Page 66 of Used Bratva Bride

I throw the blankets off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before pushing myself up. She’s probably in the kitchen or maybe entertaining that damn kitten again.

Shaking off my irritation, I make my way to the bathroom. The water is scalding as I step into the shower, but I welcome it. I let the heat wash over me, washing away the remnants of sleep, but it does nothing to rid me of the phantom sensation of her skin against mine.

By the time I step out, towel wrapped around my waist, I feel more like myself again. I dress quickly, sliding into my usual tailored suit—black, sharp, and perfectly fitted. There’s business to handle today, a meeting that requires my full attention.

Something feels… off. The house is too quiet. Even in the mornings, there’s usually some movement—guards outside, maids shuffling around, Julie’s hesitant presence as she tiptoes through a world she still doesn’t fully belong to.

Today? Nothing.

I adjust my cuff links, eyes narrowing slightly as I step into the hallway. Silence presses down around me, and I don’t like it.

The moment I step into the kitchen, the tension in my gut coils tighter. Empty. The counters are pristine, undisturbed. No sign of Julie.

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders back, forcing away the unease threatening to take root. This isn’t unusual. She has more freedom now—she could be anywhere within the estate. Maybe she’s in the sitting room, wrapped up in a book, or taking another one of her walks around the gardens.

Yet, something about the silence gnaws at me.

I move through the house, my steps measured but quick. The sitting room is untouched, the cushions neatly arranged, not a single book out of place. The dining hall is the same—untouched, lifeless. I rake a hand through my hair, irritation mounting.

“Where did she go?” I mutter, feeling the sharp edge of frustration digging in.

She wouldn’t have run. Would she?

My jaw clenches. The thought shouldn’t bother me this much. If she was foolish enough to try and leave, I’d find her. I always find what belongs to me.

The tightness in my chest has nothing to do with ownership.

I turn sharply on my heel, my gaze sweeping the vast space of the estate. The maids are off today. The guards remain stationed outside as usual. Nothing seems amiss, but the absence of Julie unsettles me.

She’s been adjusting, softening. Last night had changed something between us. I had felt it in the way she had reached for me, the way she had let herself want me.

Now, she’s nowhere to be found. A flicker of something unfamiliar stirs beneath my ribs, something dangerously close to concern.

I move with more purpose now, stalking through the halls and toward the glass doors leading to the garden. If she’s anywhere, she’s outside.

The moment I step onto the stone path, the breeze cool against my skin, my eyes sweep over the stretch of green.

Then, I see her.

She’s kneeling in the grass, her back turned, hunched over something in her lap.

I don’t think. I move. My voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Julie? You think you can just—”

She turns before I can finish. I stop cold.

Her face is streaked with tears, her expression one of pure anguish. But it isn’t me she’s afraid of.

It’s the kitten she’s cradling in her lap. The small, frail thing barely moves, its tiny body weak and limp. A weak mew escapes its throat, barely a sound at all.

Julie looks up at me, her lip trembling. “She’s sick,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

I watch as she clutches the kitten closer, desperation thick in her tone. “I found her like this here… something could happen to her.”

The fury simmering inside me vanishes the second I see her face. I hesitate.

The logical part of me—the ruthless side that sees vulnerabilities as weaknesses—tells me to brush this off. It’s a kitten. It doesn’t matter. The other part, the part I don’t like acknowledging, knows I can’t allow Julie to be upset.

Now, Julie holds it like the most precious thing in the world, her desperation digging under my skin in a way I can’t shake.

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