Page 18 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

“I just need to use the washroom,” I smile and giggle, stepping away from him just a little. “I’ll be right back.”

I walk away, ready to bolt. He’s so drunk, I could just tell him I said goodbye and he won’t even remember the half of it. I think I’ve got all I could out of him tonight, and from this point on, I need to focus on making sure he keeps his hands away from me.

I turn the corner and pull out my phone, ready to book a cab, when my eyes lock on a familiar, imposing figure across the room. Vladimir. His presence hits me like a physical blow, dark eyes blazing with fury as they zero in on me. The crowd seems to part before him as he strides forward, radiating barely contained rage.

My breath catches in my throat. How did he find me? What have I done?

As Vladimir approaches, his jaw clenched and fists balled at his sides, I feel a chill of genuine fear—not of him, exactly, but of the consequences of my deception. For the first time since this marriage began, I realize I may have severely underestimated my new husband.

Chapter 7 - Vladimir

The pounding bass reverberates through my chest as I scan the dimly lit nightclub, searching for one face among the sea of writhing bodies. My breath catches when I finally spot her.

Sofia. And some bastard has his hands all over her, trying to pull her onto his lap.

I clench my fists, ready to claw out his guts.

Just then, Sofia pushes him away, an uncomfortable laugh escaping her lips as she extracts herself from his grasp. My fists clench at my sides, surprise and anger warring inside me. What the hell is she doing here? And who the hell isthat?

I watch as she smooths down her dress, her movements fluid and graceful despite the awkwardness of the situation. Even from across the room, I can see the shift in her demeanor. The forced amusement melts away, replaced by a collected, charming giggle.

She takes a step away from the man, her chin lifted in that proud tilt. My eyes follow her every move as she walks away from him in a hurry, drinking in the sight of her. The way the strobing lights catch on her pin-straight blonde hair, the elegant line of her neck as she turns.

And then, as if feeling the weight of my gaze, she freezes. Our eyes lock across the crowded dance floor, and I see the moment recognition hits. Her green eyes widen in what appears to be panic and guilt. "Damn it, Sofia," I mutter under my breath, already moving toward her. "What are you playing at?"

I push through the throng of sweaty bodies, my eyes never leaving Sofia's face. The pulsing beat of the music thrums through my chest, but it's nothing compared to the thunderingof my heart. Frustration and urgency fuel my steps as I shove past gyrating dancers and drunken revelers.

"Move," I growl, barely aware of the words leaving my mouth. My protective instincts are in overdrive, every fiber of my being focused on reaching her.

Sofia's eyes widen as I approach, her body tensing like a deer caught in headlights. But she doesn't run. Of course not. That would be too easy.

I finally break through the last wall of bodies separating us. The scent of her perfume hits me, a delicate contrast to the overwhelming smell of alcohol and sweat permeating the club.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, my voice raised to be heard over the pounding music. "Why did you leave the mansion without telling anyone?"

Sofia's chin lifts, her green eyes flashing with that familiar icy defiance. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to go out, Vlad," she retorts, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

I clench my jaw, torn between admiration for her spirit and frustration at her recklessness. "This isn't about permission, Sofia. It's about safety. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here alone?"

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm hardly alone. And I can take care of myself."

"Really?" I growl, leaning in closer. "Is that why you were sitting on some stranger's lap?"

A flicker of something—embarrassment? Anger?—passes across her face before it's quickly masked. "It’s not what it looks like," she snaps. “And are you fucking spying on me?”

I struggle to keep my temper in check, reminding myself that losing it won't help the situation. But God, this woman tests my patience like no other.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for her reaction. "I tracked your phone," I admit, watching her face carefully. "I thought you might have been kidnapped."

Sofia's eyes widen, shock quickly replaced by indignation. "You did what?" she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "How dare you invade my privacy like that!"

Her anger is palpable, radiating off her in waves. I can't help but admire the fire in her eyes, even as I brace myself for the tirade I know is coming.

“Your privacy?” My voice goes up a notch. “What about your audacity? You’re married to me, god damn it, and here you are, sneaking away to some sleazy nightclub with some strange man?”

She pauses, lowering her eyes. I see the guilt crossing her face in the way she avoids my gaze. Then, she looks up and sighs. "I'm simply here to unwind, I swear. I only just met him."

As I struggle to form a response, I notice her eyes suddenly dart past me, scanning the crowd. The anger in her expression gives way to something else—panic.

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