Page 85 of Used Bratva Bride

Once, I would have been like them. Now? I glance at the café window, at my own faint reflection staring back. My hair is a little messy, my face pale, shadows dark under my eyes. I don’t look like someone who belongs in this world anymore. I look like someone who has seen too much.

I finish the last sip of my coffee, setting the cup down with a softclink.

Enough. Enough pretending.

I press my palms against my thighs, grounding myself before standing.

It’s time. I need to face him.

I step outside, the night air biting against my skin. The quiet of the café disappears, swallowed by the distant sounds of the city—cars passing, voices murmuring, the occasional honk of a horn.

I take a breath, steadying myself. The fear is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but I push it down. I’ve made my choice.

Now, I have to face the consequences.

I flag down a taxi, sliding into the backseat as soon as it stops.

“Where to?” the driver asks. It’s a different guy this time, older, with a bushy beard.

My fingers tighten in my lap.

The driver’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror as he waits for an answer. My mouth feels dry, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape before I can go through with this.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Take me to the Sharov estate,” I say, my voice just steady enough to not betray the storm inside me.

He raises a brow slightly—maybe recognizing the name, maybe just surprised at my clipped tone—but he doesn’t ask questions. He nods, shifts the car into drive, and pulls away from the curb.

The ride is quiet. Too quiet.

I press my fingers into my thighs, grounding myself. The city passes in a blur of neon lights and dark alleys, but I barely see any of it. My mind is already at the estate. Already bracing for what’s waiting for me there.

When the car rolls to a stop outside the gates, I take a breath, shove my hand into my pocket, and pull out a wad of cash. I had to steal it from Mikhail, back before I left. I didn’t want to, but I hadn’t exactly had a choice.

I count out the fare, pressing the bills into the driver’s waiting hand.

“Keep the change,” I mutter before pushing open the door and stepping out.

The air is cold. The estate looms in front of me, dark and quiet, but the moment I step inside, chaos erupts.

The first person I see is one of the maids—a woman I recognize but don’t know by name. Her face pales the second her eyes land on me.

“Miss Julie—” she breathes, stepping back as if she’s seen a ghost.

Before she can say anything else, two guards appear from the hallway, moving fast. Their hands hover near their weapons, their bodies tense.

My pulse spikes, but I don’t flinch.

“Where the hell have you been?” One of them—Sergei, I think—demands, his voice sharp with panic. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The other, Boris, glances toward the door like he expects Mikhail to storm through at any second. “Mikhail knows,” he mutters. “He knows you left. Do you know what that means for us?”

The weight of their words settles in my stomach like a stone.

Their jobs. Maybe even their lives.

Mikhail doesn’t take disobedience lightly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. My voice is soft but firm, my hands clenched at my sides. “I had to do something. I’ll explain to Mikhail when he gets home.”

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