Page 43 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

I glare at her, not in the mood for her flirting. “This isn’t a social visit, and you’re not here to congratulate me. What do you want?”

Hailey doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she closes the distance between us, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You think I can’t stop by to see an old friend?” She laughs softly, leaning on the edge of my desk, her fingers brushing against my tie. “Besides, I’m curious. I bet she doesn’t know all the things you like in bed.”

My eyes narrow further, a flicker of annoyance rising in my chest. “Last warning, Hailey. Leave.”

She smirks, unfazed by my words, and moves even closer, her hand tugging lightly at my tie as she leans in. Her breath iswarm against my skin as she whispers, “Oh, come on, Maxim. You can’t have changed that much. Not after all we’ve—”

Suddenly, there’s a loud noise outside the office. Hailey stops, her head jerking toward the door as her grin falters.

From behind the door, I hear Artem’s muffled voice. “I’m telling you, he’s probably busy right now. How about I hand it to him?”

The door swings open, and there she is.

Sophia.

She’s standing there, holding the documents I’d called from home, her eyes flicking between Hailey and me. Her expression shifts—just for a split second—but it’s enough. I can see the flicker of hurt in her eyes, even though she tries to hide it, tries to compose herself. I feel a sudden, unexpected wave of guilt wash over me, even though I know I didn’t do anything wrong.

“Here,” she says, her voice measured and calm as she hands the documents to Artem. “You can give them to him.”

I watch her, frozen, unsure of what to say, what to do. She doesn’t even spare me a second glance before turning on her heel and leaving the office.

Hailey chuckles softly behind me, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You hurt the poor girl.”

Rage floods my veins. The last of my patience snaps.

I stand up in one swift movement, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. Before Hailey can react, I grab her by the hair, yanking her head back as I glare down at her. “Get the fuck out of here, Hailey,” I growl, my voice dark with warning. “If you ever show your face again, you’ll regret it.”

She lets out a startled cry, her confidence evaporating in an instant as she scrambles to free herself. “Maxim—” she starts, but I’m not interested in hearing anything else.

“Leave. Now.” My grip tightens, and she winces, her breath hitching as tears well up in her eyes.

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” she exclaims.

I release her, shoving her away from me. She stumbles toward the door, her mascara smudged from her tears, before fleeing the room without looking back.

The moment she’s gone, I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair in frustration. My mind is spinning, still stuck on the look in Sophia’s eyes as she stood in the doorway. The guilt gnaws at me, even though I know it shouldn’t. It’s not like I did anything with Hailey—fuck, I haven’t even thought about her in months.

Artem, who had been standing by the door, watches the scene unfold silently. When the room falls quiet again, he steps forward, shaking his head.

“Sophia came by herself to deliver those,” he says, holding up the stack of documents. “She told me she felt too suffocated at home.”

My chest tightens at that. Too suffocated?

“I doubt she feels better now…,” Artem continues, a note of sympathy in his voice.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Why do I even care? Sophia’s my wife, yes, but this isn’t about feelings, it’s about power, control. She’s a part of this life because she had to be, and I’ve always kept my emotions in check. Something about her seeing Hailey like that… it bothers me.

More than it should.

“Stop the driver from taking her home,” I order, my voice sharper than intended.

Artem clears his throat, glancing at me with a cautious expression. “I think she drove herself. Probably left already.”

I curse under my breath, running my hand through my hair again. My mind races, torn between chasing after her and letting her go. She’s not in love with me—or at least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself. This marriage was never about love. It was about alliances, power, and getting the upper hand over the Americans. So why does the thought of her being hurt by all of this leave me feeling so unsettled?

Would she really be hurt? I think back to the look in her eyes, the tightness in her posture, the way she didn’t even want to stay in the room. Maybe she doesn’t love me. Maybe she never will. Something’s changed between us. She wouldn’t have looked like that if she didn’t care—at least a little.

“Should I track her down?” Artem asks carefully, sensing my hesitation.

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