Page 12 of Used Bratva Bride

“Hello, Sophia. Finally, you’re awake,” I say, voice calm, controlled. I take a step closer, watching as she flinches ever so slightly, a barely there reaction. She’s trying to keep her composure, but the way her fingers curl into the sheets betrays her.

Her lips part, but for a moment, no words come. She swallows once, the muscles in her throat working against her nerves, and then she speaks, her voice thin but surprisingly steady.

“I’m not Sophia.” A pause. Then, stronger— “I’m Julie.”

Her words hover between us, a quiet challenge wrapped in uncertainty.

Ivan shifts beside me, his brows furrowing. “James Spade only has one daughter.”

Julie exhales, her chest rising and falling a little too quickly, like she’s trying to steady herself. She hesitates, just for a moment, before forcing herself to meet my gaze. “I’m hisdaughter too,” she says, quieter this time. “He just… never made it public.”

I don’t react right away.

Instead, I study her, watch the way her shoulders tense, how her fingers dig even tighter into the sheets, like she’s holding on to something she knows she’s not supposed to say.

Illegitimate, then.

Ivan makes a small, disbelieving noise, but I don’t take my eyes off her.

“Illegitimate,” I say, letting the word settle, waiting to see if she’ll flinch at the truth of it.

She doesn’t. Her lips press together, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly, but she doesn’t deny it.

I step closer, the space between us shrinking, and watch the way her breath hitches. There’s still fear in her eyes—of course there is—but beneath it, I see something else. Resentment.

Not just towards me. Towards her father, maybe? That, more than anything, makes her valuable.

I tilt my head slightly, considering her. “So, you were the secret,” I muse. “Kept out of the family business, left in the shadows while Sophia played the golden daughter.”

Her fingers twitch, a reaction she doesn’t control fast enough. There it is. She hates it. Hates the truth of it.

She might have played the part of the carefree socialite for years, but deep down, I see it now—the part of her that has always wanted more. Wanted to be seen. Wanted to matter.

A slow grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I reach forward, wrapping my fingers around her throat.

Her entire body locks up, her breath catching in her chest as my grip settles—not tight, not yet, but firm. My thumb brushes against her pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat beneath my touch.

She stares up at me, her lips parted, her breath uneven. Julie wants to fight it. Wants to pretend she’s not afraid.

I see the truth in the way she stays perfectly still, like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s jaws, unsure if moving will make things worse.

I lean in slightly, just enough that she can feel the heat of my presence, the weight of my attention settling fully on her.

“Well,” I murmur, “this just makes things even more interesting.”

Her breath is uneven, each inhale shaky beneath my grip. She’s tense, every muscle in her body wound tight, but she isn’t stupid enough to fight me. Not yet.

I study her, watching the way she forces herself to hold my gaze despite the fear I can feel humming beneath her skin. She’s trying to stay composed, but I see the flicker of something behind those wide blue eyes—defiance.

I tighten my fingers slightly, just enough to remind her who’s in control. Her pulse jumps against my palm, her lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t look away.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask, my voice smooth, almost conversational.

She swallows. “Because you’re a psychopath with control issues?”

My lips twitch, more amused than I should be. Even with the gunshot wound, even after watching me execute two men without hesitation, she still has a mouth on her.

“Wrong answer,” I murmur, loosening my grip just enough to let her breathe fully. “Let me educate you.”

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