Page 44 of Used Bratva Bride

“All hands are on deck now,” she continues, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her crisp uniform. “The tailor will be here soon to make final adjustments to your gown. We have little time to waste.”

I swallow hard, my stomach knotting at the realization.

This is happening.

No matter how much I want to deny it, no matter how much I try to convince myself there’s still a way out—Mikhail owns me now. Soon, the entire world will see it.

Chapter Twelve - Mikhail

I lean back in the leather booth, swirling the ice in my glass, watching as my men drink and celebrate. The bass of the music thrums beneath my feet, the low hum of conversation blending with theclinkof glasses and drunken laughter. They’re toasting to my upcoming wedding, throwing back shots in my name, as if this is some grand victory.

To them, it is; another power move, another way to break the Spades and remind them who they’re dealing with.

To me, it’s just another necessary step.

I bring my glass to my lips, letting the burn of vodka settle in my throat, my expression blank. The noise around me barely registers. I let them have their fun. Let them toast, let them act like this marriage is just another business deal, another triumph.

They don’t see what’s in my head. Julie.

Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips when I kissed her. The way she trembled beneath my touch, not just in fear, but something else—something darker, something she doesn’t even want to admit yet.

A waitress appears at my side, her movements practiced, confident. She leans in close, setting down another bottle of vodka, her fingers grazing my arm as she lingers. I don’t look at her, but I can feel the weight of her stare, the expectation in the way she presses just a little too close.

I don’t entertain it. I don’t have to say a word—just a glance, sharp and final, is enough to send her stepping back, her smile fading.

I’m not interested. Not in her. Not in anyone.

Not when my thoughts are consumed byher.

I grip my glass tighter, the cold pressing into my palm as I take another slow sip. Around me, the celebration rages on—voices raised in laughter, men clinking their drinks together in a chaotic symphony of toasts and boasts. They’re celebrating me, my upcoming marriage, but my thoughts are far from the festivities.

They’re on her. Julie.

The image of her, both embarrassed and beautiful, stays lodged in my mind like a blade I can’t dislodge. I saw more of her than I intended that night. The soft curves of her body, the way her skin was still damp from the shower, droplets clinging to places my eyes lingered far too long. She had looked furious—mortified, vulnerable. There had been something else, something she tried to hide, even from herself.

I shift in my seat, jaw tightening.

She’s just a pawn. A means to an end. I tell myself this over and over, but it doesn’t stop the dark thoughts that creep in when I think of our wedding night.

Claiming her.

Owning her in every way.

I roll my shoulders, exhaling sharply, willing the tension away. Focus. I have too much work to do to let my thoughts spiral into something I can’t afford to indulge.

Of course, peace never lasts.

A heavy arm slaps down onto my shoulder, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Ivan. He’s clearly drunk, more than I’ve ever seen him. Fucking wonderful.

“You know,” he slurs, sliding into the booth beside me with a lazy grin, “I still can’t believe it.”

I arch a brow, not in the mood for guessing games. “Believe what?”

He snorts, waving a hand. “That you. You, of all people, are getting married.” He shakes his head like the thought alone is too ridiculous to comprehend. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

I take a measured sip of my drink, ignoring the amused glint in his eyes. “It’s not that kind of marriage.”

Ivan whistles low. “Yeah, yeah. Business, power moves, revenge, whatever helps you sleep at night, Boss.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Let’s be real here—there’s no way you aren’t enjoying this.”

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