THE BILLIONAIRE’S EXCHANGED BRIDE

Ariana pov~

"Right. Just an office file," I echoed, forcing a tight, unconvincing smile as I tried to step back.

The words tasted like metal. In my anxiety to brush it off and escape back upstairs, I completely dropped the carefully curated cadence of breathless, dependent compliance that the real Aria always maintained around him. I didn't flutter my lashes, I didn't lean into his touch for reassurance, and worst of all, I spoke with a sharp, defensive snap that belonged entirely to me, not my twin.

Ethan didn't let me step back. His fingers tightened slightly around my chin, not enough to bruise, but enough to hold me completely captive.

His dark obsidian eyes swept over my face, stripping away the polite facade. The blind, all-consuming adoration that usually clouded his gaze when he looked at me suddenly fractured, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp analytical focus.

"You're not asking any follow-up questions," Ethan noted, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper that scraped against my nerves. "Usually, a misplaced corporate file sends you into a minor panic about my workload. Today, you just want to drop it and run back upstairs."

My stomach plummeted into freefall. Idiot, I screamed at myself internally. I had slipped.

"I'm just tired from the drive, Ethan," I salvaged quickly, forcing my voice to soften, desperately trying to slide back into character as I laid a trembling hand over his chest. "You said yourself it was nothing to worry about. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He didn't answer. He just stared down at me for a long, agonizing beat, his thumb slowly tracing the line of my jaw while his mind raced behind those impenetrable eyes. The absolute trust he had carried just an hour ago had cracked right down the middle.

"Go upstairs, Aria," he said quietly, releasing my chin at last, though his gaze never left my face. "I'll be up later. I have a few... calls to make first."

I didn't argue. I turned and walked up the stairs, my legs shaking with every single step, knowing the exact moment I rounded the landing that the illusion was officially shattering.

Down in the dim hallway, the heavy oak door of the study clicked shut.

Inside the quiet room, Ethan walked over to his mahogany desk. The mysterious envelope sat discarded near his keyboard, but he didn't look at it. Instead, he pulled out his secure secondary phone, dialed a direct, private number, and pressed it to his ear.

"Marcus," Ethan ordered the second the line connected, his voice a lethal, frozen rasp that cut through the silence of the house. "Drop everything. I want a complete, unredacted background check pulled on my wife. Every flight manifest, every financial transaction, and every medical record from the last twelve months. I want to know every single place she went while I was out of the country."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Everything?" Marcus asked cautiously.

"Everything."

Ethan's gaze finally shifted toward the envelope.

"And Marcus?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't alert anyone. Not the security team. Not the board. And certainly not my wife."

His jaw tightened as he picked up the envelope and examined the unfamiliar handwriting scrawled across the front.

"If someone is trying to make me question the woman I married, I want to know who started this."

He ended the call.

Upstairs, I pressed my back against the bedroom door, one trembling hand covering my mouth to keep the panic from escaping.

He knew.

Maybe not the truth yet.

But Ethan was looking.

And if he found what I had spent weeks trying to bury, there would be nowhere left for me to hide.