Page 41 of Used Bratva Bride

A wedding dress.

The small comfort I’d felt moments ago is ripped from me, leaving only a cold, sinking dread in its place. My hands tighten around the kitten, and I barely register the way it squirms at my sudden grip.

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to work. “What is this?” The question sounds weaker than I intended, edged with disbelief.

The maid doesn’t look up as she smooths out the fabric. “You’re to marry Mr. Sharov, so you will need a wedding dress.”

The words knock the breath from my lungs.

The room seems to tilt slightly, my vision tunneling on the gown in front of me. My heart pounds painfully against my ribs, nausea curling in my stomach. “I don’t want to,” I murmur, shaking my head as if denying it can somehow change my reality. “He can’t make me do this. I won’t—”

The maid finally looks at me then, her face stoic but not unkind. “Miss,” she says, her voice firm yet lacking cruelty. “You don’t understand the position you’re in.”

I stare at her, unable to process her words, unable to do anything but sit frozen as she continues. “Your life is in Mr. Sharov’s hands now. He holds all the power here. Refusing him would not just be foolish—it could be dangerous.”

Something in her tone unsettles me. Like she’s speaking from experience.

“You should count yourself lucky,” she adds, adjusting the veil with careful fingers. “He could have chosen a much harsher path for you.”

My stomach turns. My mind races, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of this. “He doesn’t need to do this,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “There’s no reason.”

I know that’s a lie. There is a reason. One I don’t fully understand yet.

The Spades have always seen me as nothing more than an afterthought, a burden. I had no real place in my family beyond being an inconvenience they had to acknowledge in public. And now, at the end of it all, I’ve only managed to bring them further humiliation.

A pawn they discarded—now claimed by their enemy.

My throat tightens, but I refuse to cry. Not now. Not in front of her. Not when Mikhail has already taken so much from me.

The maid steps back, satisfied with her work. “Preparations will begin immediately,” she says simply, before turning toward the door.

I want to scream. To throw the dress across the room. To tear it apart seam by seam and set it on fire. But my body won’t move.

The maid hesitates before leaving, as if waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she nods once and steps out, shutting the door behind her. The lock clicks.

I’m alone again, but this time, it feels different. The walls seem smaller, the air heavier. I stare at the dress, at the delicate embroidery along the bodice, at the carefully beaded train.

I wonder, not for the first time, if there’s any way out of this at all.

I sit on the bed, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, staring at the wedding dress draped across the mattress. It taunts me, the pristine fabric glowing under the dim light, as if mocking my fate.

The longer I sit, the more my emotions churn. Anger. Fear. Helplessness. I’ve been treated as an afterthought my entire life, and now—now, I’ve been claimed like a piece of property. No choice. No say.

Beneath the storm of my rage, something far more unsettling stirs.

Mikhail.

The way he looks at me—dark and unreadable, his gaze always laced with some unspoken threat. His presence is suffocating, commanding, inescapable.

Not to mention his body… God.

I press my thighs together instinctively, heat licking up my spine at the memory of his broad shoulders, the way his suit barely conceals the raw strength beneath. I hate myself for thinking it, but I wonder—what does he feel like? What would it be like to press my hands against his chest, to feel the ridges of muscle beneath my fingertips?

Would he be rough? Would he pin me down, whisper dark, filthy things against my skin?

I shiver. This isn’t right. I should be focusing on escape. On revenge.

Not on the way his deep, gravelly voice sends sparks down my spine. Not on how his mouth would feel—bruising and unrelenting against mine.

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