Page 63 of Used Bratva Bride

This is a mistake. I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t crave his touch, his attention.

Mikhail appears beside me without a sound, his presence as commanding as ever. Even without looking, I feel the shift in the air, the way his body radiates authority, control. A fresh wave of nerves rolls through me, but I force myself to stay still, to pretend his nearness doesn’t send a shiver down my spine.

“Impressive earlier,” he murmurs, his voice low, dark. “Not many would dare put Denis in his place.”

I turn my head slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes are sharp, unreadable, yet something in them gleams with quietapproval. It sends a strange flicker of satisfaction through me—something I refuse to acknowledge.

I swallow, my exhaustion settling deeper into my bones. “I’m just… tired,” I admit, my voice softer than before. I don’t have the energy to keep up appearances anymore, not tonight.

His brows lift slightly, as if my honesty surprises him.

I hesitate, then exhale slowly. “Can we go home?”

His expression remains unreadable, but his silence feels expectant, like he’s waiting for more. I sigh and add, almost hesitantly, “I miss Luka.”

The kitten’s name feels strange on my tongue, like I shouldn’t be bringing up something so soft in the middle of this world—his world.

Something shifts in Mikhail’s demeanor. The sharp edges in his expression dull slightly, his posture relaxing just enough for me to notice. He doesn’t scoff, doesn’t mock me for it. Instead, after a long pause, he gives me a single, decisive nod.

“Let’s go.”

I blink, caught off guard by his immediate agreement, but I don’t question it. Without another word, he extends a hand—not demanding, just waiting. A choice.

I hesitate only for a second before slipping my fingers into his.

His grip is firm, warm, and with quiet certainty, he guides me through the glittering chaos of the event, leading me away from the weight of the night and back toward something—dare I say—safe.

***

The estate is quiet, a contrast to the extravagant chaos of the event. The moment I step inside, the tension in my shouldersbegins to ease. No more prying eyes. No more whispered judgments.

I set down my purse and immediately move toward Luka’s small bed in the corner, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The little kitten lifts her head sleepily, blinking up at me before letting out a small, demanding meow. I smile, crouching down to run my fingers over her soft fur before moving to fill her bowl with food.

As I straighten, I lift my hands to my shoulder and tug at the zipper of my dress, just enough to loosen the fabric, allowing me to breathe. The material shifts, sliding off my shoulder slightly, baring a teasing sliver of skin, my collarbone, the curve of my back—

“Stop that.”

The deep, husky growl freezes me mid-motion.

I turn slowly, my heart already pounding, my fingers still on the zipper.

Mikhail stands several feet away, his gaze locked on to me, dark and unreadable, but there’s no mistaking the heat behind his stare. His jaw is tight, his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he’s restraining himself.

“I….” I trail off, confused. “Stop what?”

He takes a step forward, and suddenly, my back meets the wall. My breath catches, the proximity making my pulse stutter.

His arms brace against the wall on either side of me, trapping me in. His body is close—so close I can feel his heat, his sheer presence suffocating. The scent of his cologne wraps around me, strong and intoxicating.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick, rough with restraint.

A shiver rolls through me.

I should push him away. I should say something sharp, remind him that I do know what I’m doing, that I’m not some naive girl who doesn’t realize the effect she has on him.

The truth is, I don’t.

I don’t know why my breath comes faster, why my body reacts the way it does to the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s starving.

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