Page 6 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

“Is this where you live?” I ask, feeling a little out of place all of a sudden. This house, this lifestyle… it feels so far removed from the world I know.

He nods, leading me toward the entrance. “It’s home.”

I follow him inside, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The interior is just as impressive as the exterior—marble floors, grand staircases, and an open-plan living area that seems to stretch on forever. I notice abstract art hanging on the walls, along with tasteful furniture that looks more expensive than anything I could ever afford. My shoes tap lightly on the polished floors as I take it all in.

“You must be doing pretty well for yourself,” I say, still in awe.

Before I can press him farther, he gestures toward a staircase. “Come on, I’ll show you to a room where you can change.”

He leads me upstairs, his steps confident and sure as we navigate the mansion. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m here, in this stranger’s house—no, his mansion—when he opens a door and steps aside, letting me walk in first.

The room is immaculate. Large windows let in soft moonlight, and the bed looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel. There’s an en suite bathroom, and the whole space feels serene, like a sanctuary within the house.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Timur says, his voice softer now. “There are towels in the bathroom. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

I glance up at him, and for a brief second, our eyes lock again. There’s something unreadable in his expression—something that makes my pulse quicken just a little.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, unsure of what else to say.

He nods once, and without another word, he leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him.

I stand there for a moment, the silence in the room wrapping around me. I’m still processing everything—the whirlwind of the night, this man who seems so… intense, and the fact that I’m standing in his house, about to change into clothes he’s picking out for me.

I should be more nervous, but strangely, I’m not. Instead, there’s a part of me that feels… intrigued. Excited, even. What am I doing? My head is spinning, but I’m here now, and there’s no turning back.

I make my way to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My dress is ruined, still sticking to my skin, but the sight of Timur’s jacket draped over me gives me pause. It feels like more than just a coat.

I step into the bathroom, letting the door click shut behind me. The space is pristine, sleek marble floors and countertops that gleam under the soft light. I catch my reflection again in the mirror, noticing the way Timur’s jacket looks almost protective, like it’s holding me together after this whirlwind of a night. I slip it off, hanging it on a hook, and peel away my ruined dress. The cold air touches my skin, sending a small shiver through me, and I turn on the shower, letting the hot water cascade down.

As I step under the spray, I try to clear my head. What am I doing here? This night has been such a blur, and now I’m standing in this luxurious bathroom, in a mansion I neverimagined myself in, about to wear this stranger’s clothes. The man who, despite his intimidating demeanor, has managed to capture my full attention. I shake off the thought and focus on the warm water washing away the tension.

When I step out, I wrap myself in a soft towel, feeling the warmth seep into my skin. I see the clothes Timur left for me on the counter—a simple black T-shirt and shorts. As I slip them on, I realize how oversized they are. The T-shirt hangs down almost to my knees, and the shorts feel loose, barely hanging on to my hips. I catch my reflection again and can’t help but smile at how ridiculous I look, like a child playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. Still, there’s something oddly comforting about it. Something… familiar, even though I don’t know him at all.

I smooth down the shirt, trying to make myself look more presentable, even though there’s no fixing the fact that I look like I’m drowning in fabric. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step back into the hallway. As I make my way down, I spot a woman—an older maid by the looks of it—who passes me with a cold glance. Her eyes linger on my oversized clothes for a moment before she turns away, her expression indifferent, like I don’t belong here.

It makes me feel small again, and I bite my lip, pushing the uncomfortable feeling away. I hear the soft clink of silverware and follow the sound to a dining room where Timur is already seated at the table, waiting. The room is spacious, dimly lit with soft ambient lighting. The table is set beautifully with polished cutlery and crystal glasses that shimmer in the low light.

As soon as I step in, Timur’s eyes land on me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me with that intense gaze of his. It makes my heart race a little, even though I try tostay composed. I walk toward the table, feeling awkward in the oversized clothes, when he finally speaks.

“You look better without all that fancy makeup on,” he says, his voice low, but there’s a hint of something in his tone, like he’s paying me a compliment but still maintaining that tough edge.

I feel my cheeks heat up, a little flattered but still unsure how to take it. “Uh, thanks… I guess?” I offer a nervous smile, feeling a little more self-conscious now that his full attention is on me.

He gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

I do as he says, sliding into the seat across from him. The table is set for two, and I notice the maid from earlier lingering in the background, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply stands there, watching. It feels strange to be served like this. I’ve never been in such a formal setting before, and it only adds to the surreal nature of this night.

The food smells amazing, and my stomach growls slightly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now. As I start to eat, Timur watches me, his presence impossible to ignore. His gaze is heavy, but I can’t figure out if it’s curiosity or something else. He’s intimidating, for sure, but there’s also a strange pull between us—something that keeps me from feeling completely uneasy.

“You’re quiet,” he comments after a few minutes of silence.

I shrug, trying to find my voice. “I’m just… not used to this.” I motion around the room, the lavish setting, and everything that comes with it. “All of this.”

He smirks slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to give away that he’s amused. “You’ll get used to it.”

I blink, unsure of what he means by that. What does he expect to happen after tonight? I try to shake off the thought and focus on the food, trying not to overthink the entire situation.

After dinner, I glance around the room, still taking in the grandeur of it all. Every detail is impeccable, and despite the strange circumstances, I’m fascinated by the place.

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