Semua Bab THE BILLIONAIRE'S STAND-IN BRIDE: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Aria’s POV I read the letter three more times before I finally set it down, the paper trembling faintly between my fingers. “You’re not going,” Romanov said, reading my expression before I’d said a word. “I didn’t say I was.” “You were thinking about it.” I couldn’t deny that, so I didn’t try. “She’s never asked to see me. Not once, not even when I left. This is either the first honest thing she’s done in years, or it’s exactly the kind of trap Northbridge would use to draw me out.” “I won’t assume one way or the other,” Romanov said, echoing the same careful logic he’d used about the mysterious caller weeks earlier. “Which is why you’re not meeting her alone, and you’re not meeting her anywhere I haven’t cleared first.” “I didn’t ask permission.” “I’m not asking for it either,” he said, though something in his tone suggested this wasn’t quite the same possessive control he’d wielded in the early weeks of our marriage. It felt more like partnership than command, even if t

Aria’s POV He found an empty study off the main ballroom, the kind of room event venues kept furnished for exactly this purpose—private conversations that couldn’t wait for the drive home. “Callahan didn’t just hear a rumor,” Romanov said, closing the door behind us. “Someone gave him specifics. Details about Dmitri’s payments that only a handful of people know.” “Who has access to that information?” “Myself. You. Elena.” He counted them off before adding, “And the forensic accountant who traced the payments.” “You think it’s the accountant.” “I need to stop assuming loyalty just because someone has worked for me a long time,” he said. “I made that mistake with Dmitri. I won’t make it twice.” The exhaustion in his voice went deeper than the gala, deeper than tonight’s confrontation, something worn down by weeks of suspecting everyone in his orbit. “Can I ask you something?” I said. “Not about Northbridge. Not about tonight.” He studied me for a moment, something guarded sh

Aria’s POV Neither of us moved for a long moment after Romanov set the phone down. “Tomorrow,” I said finally, testing the word like it might rearrange itself into something less final. “That’s not a threat. That’s a schedule.” “Which means they’ve already committed resources to it,” Romanov said, standing abruptly. All the warmth from moments ago folded itself back into cold calculation. “People don’t announce an attack a day in advance unless they’re confident enough in the outcome not to worry about giving us time to prepare.” “Or they want us to spend that time being afraid instead of useful,” I said. “Fear is its own kind of weapon. You taught me that yourself, back in the beginning.” His expression shifted, reassessment moving across his features like he was recalculating how much of his own strategy I’d absorbed without either of us noticing. “Then we don’t give them that,” he said. “We use the time instead.” He was already moving toward the door, phone pressed to his

Aria’s POV The candlestick felt absurdly light in my hand, a poor match for whatever waited on the other side of that door, but it was the only thing I had. I stared at the message until the screen dimmed, my thumb hovering over the reply I wasn’t sure I should send. Whoever was out there already knew where I was. Answering wouldn’t change that. Staying silent wouldn’t either. The scraping at the lock resumed, slower now, almost lazy, like the person on the other side had all the time in the world and wanted me to know it. I pressed the candlestick tighter, my palms slick, and forced my breathing into something quieter than the panic clawing up my throat. Then, abruptly, the sound stopped. A different noise followed—a grunt, a scuffle, something heavy hitting the wall outside hard enough that I felt the vibration through the stone at my back. I flinched, biting down on the sound that wanted to escape, and pressed myself further into the shadow. Voices, muffled through the

Aria’s POV I stared at the photograph until the edges blurred, my mind refusing to believe what I was seeing. “That can’t be right,” I said. “She’s been outside my door every night. She fought during the attack tonight.” “Did she,” Romanov said quietly, “or did she simply appear to?” The question hit me hard. I tried to remember the exact sequence of the last few hours—Priya’s position when the alarm sounded, whether I’d actually seen her engage anyone, or whether I’d assumed she had because she was supposed to be there. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice unsteady. “I was already moving toward the cellar by the time the shooting started. I didn’t see her after that.” Dmitri’s mouth tightened. “She was assigned to the east corridor tonight. Same hallway that led directly to the room where the intruder was found trying the lock.” “That’s not proof,” I said. Even to my own ears, it sounded more like hope than conviction. “No,” Romanov agreed. “But it’s exactly the