Page 42 of Secret Bratva Twins

I watch them, my heart twisting. A part of me wishes Serge had never found us. We were safe before. Simple. Unremarkable. I could manage our lives, shield them from his world, keep the shadows that follow him at bay.

Now we’re here, in this gilded cage of his design, and for all my fear and anger, there’s another part of me—a quieter, treacherous part—that feels… relieved.

Alyssa’s laughter rings out as Leo knocks over the tower, and she claps her hands, encouraging him to try again. I glance at the door, half expecting Serge to barge in and disrupt this fragile peace. Instead, I hear faint footsteps retreating down the hall. Roman, no doubt, ensuring we don’t so much as breathe out of line.

My gaze shifts to the children again, and my stomach tightens when I remember how easily they’ve taken to their father. The way Alyssa giggles when Serge humors her with answers to her endless questions. The way Leo looks up at him, unsure but curious, as if trying to piece together who this larger-than-life figure really is.

He’s their father, and I can’t deny the importance of that, even if it pains me to admit. A father’s love matters. I know that. I’ve seen what it looks like when it’s absent.

Serge… is this real for him? Or is it all about control?

I’m shaken from my thoughts by a soft knock on the door. I stand, my body tensing instinctively, and when the door creaks open, a woman in a crisp black-and-white maid’s uniform steps inside. She carries a garment bag draped carefully over her arm.

“Ma’am,” she says, her voice polite but firm, “Mr. Sharov asked me to bring this to you. He requests that you check the fit.”

My throat tightens as I catch the gleam of white through the clear plastic.

“What’s that?” Alyssa’s voice is bright with curiosity as she abandons the blocks and rushes over. Her eyes widen when she sees the delicate lace peeking from the garment bag. “Mommy, it’s a dress!”

“It’s a wedding dress,” the maid explains, smiling as she holds it up. “You’ll want to make sure it fits perfectly.”

Alyssa gasps, spinning to face me, her hands clapping in excitement. “Mommy’s going to be a bride!”

I force a smile, crouching to meet her height as she bounces on her toes. “Sweetheart, it’s just a dress. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’ll marry Daddy!” she says, her grin wide.

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I glance at Leo, who’s wandered closer, his small hands clutching the stuffed bear Serge provided. His wide eyes shift between me and the dress, and I see the question forming on his lips before he speaks.

“Are we gonna stay here forever, Mommy?”

My heart aches at the innocence in his voice. I tuck a strand of his blond hair behind his ear and brush my hand gently over his cheek. “We’re just figuring things out, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

The maid clears her throat politely. “Shall I help you try it on, ma’am?”

I stand slowly, forcing my face into something neutral as I glance at the dress. “You can leave it on the bed,” I say, trying to keep my tone steady.

“I was instructed to assist with the fitting,” she replies, her smile unwavering but firm.

I want to tell her no, but what good would it do? Refusing Serge’s orders is a battle I’m not prepared to fight—not yet.

“Fine,” I say finally. “Give me a minute.”

The maid nods, laying the dress gently across the smaller bed before retreating to a corner of the room. Alyssa climbs onto the canopy bed and hugs a pillow, watching me with wide eyes. “Can I help, Mommy?”

“Not this time,” I say softly, smoothing her hair before stepping toward the dress.

It’s beautiful, of course. Serge doesn’t do anything halfway. The bodice is covered in intricate lace, the skirt flowing and elegant. It’s exactly the kind of dress I’d imagined as a little girl, back when fairy tales seemed real and princes were kind.

Now it feels like a costume.

The maid steps forward as I hesitantly slip the dress from the bag, her hands deftly undoing the buttons and preparing it for me to try on. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she says, her tone conversational.

“It’s something,” I mutter under my breath, slipping out of my sweater and jeans.

The weight of the fabric settles over me as she helps guide it into place. It fits perfectly, of course. The lace clings to my torso, the skirt flaring out just enough to look regal without being overwhelming. I avoid the mirror, focusing instead on the children.

Alyssa beams, clapping her hands again. “You look like a princess!”

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