"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."
