Page 31 of Unveiled

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the storm. He turned his head and locked his gaze on mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The space between us seemed to shrink, and I almost forgot about the raging storm outside.

“It’s nothing,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine.

Was he talking about the coat?

I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him, my breath catching. Was it my imagination, or was he leaning closer? No, he was definitely leaning closer. His hand came up, brushing a strand of wet hair away from my face. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it left a trail of undeniable heat in its wake. My body came alive, electric.

“Semyon,” I whispered, a warning and a plea. I didn’t know what else to say. His eyes dropped to my lips, and when he swallowed, my heart slammed against my ribs. Maybe I wasn’t just his best friend’s little sister anymore.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one nursing unrequited affection—or was it more? Maybe I wasn’t the only one burninginside, aching to be closer, every nerve alive with the possibility of what could happen.

“Anya,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost pained. “Are you alright?”

No. I wasn’t okay.

I’d run into the storm after my father screamed at me because I had the audacity to question how much he drank. And when he threw his cup of coffee halfway across the room, where it shattered against a wall, I left.

But I couldn’t tell Semyon that. I knew I couldn’t. He’d do something drastic and violent. Kill my father, probably. And then my father’s death would be on my hands.

My pulse thundered in my ears as he leaned closer, his breath warm and minty. The outside world tilted. It could’ve ended, and I wouldn’t care. But just as his lips were about to touch mine—or so I thought—the shed groaned violently, the wind slamming into its walls. We both stared at the door as if expecting Eli to find us.

I jumped, and the moment shattered. He pulled back, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

My brother would kill him. We both knew that. Bratva or not, Eli would absolutely destroy him. And Semyon would lose the only friend he had.

“We should wait it out,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if nothing had happened.

And in my small, self-deprecating mind, I told myself it wasn’t because of the tension between us. It was me. I wastoo much. I was always too much. It was me. I was the problem.

As we pileinto the car, the silence between us feels suffocating. Stefan sits in the back seat, clutching the paper bag, his eyes darting between me and my…husband.

Predictably, Semyon insisted I sit beside him, and because I didn’t feel like testing my luck, I let him open my door.

Now he sits in the driver’s seat, his jaw locked, tension radiating off him in waves. He hasn’t spoken since we left the shop, but the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells me everything. I want to poke him, to push him, to say something to break the silence, but I don’t. Not yet.

“Anya,” Stefan whispers from the back seat.

Semyon’s eyes flick toward the rearview mirror almost imperceptibly before returning to the road. I turn in my seat, leaning toward my brother.

“What is it?” I ask softly, my voice gentler than I feel. My stomach twists as I look at him, still unsure how I feel about him being here. He isn’t safe at home but bringing him into this world isn’t much better. The first day I trusted Ophelia to watch him, she lost him. Granted, Stefan didn’t make it easy, but still.

“Are we… really staying with him?” Stefan asks, his voice small. “Are you serious? All my stuff’s back at the house…”

I shake my head, too tired to explain the truth. It feels too heavy, too complicated. I glance at Semyon, but he answers for me.

“Yes, you’re staying with me. If you have belongings you need, I’ll send someone to retrieve them.” He shifts his gaze from the road to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Stefan. “I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.”

Stefan flinches at his tone, and I glare at Semyon. “Might be nice if you tried not to terrify him,” I snap.

Semyon’s cold gaze swings to me. “If I were trying to terrify him, he’d wet his pants.”

I stifle a growl.

“Am I a prisoner?” Stefan asks, his voice trembling slightly.

Semyon doesn’t respond, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch in the mirror. I hold back a smile, though it’s more out of exhaustion than amusement.

I cock my head and look at Semyon sweetly, in a way I know annoys him. “Is my brother a prisoner, husband?”

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