The Billionaire's Stand In Bride

Chapter Five: Trapped in His World

Aria POV

My eyes followed the slow movement of his fingers as he undid another button on his shirt. The fabric parted further, revealing more of the intricate black ink tattoo that snaked across his collarbone and disappeared beneath the material. My mouth went dry. This was my husband. Legally. And he was looking at me like I was both a puzzle and a problem he wanted to break.

“Sleep in your bed?” I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt. “I don’t think so.”

Romanov’s lips curved into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “It wasn’t a request, Aria. You’re staying where I can see you. Consider it… insurance.”

He shrugged off his shirt completely, tossing it over the back of a leather chair. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible. His body was sculpted like a weapon—broad shoulders, defined abs, and scars that told stories I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear. One jagged line ran along his left side, another near his ribs. This man didn’t just run businesses. He survived things most people couldn’t imagine.

I took a small step back, my wedding dress suddenly feeling too heavy, too restrictive. The veil was still pushed back over my hair like some half-hearted crown.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I said firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not tonight. Not ever if I can help it.”

He chuckled, low and dark, as he moved toward me again. Each step made my pulse spike. “Relax. I don’t force myself on women. Even fake ones. You’ll sleep here because I don’t trust you enough to let you out of my sight. The couch is yours if you’re so opposed to sharing a bed.”

My gaze flicked to the massive king-sized bed, then to the velvet chaise lounge by the window. It looked uncomfortable, but better than lying next to a man who could snap my neck if he decided I was more trouble than I was worth.

“Fine,” I muttered.

Romanov walked over to a hidden panel in the wall and pressed it. A section slid open, revealing a small bar. He poured two glasses this time—one for himself, and one that he set on the nightstand closest to the chaise.

“Drink,” he ordered. “It’ll help you sleep. Or don’t. I don’t care if you lie awake all night wondering what I’m going to do with you.”

I ignored the glass and sat stiffly on the edge of the chaise, watching him. He moved with predatory grace, unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his trousers until he was left in just black boxer briefs. Heat flooded my cheeks. I turned my face away quickly.

“You’re blushing,” he observed, sounding almost amused. “How innocent. Tell me, Aria Robert, how did a girl like you end up agreeing to marry a stranger she’s never met?”

I kicked off my heels, the cool floor grounding me a little. “I told you already. My family was drowning. Your secretary offered a lifeline. I took it.”

He climbed into the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and leaned back against the headboard like a king on his throne. “And you expect me to believe that’s all? No hidden agenda? No one pulling your strings?”

“My father tried to,” I admitted bitterly, remembering the conversation I’d overheard. “He thought he could use me to secure the company and then discard me. I tore up the contract and walked away. That’s why I’m here on my own terms now.”

Romanov studied me for a long moment, his gray eyes piercing. “Brave. Or stupid. Time will tell which one.”

Silence fell between us. Heavy. Uncomfortable. I could hear the distant hooting of an owl outside and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. My wedding dress was digging into my ribs, so I stood up and reached for the zipper at the back.

“Need help?” he asked, voice laced with mockery.

“I’ve got it,” I snapped, twisting awkwardly until I managed to pull the zipper down. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in the lacy white slip the maids had dressed me in earlier. It was far too revealing. I grabbed a throw blanket from the chaise and wrapped it around myself before lying down.

Romanov switched off the main lights, leaving only a soft lamp glowing on his side. The room plunged into intimate shadows.

“Elena Voss,” he said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “She was supposed to be… manageable. Quiet. From a family with certain connections I needed. You don’t seem very manageable, Aria.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I replied, staring at the ceiling. “Manageable women probably don’t last long around men like you.”

He let out a short laugh. “You might be right.”

I turned on my side, facing him across the room. “Why did you need to get married so suddenly? And why her specifically?”

For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he exhaled slowly.

“Business. Alliances. Power. The world I operate in doesn’t run on love. It runs on leverage. Elena’s family had something I wanted. Marrying her secured it. Simple as that.”

“And now she’s gone,” I whispered. “Do you think she ran away because she was scared of you?”

His expression hardened. “Maybe. Or maybe someone took her to sabotage me. Either way, her disappearance forced my hand. And now I have you instead.”

The way he said “you” sent a strange shiver down my spine. Not entirely fear. Something warmer. More dangerous.

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked.

“Keep you close. Watch you. Use you if necessary.” He paused. “Protect you, if you behave.”

“I don’t need your protection.”

“You will,” he said flatly. “My world is full of enemies. Now that you’re legally Mrs. Romanov Sleigh, some of them will come for you too. Whether you like it or not, you’re in the game.”

Mrs. Romanov Sleigh.

The name echoed in my head. It sounded powerful. Terrifying. Intoxicating.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “I’m not your pawn.”

“We’ll see.”

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father’s betrayal, my mother’s hatred, Romeo’s sneer. Then Romanov’s cold gray eyes replaced them all.

Eventually, exhaustion won. I drifted off, only to wake sometime later with a start. The room was darker now. The lamp was off.

A warm weight pressed against my back.

I froze. Romanov had moved from the bed. He was lying on the chaise with me, his large body curled behind mine, one arm draped possessively over my waist. His breath was steady against my neck.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “You were shivering. And I still don’t trust you enough to leave you alone.”

I should have pushed him away. Instead, I stayed still, hyper-aware of every point where our bodies touched—his chest against my back, his legs tangled with mine under the blanket. He was warm. Solid. Dangerously comforting.

“What if I scream?” I whispered.

His arm tightened slightly. “No one would come. This is my house. My rules.”

I swallowed. “I hate you.”

“Good,” he replied softly. “Hate keeps people alive longer in my world.”

His fingers brushed lightly over my hip, almost absentmindedly. My skin burned where he touched. I hated how my body reacted—traitorous heat pooling low in my belly.

This man was a storm I had willingly walked into.

And as sleep claimed me again in his arms, I wondered if I would survive the wreckage.

Or if I even wanted to.