Chapter 31 Aria
ARIA
Iwake to cold sheets and an empty bed, my body still humming from last night's desperate coupling.
The memory of Nikolai's hands on my skin, the way he whispered my name like a prayer, makes heat pool low in my belly despite everything.
I hate how my traitorous body responds to him, how even now I can feel the ghost of his touch on my thighs, the way his fingers dug into my hips as he claimed me with an urgency that bordered on violence.
But I also remember the tenderness afterward.
The way he cradled me against his chest and pressed kisses to my temple, his fingers tracing protective circles on my stomach where our child grows.
That version of him, the one who emerged on the island, still exists beneath the cold Pakhan exterior.
I've seen glimpses of it in unguarded moments, when he thinks I'm not watching.
I force myself out of bed, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. The subtle swell is more pronounced now, impossible to hide in anything but the loosest clothing. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it with fingers that still tremble slightly from exhaustion.
Maya's name flashes across the screen.
Can I stop by? Need to talk to you about something.
My stomach tightens with familiar dread. The last time Maya needed to talk, she was asking for money with a bruise blooming around her eye. A bruise Nikolai insisted was fake. I type out a response, my jaw clenched.
Come by in an hour.
I shower quickly, the hot water doing nothing to ease the tension coiling through my muscles. When I emerge, wrapped in one of Nikolai's shirts that hangs to mid-thigh, I find a note on the bathroom counter in his precise handwriting.
Had to handle something. Back by noon. Don't leave the house without security.
The command makes my teeth grind, but I can't deny the flutter of warmth in my chest at his concern. Or is it possession? With Nikolai, the line between the two blurs like watercolors in rain.
Maya arrives exactly an hour later, and I open the door to find my sister looking almost healthy. Her cheeks have color, her eyes are clear, and she's wearing clean clothes that actually fit. But it's her face that makes my breath catch in my throat.
The purple-black bruise that bloomed around her eye has vanished completely. Not faded. Not yellowing with age. Gone. Not even a trace of discoloration remains on her pale skin.
"Hey," Maya says, her smile bright but her eyes darting past me into the house. "Can I come in?"
I step aside wordlessly, my mind racing through possibilities.
Makeup. It had to be makeup. Nikolai was right, and shame burns through my chest like acid at how easily I believed her performance.
How many times have I fallen for her manipulations?
How many lies have I swallowed because I was desperate to believe she was getting better?
"Your eye," I say, my voice flat. "It healed remarkably fast."
Maya's hand flies to her face, touching the unblemished skin. Her expression shifts through several emotions too quickly to catalog. Surprise. Guilt. Calculation. "Oh, yeah. It wasn't as bad as it looked, I guess. You know how bruises can seem worse than they are."
"Bruises don't disappear in three days, Maya."
"Well, this one did." Her voice takes on that defensive edge I know too well. "Why are you interrogating me? I thought you'd be happy I'm healing."
I cross my arms over my chest, the oversized shirt bunching at my elbows. "Was it even real? The bruise?"
"Of course it was real!" Her voice rises, indignation flooding her features. "How can you even ask me that? After everything I've been through, you think I'd hurt myself for attention?"
The words echo Nikolai's accusation, and I feel something crack inside my chest. "I don't know what to think anymore. You've lied to me so many times."
Maya's face crumbles, tears springing to her eyes with practiced ease. "I can't believe you're saying this. I came here because I needed my sister, and you're accusing me of being a liar."
"Are you using again?"
The question hangs between us like a blade. Maya's tears stop as abruptly as they started, her expression going carefully blank. "I need to use the bathroom."
She rushes past me before I can respond, her footsteps quick on the marble floor. I stand frozen in the foyer, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The bathroom door slams, and I hear the lock click into place.
My phone buzzes in the pocket of Nikolai's shirt. I pull it out, expecting another text from Maya or maybe Nikolai checking in. Instead, my screen explodes with notifications. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. Email. Dozens of alerts flooding in simultaneously, each one making my stomach drop further.
I open Instagram with trembling fingers, and the world tilts sideways.
The photograph blazes across my feed, shared and reshared until it's gone viral.
Me and Nikolai on the island, our bodies tangled together on the sand, his face buried against my neck.
The intimacy is so raw it makes my chest constrict painfully.
You can see the curve of my bare back, the way his hand splays possessively across my hip, the absolute vulnerability in our postures.
We're not just having sex. We're making love, and the camera captured every devastating detail.
Comments flood beneath the image, speculation and judgment from strangers dissecting our most private moment.
Gold digger got what she wanted
He's hot but she's basic
Bet she got pregnant on purpose
This is what happens when you trap a billionaire
My hands shake so badly I nearly drop the phone.
I scroll through more notifications, each one worse than the last. The photo has been picked up by gossip sites, tabloids, even legitimate news outlets running stories about the "Pakhan’s Island Romance.
" My business email is flooded with interview requests, photographers offering money for exclusive access, reporters demanding statements.
The bathroom door opens, and Maya emerges looking pale. "Aria, I'm sorry. I really am sick. I think I need to go."
"Wait." My voice comes out strangled. "Look at this."
I thrust my phone toward her, and Maya's eyes widen as she takes in the photograph. "Oh, my God. Where did this come from?"
"I don't know." The words taste like ash. "But it's everywhere."
Maya scrolls through the comments, her expression shifting from shock to something that might be sympathy. "This is bad. Really bad. Your business…"
"I know." I snatch the phone back, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. "I need to find Nikolai."
I don't wait for Maya's response. I'm already moving through the house, my bare feet slapping against marble as I search for him.
He said he'd be back by noon, but I need him now.
Need him to explain how this happened, who took these photos, and how we stop this from destroying everything I've built.
I find him in his study, his eyes fixed on his laptop screen, his jaw tight with barely controlled fury. He looks up as I burst through the door, and something in his expression makes my breath catch.
"You've seen it," I say. Not a question.
"Yes." His voice is cold, clinical, the Pakhan fully emerged. "Sit down, Aria."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know how this happened.
" My voice rises despite my attempt to maintain control.
"Someone was on that island with us. Watching us.
Photographing us! And now it's everywhere, and strangers are commenting on my body, on our relationship, calling me a gold digger and a whore. "
Nikolai rises from his chair with fluid grace, moving around the desk until he's standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "I know. And I'm handling it."
"Handling it how?" I demand, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "You can't make the internet forget. You can't erase what's already out there."
"No." His hand lifts to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "But I can find who took the photos. I can make them pay. And I can control the narrative going forward."
"Control the narrative?" The words taste bitter. "Nikolai, my clients are going to see this. My suppliers. Everyone I've worked with for three years is going to look at me differently now."
"Then we'll find new clients. New suppliers." His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer despite my resistance. "Your business will survive this."
"Will it?" My voice breaks on the question. "Or will it become just another casualty of your world?"
Something flickers across his face, too quick to identify before his mask slams back into place. "This isn't my fault."
"Isn't it?" I pull away from his touch, needing distance to think clearly. "If I'd never met you, if I'd never catered that yacht party, none of this would be happening. I'd still have my privacy. My reputation. My life."
"You'd also be struggling to keep your business afloat and dealing with your sister's addiction alone." His voice drops to something rough and honest. "Don't pretend your life was perfect before me."
The truth of his words hits like a physical blow. He's right. I was drowning before the island, before him, working myself to exhaustion while Maya spiraled and my business barely broke even. But at least it was mine. At least I had control.
"Someone was watching us," I whisper, the violation making my skin crawl. "The whole time we were on that island, thinking we were alone, someone was there. Taking pictures. Waiting."
"I know." Nikolai's jaw tightens, rage flickering in his eyes. "And when I find them, they'll wish they'd drowned in that storm."
The casual promise of violence should terrify me. Instead, I feel a dark satisfaction bloom in my chest. Whoever violated our privacy deserves whatever Nikolai has planned.
"How many photos are there?" I ask, my voice steadier now.
"I don't know yet. This is the only one that's been released publicly." He returns to his laptop, turning the screen so I can see. "But the blackmailer sent copies to three members of the Bratva council. Men whose respect I need to maintain my position."
My stomach drops as understanding crashes over me like a wave. "This isn't just about humiliating us. It's about making you look weak."
"Yes." The single word carries the weight of everything unsaid. "The Pakhan doesn't show vulnerability. Doesn't fall in love. Doesn't let himself be photographed looking like…" He gestures at the image on the screen, at the tenderness captured in brutal clarity.
I realize with crystalline clarity that these photographs aren't just weapons aimed at Nikolai's reputation.
They're weapons aimed at destroying us both. At proving the Pakhan has gone soft. At giving Matvey Ignatyev exactly the ammunition he needs to challenge Nikolai's authority and tear apart everything he's built.