The Fake Mrs. Stanton

ISLA I stared at the ceiling while Beaucaught his breath beside me. The sheets clung to my skin, too warm, too sticky, and my pulse refused to settle. My body still hummed with a need he hadn’t even noticed. Beaupulled out with a satisfied grunt, as if he’d just conquered a war, then disposed of the condom. “You finish?” he asked, his deep voice already thick with sleep. I bit my lips, nodding. “Yeah,” I lied, the word slipping out as easily as breathing. I mean, what else was I supposed to say? I should have told him the truth—that I wasn’t even close and couldn’t even remember the last time I had finished with him. Not sure Beauwanted to hear that after having lost a particular role he was looking forward to. Sex with Beauhad become incredibly boring—like watching a movie you’d seen a hundred times, but someone kept fast-forwarding through all the good parts. He got his, rolled over, and that was that. No buildup, no teasing, no real attention to what I wanted. I used to think it was just stress or that we’d figure it out eventually. He sighed, a deep, contented sound that made my jaw tighten. Beauleaned on his elbow, his dark hair matted against his forehead as he flashed me one of those dimpled, charming smiles that made his female fans go insane with their endless t****k edits. “That was amazing, babe,” he muttered, lying back flat. “So amazing.” Amazing for you, maybe. I forced a small smile even though he couldn’t see it, patting his chest as a good fiancée should. We’d built six years together. Shared apartments. Family dinners. Bad movies. Inside jokes. Loving Beauhad become less like a feeling and more like a habit I couldn’t imagine breaking. Within seconds, his breathing evened out into soft snores. I stared at the ceiling for another minute, then carefully slid out of bed so I wouldn’t wake him. My legs felt shaky, my n*****s still hard as f**k and my body still tingling from the need to be f****d badly. I grabbed his discarded T-shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head. Lukas’ face smiled back at me from a framed magazine cover propped against the dresser. BeauStanton. The rising actor, internet sweetheart, and future leading man. Sighing, I padded out of the bedroom into the living room of the penthouse. Lukas’s dad’s mansion was ridiculous—high raised windows looking out over Paris, shiny stones everywhere and crazily expensive furniture. I’d never get used to Stanton money. Everything looked expensive enough to belong behind museum glass. It was cold though. Beautiful, but it felt like a museum no one actually lived in. So impersonal. Exactly the kind of place that screamed “old money.” I curled up on the massive couch in the nearest living room and plugged in my earphones, and opened my laptop. My skin was f*****g buzzing like a live wire. My n*****s were harder now and they ached against the soft fabric of Lukas’s T-shirt, every shift of the material sending little sparks straight down between my legs. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling just a little. I typed it in, letter by letter. D.a.d.d.y. God, I was pathetic. As old as I f*****g was. I scrolled past a bunch of grainy, outdated videos that looked like they were filmed in someone’s basement in 2009, hissing under my breath. “Come on, come on, give me something good…” Then I saw it. An older man with broad shoulders and a commanding stance, his hand wrapped around a much younger woman’s throat. My stomach flipped hard as heat pooled low in my belly. “That one…That one right there,” I murmured, blowing through my mouth, my gaze fixated on the screen. I clicked play and the moan that filled my wired earphones was filthy and desperate, exactly what I needed. I sank back against the cushions, my thighs pressing together as the deep, authoritative voice on the screen started giving orders. My breath hitched. Yes. This was the kind of filth I craved in the dark corners of my mind—the kind I’d never dared tell anyone about, especially not Lukas. I was already slipping a hand under the hem of the T-shirt when the front door beeped then opened without caution. Heavy footsteps followed and then Roman Stanton walked in. Billionaire. Former soldier. The man who built Stanton Global into one of the largest logistics and defense companies in Europe. Lukas’ father. Also the last man on earth who should have caught me watching daddy porn. He walked in looking like he had just walked off the set of some military fitness commercial for extremely hot older men. I slammed the laptop shut so fast I nearly took off a finger and yanked the earpiece faster than my system could regulate. I lifted my head, watching him approach. Tank top clinging to a ridiculous amount of muscle, his dark hair streaked with silver, and a towel slung around his neck. Tattoos peeked out on one thick arm. He was sweaty, breathing steady, and way too much man for this living room at this hour especially with the way I was feeling. “Mr. Stanton!” I blurted, my voice cracking. “Hi! I was just—magazine research. You know. Work stuff. Research… stuff.” “Well, hello to you too, Isla.” His baritone voice carried. Those eyes, blue, intimidating, scanned me intently. He smelled like cedar, clean sweat and expensive cologne—that kind of scent that made a room feel smaller. Beausaid his father wasn’t coming home tonight! “Sorry...” I stammered, biting my lips, still trying to overcome myself. “I thought you weren’t here. Beausaid—” He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. The meeting didn’t go as planned. Sorry to interrupt.” “No. No. Interrupt? Course not!” I laughed and it came out loud, awkward, and painfully fake. I was smiling too wide and intently praying to God that my face wasn’t as blazing red as I felt. Roman just waited wordlessly for me to get my words together which made the situation a thousand times worse. “There’s absolutely nothing to interrupt. Like I said, just…work.” He raised a brow. “You alright, dear?” Dear. Why does that word sound f*****g different tonight? “I am fine. Really.” He studied me for a second, then nodded like he was deciding to let it slide. “How are you enjoying the place?” “It’s a blast,” I said, a small genuine smile tugging at my lips. “The view is really crazy from up here, but we’re heading out tomorrow. Beauhas a shoot.” He nodded. “You should get back to your research. Don’t stay up too late, Isla.” He wasn’t a man of many words as established. Dad used to say Roman Stanton had learned to waste as few words as possible in the military. I’d known Roman since I was eighteen. He’d attended family events—even sad ones. Birthdays, Christmas dinners, my dad’s hospital visits. Somehow I’d never been alone with him until tonight. His body angled toward the hallway and I exhaled in relief, my shoulders sagging like I’d just dodged a bullet. “Yes. Work,” I said, more to myself than him. Then my stupid, clumsy fingers fumbled on the laptop in my haste to close everything down but the damn thing flipped open again, continuing the video right where it stopped. The moans spilled out into the quiet penthouse—breathy, needy, and way too loud. “Yes, Daddy!” the woman cried out, her voice wrecked and shameless. “This is how I reward good girls.” The man growled, his voice low and commanding in that exact way that made my thighs clench even now. Roman stopped mid-step, his gaze dropping to the screen before shifting to me. Heat flooded my face so fast I thought I might actually blow up. What do I say? What the f**k do I even say?! In that moment before I could consider yeeting out the nearest window, Beaupushed open the bedroom door and popped his head out. “Babe, you in here?” he called out sleepily. “Yeah, Isla’s out here doing some magazine research,” Roman replied, his voice staying perfectly calm. “She’ll be with you soon.” Mr Stanton opened the other door softly, then slowly turned back to me. Without another word, he gave me one last lingering look—that I couldn’t quite decipher—and walked away down the hallway, his towel still slung around his neck, muscles shifting under that tank top with every step. I sat there frozen with the laptop still open and moans now on low volume but somehow even more embarrassing. My heart hammered against my rib, my face burned, and worst of all? I was still stupidly, shamefully turned on. Beauand I had to leave as early as possible before Mr Stanton woke up. I didn’t think I could ever face him again. *** The next day I slept until noon like a gremlin. I didn’t want to wake up. Why should I? My fiancé’s father caught me watching porn. And not just any. It was a bondage porn featuring a man at least twenty years older than my fiancé. Who would want to stay alive after that? I propped myself up eventually. Thoughts roared in my head. Did that classify as cheating? Oh my god. I placed a hand over my mouth. Roman probably thought I was cheating on his son. I remembered Roman’s face when he saw the porn and I wanted to hurl my lungs out and die. I dragged myself to the kitchen for coffee, my brown curly hair a mess, still in Lukas’s T-shirt. The moment I tiptoed across the threshold, voices drifted from inside the living room, stopping me in my tracks. My chest started pounding. He was telling Lukas, wasn’t he? I pressed against the wall like it made me invisible, listening. “…deal’s dead in the water if I can’t present the fact that I'm a stable person, I've got a stable family,” Roman said, that deep, no-bullshit voice carrying. “The Saudis are extremely conservative. They want a family man, not a bachelor with old scandals hanging over him. You remember what your mother pulled during the divorce. The abuse accusations. Even if they were bullshit, the whispers never died.” “Yeah, I remember,” Beaumuttered. “Stanton Global is expanding.” Roman continued. “Devices, defense tech, private security—if this falls through, we’re looking at serious losses. I built this from nothing, I’m not watching it slip because of my personal life.” Stanton Global was everywhere. Cargo ships. Security contracts. Half the airports I’d ever flown through probably had Roman Stanton’s logo somewhere on them. I wanted to turn and leave, but my curiosity got the better of me. Lukas’ voice came again, more serious and lower this time. “Then do it, Dad.” “Do what?” “A fake marriage. Look, it’s not that hard. Celebrities do it all the time and if that’s what it takes to save the company, go for it. I mean, you have a whole year to turn this around. You need this opportunity. We… need this opportunity.” “That’s stupid,” Roman replied flatly. “I’m a businessman, not a fraud.” “Think about it,” Beauinsisted. “You find a good woman who can give you what you need in exchange for enough money to set her up for life. Do you know how many people are dying for opportunities like this one?” Roman’s voice dropped lower, edged with irritation. “People are untrustworthy. Where the hell would I even find a fake wife I could count on?” They both paused for a moment. The silence stretched just long enough for the words to sink in. “We can find someone trustworthy,” Beausaid, sounding way too casual about the whole insane idea. “Even Isla could do it. If I ask her, she’d help. You know that.” I stepped into the kitchen before my brain caught up with my mouth, still clutching the coffee mug like a shield. “What?”