Substitute With His Nightmare

Chapter 5

Antonella

I stayed in my room for most of the afternoon, unsure of what else to do. The mansion felt like a gilded cage, beautiful but isolating. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong here, that I was an unwelcome guest in Bruce’s world.

Eventually, hunger forced me out of my self-imposed exile. I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to grab a snack and retreat before running into anyone.

As I opened the refrigerator, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Antonella.”

I froze, my hand hovering over a carton of juice. His voice was softer this time, almost hesitant.

“Yes?” I turned to face him, wary of what he might say.

There was a long pause before he spoke again. “You don’t have to try so hard.”

The words were unexpected, and I didn’t know how to respond. He shifted his weight, his cane tapping lightly against the tiled floor.

“I didn’t ask for this marriage either,” he continued, his tone edged with frustration. “But we’re stuck with it. So let’s just... not make it worse.”

It wasn’t an apology, not really, but it was the closest thing to an olive branch I’d gotten from him so far.

“I’ll try,” I said cautiously.

He nodded once, then turned and left the kitchen without another word.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the spot where he’d been. Maybe there was a chance for us to find some kind of peace in this arrangement. Or maybe not.

Either way, I wasn’t giving up just yet.

___

It was nearing midnight when I heard the knock at the door. At first, I thought I’d imagined it. The mansion was eerily quiet, with only the occasional creak of the old wood or the distant hum of the city breaking the silence. Bruce had left hours ago without a word of where he was going or when he’d return.

The knock came again, firm and deliberate.

I hesitated, glancing at the clock. Who would be visiting at this hour? Swallowing my unease, I slipped into my robe and padded to the front door. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a man standing on the doorstep.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a leather jacket that clung to his frame, his dark hair slightly disheveled as though he’d ridden here on a motorcycle. There was something familiar about him, though I couldn’t quite place it.

I opened the door cautiously. “Can I help you?”

The man’s piercing blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, he seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Then he smiled, a charming, lopsided grin that could disarm anyone.

“I must have the wrong house,” he said, his voice smooth and slightly amused. “I was looking for Bruce.”

“You’re in the right place,” I replied, tightening the belt of my robe. “But he’s not home right now.”

The man nodded slowly, leaning against the doorframe. “Figures. He’s always been good at disappearing when you need him.”

“You’re his… friend?” I asked cautiously, though something about him suggested a deeper connection.

“Brother,” he corrected, holding out his hand. “Ryder Pritchard. And you must be the wife.”

There was a teasing edge to his tone, but I ignored it, shaking his hand. His grip was warm, firm, and lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

“I’m Antonella,” I said, stepping back to let him in. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He stepped inside, and I couldn’t help but notice how his presence seemed to fill the room. He had the same commanding air as Bruce but without the coldness. Where Bruce was sharp edges and shadows, Ryder exuded an easy confidence, the kind that made you want to trust him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

The faint scent of leather and cologne followed him as he walked into the living room, glancing around as though sizing up his brother’s domain. “Nice place,” he said, though there was something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t impressed.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze.

“A beer would be great,” he said, flashing me that grin again.

I went to the kitchen, pulling a bottle from the fridge. When I returned, he was leaning against the fireplace, his eyes scanning the room like he was trying to piece together Bruce’s life through the décor.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the beer from me. His fingers brushed mine briefly, sending an unexpected jolt up my arm.

“So,” he said after a sip, his gaze settling on me. “What’s it like being married to my brother?”

The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Should I be honest? Should I pretend everything was fine?

“It’s… new,” I said finally, opting for neutrality.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a strange flutter through my chest. “That’s one way to put it. I can’t imagine Bruce being the easiest guy to live with.”

I didn’t respond, but I felt my cheeks flush. Was it that obvious?

Ryder tilted his head, studying me with a curiosity that made me feel both exposed and oddly flattered. “You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment.

“What did you expect?” I asked, crossing my arms in an attempt to shield myself from his scrutiny.

“Someone colder,” he admitted. “More like him.”

I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Before I could respond, the front door opened, and Bruce’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hall.

“Ryder?” his voice called, sharp and questioning.

Ryder’s grin widened, but there was something dangerous in his eyes now, as though he relished the idea of provoking his brother.

“Welcome home, Bruce,” Ryder said casually, turning to face the doorway. “You didn’t tell me you married a goddess.”

I froze, heat rushing to my face as Bruce appeared in the living room, his expression dark and unreadable. His eyes flicked from Ryder to me, lingering just long enough to make my stomach twist.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bruce demanded, his voice low and simmering with anger.

Ryder shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Came to see you, big brother. But I have to say, meeting your wife was the highlight of my night.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and I felt caught between the two of them, unsure what to say or do. Bruce’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Get out,” he said through gritted teeth.

Ryder smirked, setting the beer bottle down on the mantle. “Relax, Bruce. I was just leaving.”

He turned to me, his gaze lingering a little too long. “It was a pleasure, Antonella. I’ll see you around.”

And with that, he strode out, leaving me alone with Bruce, whose dark eyes burned with something I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Stay away from him,” Bruce said coldly, his voice like steel.

I nodded, but my mind was racing. Why did Bruce seem so threatened by Ryder? And why did I feel like Ryder’s visit had just set something dangerous into motion?