Page 65 of Secret Bratva Twins

“Maybe you’re not so hopeless after all,” she murmurs, a playful glint in her eyes.

Her words, light and teasing, leave a warmth in the air that feels oddly like home.

Chapter Twenty-Four - Chiara

The house is eerily quiet at night, the kind of silence that makes every creak of the floorboards and rustle of the curtains feel louder than it should. I lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling as the minutes tick by, but sleep won’t come.

Serge hasn’t come home yet.

It’s not unusual for him to work late—his world doesn’t abide by standard hours—but tonight, the emptiness of the house feels heavier. My mind drifts to places I wish it wouldn’t. I wonder where he is. Who he’s with.

Is he with someone else?

The thought hits like a sharp knife, quick and cutting. I shake my head, trying to dismiss it. Why does it matter? He’s Serge Sharov—powerful, controlling, dangerous. The kind of man who doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, least of all me.

And yet, the idea that he could be with someone else—a stranger, a woman whose name I’ll never know—makes my chest ache in a way I don’t understand.

I sit up, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to force the feeling away. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t care. Serge and I are bound by circumstance, by the children, by this fragile illusion of a marriage. That’s all.

It’s not all, is it? Somewhere along the line, I’ve grown… attached. Fond of him, even. It’s infuriating and confusing, and yet, the way he makes Alyssa laugh, the way he steadies Leo’s quiet nature with his presence, even the way he looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice—all of it chips away at the walls I’ve built around my heart.

Frustrated, I throw the blankets off and head downstairs, my bare feet padding softly against the wooden floors. If I can’tsleep, I might as well do something productive—or at least eat something.

The kitchen feels cavernous at night, the dim glow of the overhead light casting long shadows. I rummage through the fridge, pulling out some bread, butter, and a block of cheese. A grilled cheese sandwich seems simple enough, something to occupy my hands and distract my mind.

I butter the bread, heat the skillet, and let the quiet hiss of melting butter fill the space. It’s calming, the small, mundane task of cooking. As the cheese begins to melt and the bread turns golden, I let out a soft sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease slightly.

Then I turn around, and I nearly drop the spatula in my hand.

Serge is standing there, leaning casually against the doorway, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You scared me,” I gasp, clutching a hand to my chest.

His lips curl into a smirk, and the low rumble of his chuckle fills the room. “I can see that.”

“Do you always sneak around like this?” I snap, more out of embarrassment than anger.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he says smoothly, stepping further into the room. “You were too distracted to notice me.”

I narrow my eyes at him, though my heart is still pounding from the shock. “It’s late. Where have you been?”

He raises a brow, clearly catching the edge in my tone. “Working,” he replies, his voice calm but measured. “Why… did you miss me?”

The question catches me off guard, and I feel a flush creep up my neck. I turn back to the stove, flipping the sandwich in the pan. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His chuckle comes again, deeper this time, and I feel him move closer. “Making a midnight snack?”

“Yes,” I say shortly, refusing to look at him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re not the only one,” he murmurs, his voice lower now.

I glance over my shoulder and find him watching me, his gaze intense in a way that makes my breath hitch. He’s still in his suit, though the tie is gone, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. There’s a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, and his blond hair is slightly mussed, as though he’s run his hands through it a few times.

“You should eat something,” I say, turning back to the pan to avoid his eyes. “You’re always skipping meals.”

“I didn’t know you were so concerned about my health,” he teases, stepping closer until he’s right behind me.

I freeze, the heat of his body so close to mine sending a rush of awareness through me. “I’m not,” I reply quickly, though my voice lacks conviction.

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