Page 84 of Used Bratva Bride

“He will kill you,” Sophia’s voice is sharp, cutting through the thick air like a blade. My father stands beside her, arms crossed, his expression blank. Neither of them moves to stop me.

I glance at them one last time, memorizing their faces, burning this moment into my memory.

“Better than living here,” I murmur, my voice hoarse, before turning on my heel and walking away.

The second I step outside, the weight of everything crashes down on me. My breath catches, my chest tightening so hard it hurts. The cold night air burns against my skin, and I feel like I might throw up.

I press a shaking hand to my stomach, forcing myself to breathe. In. Out. One foot in front of the other.

I don’t have time to break down. I don’t have time to let the fear consume me.

Mikhail. The thought of him makes my stomach twist.

He’s going to be furious. No—furious doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s going to hunt me down. He’s going to find me. Then… I don’t know. Maybe Sophia’s right. Maybe he’ll kill me for running. Maybe this is it.

My vision blurs for a second, but I push forward, my mind screaming at me to keep moving.

I reach the street and lift my hand, hailing the first taxi I see. The car slows, and I climb in, slamming the door shut behind me.

“Where to?” the driver asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

I part my lips, but no words come out. Where do I go? Back to Mikhail? To the man I just betrayed?

To the man whose wrath I know will be waiting for me? I close my eyes for a second, thinking. “I… just take me to a café,” I say finally, my voice steadier than I feel. “Anywhere quiet.”

The driver nods and pulls into the road.

I stare out the window, my hands trembling in my lap. Minutes pass in silence. I try to ignore the way my pulse is still erratic, the way my mind is spinning with every possibility.

The second the car stops, I push it all down. I step out, my movements stiff, and walk straight into the café.

The warm scent of coffee and fresh pastries surrounds me. The low hum of conversation buzzes in the air. It feels… normal.

I walk to the counter and order a coffee. My voice is even, my expression blank. I pretend like I belong here. Like I’m just another person in the crowd. Like I’m not running from a man who could destroy me.

The café hums with quiet life. Soft jazz plays over the speakers, blending into the gentle clatter of ceramic cups and the occasional hiss of steamed milk. People talk in hushed tones, wrapped up in conversations that don’t matter to me.

I curl my hands around the warmth of my coffee cup, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers. The rich scent of roasted beans fills my lungs with every breath, familiar and comforting.

I don’t feel comfortable. Not really.

Once upon a time, a place like this was my escape. I used to love cafés—used to spend hours in them with Elise, flipping through magazines, chatting about nothing, watching the world go by.

Now, I feel like a stranger in this world. Like I don’t belong, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I stare down into the dark liquid, watching the way the foam swirls with each small movement of my hands.

A couple sits a few tables away, their voices drifting toward me.

“I think I’m going to quit,” the woman says, pushing her spoon around in her half-eaten dessert. “I can’t take that office anymore. Every day feels like the same damn thing.”

“Seriously?” her friend asks, raising a brow. “You just got promoted.”

The woman sighs. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. I want more. I feel like I’m wasting time.”

I take a sip of my coffee, swallowing down the bitter taste. Wasting time. It feels ironic, hearing that now, I don’t even know what time means to me anymore.

Another table over, a group of college students laughs over something on one of their phones. Their easy smiles, their carefree energy—it’s like looking into a past life.

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