Page 57 of Used Bratva Bride

I step in closer again, this time slower, deliberate. The tension between us thickens, electric and humming with something undeniable. I reach up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers graze against the soft skin of her cheek.

She shivers, but whether it’s from my touch or frustration, I can’t quite tell.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, my voice smooth, measured.

Her eyes flick up to mine, wary. “That sounds dangerous.”

I chuckle, amused. “For you? Maybe.”

Her lips press together, like she wants to say something but stops herself. I let the moment stretch between us before continuing.

“You’ve been… adjusting,” I muse, trailing my fingers lightly along her jaw, just enough to make her nerves spike again. “So I’ve decided to relax your supervision somewhat.”

She tenses, skeptical. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” I say, “you’ll be allowed to roam the estate as you see fit. The grounds, the gardens. You can breathe a little.”

For a second, I see the flicker of relief in her eyes. Hope. I crush it just as quickly.

“You can’t leave the property,” I continue. “You won’t go anywhere beyond the gardens without me—or Ivan.”

The relief on her face vanishes, replaced by immediate frustration.

She steps back, arms crossing, that defiance of hers flaring up again. “So I’m still a prisoner. Just in a bigger cage.”

I arch a brow. “Don’t be dramatic.”

She scoffs. “Oh, forgive me, Mikhail, for thinking that having a few more square feet to walk around in doesn’t exactly count as freedom.”

I smirk. “It’s more than you had before.”

“It’s still nothing.”

I exhale through my nose, amusement flickering in my chest. I do enjoy this about her. How she pushes. How she challenges. She may not have power here, but she doesn’t let herself feel small.

It would be admirable if it weren’t so foolish.

“You’re not getting more than this,” I tell her plainly. “This is as much as I’m willing to give.”

Her jaw clenches. “If I argue?”

I step in close again, tilting my head, watching the way her breath hitches. “You won’t win.”

Her throat bobs, but she doesn’t back down. She lets out a slow, exasperated breath, rolling her eyes. “Of course. because Mikhail Sharov always has to win.”

I grin. “Now you’re getting it.”

She glares at me, but there’s something else behind it now. A heat neither of us wants to acknowledge, but neither of us can ignore.

She shakes her head, stepping away from me. “I don’t know why you still won’t let me have just an inch of freedom.”

I chuckle. “You’re my wife, but you’re still you.”

She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I should throw something at you.”

I smirk, tilting my head. “Go ahead. See what happens.”

She freezes, then scowls. “This is the worst.”

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