Page 21 of Paid for By the Bratva

A lone tear escapes down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb. She nods reluctantly. I know she understands, though it pains her.

But I had no other choice. She belongs by my side.

Chapter 7 - Lara

I wake with a start, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then it comes crashing back—Dima's decree that we will now be living together, announced at a public family event. I can't help but feel bitter about his decision to force us to live together without considering my feelings.

My frustration wells up as I take in the futuristic bedroom I now find myself trapped in. LED modern lights rim the ceiling, and minimalistic furnishings fill the space, making the place feel sterile. Lifeless. A prison, not a home.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take a moment to gather my thoughts, all of which seem to be running in a particularly dark direction. This isn't the life I envisioned for myself, and certainly not with a man like Dima. The age gap between us and his protective nature only add to my unease. I clench my fists, feeling the anger simmering beneath the surface as I think of how he paid for me like I was just another transaction when he ‘rescued’ me.

With a heavy sigh, I push my face into my hands and massage my temples.You’re being too harsh, Lara,I tell myself.You’re finding things you never paid heed to problematic now.

I try to control my thoughts before reflection becomes rumination. But, it’s a difficult thing to do considering how I resent Dima at this moment, resent his audacity to make such a monumental decision for us without discussion.

If this is to be a marriage, it cannot be one solely on his terms. Because from how it’s going now, it seems like I’ve been taken from the prison I called home to just a different kind of captivity.

With tired legs, I stand up and begin getting dressed. I choose a simple dress from the many already placed in my closet, all new with tags on, and make my way to the dining room.

When I enter the dining room, I find Dima already seated, a lavish breakfast spread before him. He looks up from his newspaper, a hint of surprise crossing his face when he sees me all dressed. His eyes track me as I take the chair farthest from him, every inch of space a small rebellion.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks, attempting to engage me in conversation.

"Fine." My response is clipped, devoid of emotion. I don't want to give him anything more to work with, any further insight into my thoughts.

”Early bird, are you?” he smiles cheerily, motioning at my outfit, wanting to continue this pathetic excuse for a conversation.

“My brothers like us all dressed for breakfast,” I state icily. “I don’t know what rules you’d prefer me to follow in your home.”

He lurches his neck back, almost like he’s been jerked away. I can tell he's taken aback by my tone.

"Listen, Lara," he begins, clearly struggling with my coldness. "I know this situation isn't ideal for either of us, but I'm trying to make the best of it. You ought to know that I want you to feel at home here."

I lean forward to pour myself a coffee, not meeting his eyes. There's a flicker of sincerity in his voice, but it doesn't change the fact that he single-handedly announced the decision for me to come and live with him here.

I sit back and take a sip, not acknowledging his words.

Dima clears his throat. “As I said, this is your home,” he says. “So please, explore the grounds today. Go wherever you wish—the only restriction is that my men are stationed at outposts and boundary walls for security, but they have been given strict instructions to leave you to your devices within the grounds."

I look up in shock and freeze with my coffee cup halfway to my lips, certain I've misheard. Dima is giving me freedom of movement, just like that? After whisking me away without my knowledge?

Back home in Russia, when we lived on large grounds, I always had men following me around.

"The mansion and grounds are now yours, Lara," Dima says solemnly. "I hope in time you will come to see this as your home, too."

My eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of deception. But his earnest expression reflects none of the cold authority from our evening last night.

His words surprise me, and part of me wants to reject his offer out of stubbornness. But another part—the part that's desperate for some semblance of control—clings to the freedom he's offering. "Fine," I say cautiously. "I'll give it a chance."

He nods. “Feel free to have your friends over. If you need anything, please ask the housekeeper. She will help get your messages across to the other staff. Beyond that, I will send a list of contacts over. Interior decorators, contractors. As I said, it’s your home. Any changes you deem worthy may be made and I will settle the bill with the vendors directly.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I can make changes around the house? My brothers never consulted me on things like that. In fact, the thought probably never crossed their mind.

I was, after all, the baby of the family.

Dima stands to his feet and gives me a nod. “I’ll be working late tonight,” he explains. “Bratva business. But if you need something, you can call me at my study.”

With that, he leaves me to my own devices.

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