Page 54 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

I sent a dress earlier, one carefully selected to suit the occasion and the woman she’s becoming in this house. As much as I told myself this was a practical decision—a way to establish her presence alongside mine in this life—I can’t ignore the faint sense of anticipation curling in my chest.

I glance at my watch, irritation simmering. We’re already running late.

“Is she ready yet?” I mutter to one of the house staff hovering nearby.

“She should be down any moment, sir,” the woman replies nervously before disappearing down the hall.

I pace near the foot of the staircase, the sharp edges of my impatience tempered by a flicker of curiosity. When Hannah finally appears at the top of the stairs, everything—time, sound, even my breathing—seems to halt.

She’s breathtaking.

The dress is deep emerald green, the silk clinging to her in all the right places, the neckline just low enough to be daring without crossing into vulgarity. Her dark hair is swept back into elegant waves that bares her neck and shoulders, and she moves with a grace I hadn’t expected.

It’s not just the dress or the way it accentuates her; it’s the way she carries herself. There’s still a hint of defiance inthe set of her jaw, but it’s softened by something else—poise, confidence, strength.

For a moment, I forget the event entirely, caught up in the way she’s transformed from the fiery, untamed girl I married to this captivating woman walking toward me.

She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, her gaze meeting mine, and something in her eyes flickers—uncertainty, perhaps, or a challenge.

“Well?” she asks, her voice light but tinged with nervousness. “Do I pass the test?”

I clear my throat, forcing my features back into their usual mask of composure. “You’ll do,” I say, my tone deliberately nonchalant, though my voice is rougher than I intended.

Her lips twitch, almost forming a smile, and she steps closer, adjusting one of the thin straps of the dress. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For looking better than you expected,” she says, her tone teasing.

I don’t answer, my gaze lingering on her a moment too long before I offer her my arm. “We’re late.”

She hesitates briefly before slipping her hand into the crook of my arm, her touch light but steady. Together, we step out into the waiting car.

The event is a parade of power and wealth, the room filled with Bratva men in tailored suits, their wives and mistresses adorned in jewels and gowns that could rival royalty. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the polished floors, and the low hum of conversation is punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clink of champagne glasses.

Hannah moves beside me, her posture straight, her expression composed. If she’s nervous, she hides it well. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, noting how the green of her dress seems to deepen the warmth in her brown eyes.

She catches me looking and raises an eyebrow. “You’re staring,” she says quietly.

I smirk faintly, leaning closer so only she can hear. “You’re the one drawing all the attention.”

She blushes faintly but doesn’t respond, her gaze shifting to the room around us.

She’s right—people are staring. Men glance her way with thinly veiled appreciation, their eyes lingering a moment too long, and women study her with expressions ranging from curiosity to quiet judgment.

The sight stirs something in me—a sharp, unwelcome surge of jealousy.

I tell myself it’s nothing. She’s my wife, and it’s natural to feel protective of what’s mine. But the intensity of it unsettles me, the way my jaw tightens every time another man’s gaze drifts in her direction.

“Is this normal?” she asks suddenly, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I glance at her, frowning. “What?”

“The way everyone keeps looking at me,” she says, her tone carefully neutral, though I catch the faint edge of discomfort.

I take a slow breath, forcing my irritation under control. “They’re looking because they’ve never seen you before,” I say, my voice calm but firm. “They’re curious. It will pass.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she nods, though she doesn’t look convinced.

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