Page 32 of Used Bratva Bride

Chapter Nine - Julie

The sunlight feels foreign against my skin, too bright after so many days locked away in that dim, suffocating room. The warmth of it should be comforting, should feel like freedom, but with the two guards flanking me, their presence a silent reminder of my captivity, nothing about this moment is peaceful.

I walk because I have no other choice.

Each step is slow, my body still weak from exhaustion, hunger gnawing at me despite my best efforts to ignore it. I focus on the sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet, the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the cool morning air.

It’s the first time I’ve been outside since Mikhail took me. Except, it’s not freedom.

It’s a leash. A carefully controlled allowance of air and sunlight, just enough to keep me from collapsing entirely.

I glance around, taking in the sprawling estate. The property is massive, lined with high walls and security cameras. There’s no way out, no gaps to slip through, no moment where I’m not being watched. I hate this place.

Then, something catches my eye.

A figure crouched near the garden, bent over, his hands moving with precise care. Mikhail.

My breath catches involuntarily. I freeze, watching him for a moment, my mind flickering back to the last time we spoke. After I broke down. After I cried in front of him like a weak, pathetic thing.

He had just stood there, watching me, silent and unreadable, before walking away.

Now, here he is, his back to me, his broad frame unnervingly still as he focuses on something in front of him.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I step closer, my heart pounding—not out of fear this time, but something else, something I can’t quite name.

The guards don’t stop me. Maybe they think I wouldn’t dare approach him without being forced. Maybe they don’t care.

That’s when I see it.

A small, injured kitten curled on the ground, its fur matted, one of its tiny paws curled at an odd angle. Mikhail is tending to it. The sight is so out of place, so wrong compared to the cold, ruthless man I’ve come to fear, that I almost laugh at the absurdity.

Mikhail Sharov, the man who put a bullet in me without hesitation, the man who looms over me like a monster in the dark. Here he is, tending to a helpless animal with more care than I thought him capable of.

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “You’re so cruel to humans but nice to animals.”

Mikhail stills.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Then, slowly, he straightens to his full height, towering over me as he turns to face me. His dark eyes lock on to mine, unreadable.

Something shifts in the air between us, the tension crackling like a slow-burning fuse. Then he speaks, his voice low, deliberate. “They are innocent and pure.”

His gaze dips lower, just for a second, his eyes flickering to my lips before returning to mine. My breath catches.

I feel the weight of it, the shift, the unspoken current running between us.

Mikhail’s gaze lingers on me, dark and unreadable. His presence alone feels suffocating, pressing against my skin like a weight I can’t shake.

For once, I’m not focused on him. My attention is locked on the small, fragile creature in front of me.

The kitten barely moves, its tiny body trembling, ears pinned flat against its head. Dried blood mats its fur, and one of its paws is curled unnaturally, injured. It looks pathetic. Vulnerable.

Just like I must have looked to Mikhail, crumpled in that cold room, crying and weak.

I swallow hard and kneel beside it. Pain flares up my arm from the gunshot wound, sharp and insistent, but I push through it. I refuse to let it stop me.

The kitten flinches at my touch, its thin body tensing as if expecting pain. I know that feeling.

Slowly, carefully, I scoop it up, cradling it to my chest. Its heartbeat flutters wildly, its small frame stiff, but I hold it close, stroking its head gently.

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