to memorize it.

"I love you, Aria," he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely showed anyone else in the world.

My arms rose slowly, wrapping around his broad shoulders as I closed my eyes, holding onto him like a drowning person clinging to driftwood.

"I love you too, Ethan," I whispered back.

And for the first time, as the words slipped past my lips, I didn't have to fake them.

☆

Third person pov

Miles away, in a sleek, high-end hotel suite overlooking the glittering lights of the Manhattan skyline, a phone chimed sharply on the marble bedside table.

Aria Vance stepped out of the bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her body, her long dark-chestnut hair damp and cascading down her back. She walked over to the nightstand, picked up her smartphone, and tapped the screen.

It was a text message from an unknown number, containing a single photograph.

Aria clicked the image open.

It was a zoomed-in shot taken from outside the gates of the Vaughn estate—a clear, high-resolution photo of Ethan and Ariana standing together on the back terrace, framed by the warm glow of the evening lights. Ethan’s arms were wrapped securely around her sister, his head bowed close as if whispering a secret.

A slow, predatory smile spread across Aria's red lips. She tossed the towel onto the bed, walking over to pour herself a glass of chilled champagne from the silver ice bucket.

She lifted the crystal flute, her hazel eyes glittering with dark, triumphant amusement as she stared down at the glowing screen.

"Enjoy the view while you can, little sister," Aria murmured softly to herself, taking a slow sip of the bubbling wine. "Ten months was a nice little trial run. But playtime will soon be over"