Bound by Billionaire's Ring

Chapter 4 BURNING QUESTIONS

The rest of the ride home was silent.

I kept my face turned to the window, watching the city lights streak by in blurred lines of gold and red. Victoria’s text burned behind my eyes like a brand.

Miss you already. Dinner tomorrow? Just us. Like old times. 😉

The winky face felt like a slap.

Alexander didn’t say anything else. He didn’t try to explain or brush it off again. He just drove—well, sat in the back while the driver navigated traffic—his phone face-down on the seat between us like a landmine.

By the time we reached the penthouse, tension coiled in my stomach so tight I could barely breathe.

The elevator ride up was worse. We stood side by side, not touching, the air thick with everything unsaid. I caught his reflection in the polished metal walls—jaw tight, eyes fixed forward.

The doors opened to the darkened living area. City lights poured in through the windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor.

I stepped out first, heading straight for my room without a word.

“Ava.”

His voice stopped me halfway down the hall. Low, commanding.

I turned slowly. He was still by the elevator, hands in his pockets, watching me with that unreadable intensity.

“What?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

He took a step closer. “You’ve been quiet since the car.”

I laughed—short, bitter. “You noticed.”

Another step. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” I folded my arms. “About how your ex is texting you for dinner dates two days after we’re supposedly married? About how you said it was ‘nothing to worry about’ like I’m some i***t who can’t read?”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. “Victoria is persistent. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I echoed. “She’s inviting you to relive ‘old times,’ Alexander. With a winky face. And you’re telling me it’s nothing?”

He closed the distance between us in three long strides. Suddenly he was right there, towering over me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back.

“I didn’t reply to invite her,” he said quietly. “I told her to stop contacting me.”

I searched his face for any sign of a lie. Found none. But that didn’t make the knot in my chest loosen.

“Why does she think she can still text you like that?”

“Because she’s Victoria,” he said, like that explained everything. “She doesn’t like losing. And she hates that I married someone else.”

“Someone else,” I repeated. “You mean your convenient contract wife.”

His jaw flexed. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” I cut him off. “Let’s not pretend this is real, Alexander. You needed a wife for your boardroom games. I needed money for Grandma. That’s the deal. Victoria texting you just reminds me how temporary this all is.”

Something dark flashed across his face. He reached out, fingers brushing my arm. I jerked away.

“Don’t.”

“Ava—”

“No.” My voice cracked. “You don’t get to touch me when it’s convenient and then brush off your ex like it’s nothing. We have rules, remember?”

He dropped his hand, but didn’t back up. “You think I want her?”

“I don’t know what you want,” I said honestly. “But I know what this is. A year. Then we’re done. And you can go back to whoever you want. Victoria included.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked again. “You really believe that?”

“What am I supposed to believe?” I threw my hands up. “You picked me because I hate you. Your words, not mine. Because I wouldn’t catch feelings and complicate things.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “I did say that.”

The admission hit like a punch. I laughed again, hollow. “Great. Glad we’re clear.”

I turned to leave, but his hand shot out—this time catching my wrist gently but firmly.

I froze.

“Let go.”

“Not yet.” His voice was rough. “You’re wrong about one thing.”

I tried to pull free. He didn’t budge.

“I didn’t pick you because you hate me,” he said quietly. “I picked you because you’re the only woman who’s ever looked at me like I’m not untouchable. Like I’m just a man. Not a name, not a bank account, not a headline.”

My breath caught.

He stepped closer, thumb brushing over my pulse point. “And yeah, I thought hate would keep it simple. Safe. But nothing about you has been simple, Ava. Not since the day you walked into that boardroom and tore my proposal apart with those green eyes blazing.”

I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

His voice dropped lower. “Victoria is nothing. She never was. Not compared to—”

He stopped himself.

“Not compared to what?” I whispered.

His eyes searched mine. “Not compared to how you make me feel.”

The words hung between us, heavy and dangerous.

I should pull away. I should walk to my room and lock the door and remember this was temporary.

Instead, I stayed.

His grip on my wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go. His other hand came up slowly, giving me every chance to stop him, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I shivered.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m angry,” I lied.

He leaned in, forehead almost touching mine. “Liar.”

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me to let go and walk away, and I will.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

His eyes darkened. “Ava…”

I don’t know who moved first.

One second we were inches apart.

The next, his mouth was on mine.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was weeks—no, months—of tension exploding all at once. His hand slid from my wrist to my waist, pulling me against him. My fingers fisted in his shirt as I kissed him back just as hard.

He tasted like coffee and something darker, something I couldn’t name but suddenly craved.

He backed me up until my shoulders hit the wall, his body pressing into mine. One hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head for better access. The other gripped my hip like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All I could do was feel—his mouth devouring mine, his chest hard against me, the heat pooling low in my stomach.

A small sound escaped me—half moan, half plea.

He groaned in response, deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weak.

This was madness.

This was everything.

His hand slid under my sweater, palm flat against the bare skin of my back. I arched into him without thinking.

He tore his mouth away just long enough to trail hot kisses down my neck.

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he rasped against my skin.

I couldn’t lie. Not now.

“I feel it,” I whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes wild. “Then why are we fighting it?”

Because it’s temporary. Because you’ll break me. Because I’m already in too deep.

I didn’t say any of it.

Instead, I reached up and kissed him again.

This time slower. Deeper.

His hands roamed—up my sides, over my ribs, thumbs brushing just under my breasts. Every touch set me on fire.

I tugged at his shirt buttons. One popped open. Then another.

He growled low in his throat and lifted me suddenly, hands under my thighs. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried me down the hall.

Not to my room.

To his.

The door kicked shut behind us.

Moonlight spilled through the windows, silver across the massive bed.

He laid me down gently—too gently after the frenzy in the hallway—and followed, covering my body with his.

We kissed like we were drowning. Like this was the only thing keeping us alive.

His shirt came off. Mine followed.

Skin on skin.

I gasped at the feel of him—hard muscle, burning heat.

His mouth found my neck again, then lower. My back arched as his lips closed over one n****e through the lace of my bra.

“Alexander…”

He looked up, eyes black with want. “Say it again.”

“Alexander.”

He groaned and kissed me harder.

Hands fumbled with belts, zippers, remaining clothes.

Until there was nothing between us.

Just heat and need and the sound of our ragged breathing.

He paused, hovering above me, searching my face.

“Tell me to stop,” he said again, voice strained. “Last chance.”

I reached up, fingers tracing his jaw.

“Don’t stop.”

Something fierce flashed across his face.

Then he was kissing me again, moving against me, inside me.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Deeper.

Until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel him everywhere.

Until the world narrowed to just us.

Just this.

Hours later, I lay tangled in his sheets, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on my back.

I should regret it.

I should get up, go to my room, rebuild the walls.

Instead, I pressed closer.

He kissed the top of my head.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

I did.

For the first time since signing the contract, I slept deeply.

No dreams.

No nightmares.

Just the steady rhythm of his heart under my ear.

Morning came too soon.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains.

I woke alone.

The bed was still warm where he’d been.

I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest, heart pounding all over again.

Last night.

Oh God.

What had I done?

I found my clothes scattered across the floor—his room, not mine.

Evidence.

I dressed quickly, quietly.

His bathroom was empty. No note. No sign of him.

I slipped out, padding barefoot back to my own suite.

Showered. Changed. Tried to act like the world hadn’t shifted overnight.

When I finally emerged, he was in the kitchen.

Fully dressed. Immaculate suit. Coffee in hand.

Like nothing had happened.

He looked up when I entered.

Our eyes met.

Held.

“Good morning,” he said, voice neutral.

“Morning.”

Awkward silence.

I poured coffee with shaking hands.

He watched me.

Finally: “About last night—”

“Don’t,” I cut in quickly. “It was… a mistake.”

His expression didn’t change, but something hardened in his eyes.

“A mistake.”

“Yes.” I gripped the mug tighter. “We have rules for a reason.”

He set his cup down slowly. “And if I don’t think it was a mistake?”

My heart stuttered. “Then you’re complicating things.”

He stepped closer. “Maybe I want to complicate things.”

I backed up until the counter hit my spine.

“Alexander—”

He stopped just short of touching me. “Tell me you regret it.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

I couldn’t lie.

Not after last night.

Not after the way he’d looked at me, touched me, made me feel things I’d never felt before.

His eyes searched mine.

“That’s what I thought.”

He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away.

I didn’t.

His lips brushed mine—soft this time. Gentle.

A promise, not a demand.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

“This doesn’t have to be just a contract anymore,” he whispered.

My throat tightened.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want more.”

I wanted to believe him.

God, I wanted to.

But Victoria’s text flashed in my mind again.

And the boardroom clause.

And the five million waiting at the end.

And the fact that this was all supposed to be temporary.

I stepped back.

“I need time,” I said quietly.

He nodded slowly. “Take all the time you need.”

But his eyes said something different.

They said he wasn’t going anywhere.

And for the first time since signing that contract, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.