Page 8 of Used Bratva Bride

Inside, the party is a swirl of movement and luxury. Massive chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the high ceilings and gleaming marble floors.

Servers in crisp black-and-white uniforms weave through the guests, offering glasses of champagne and trays of hors d’oeuvres so delicate they look like they belong in a museum rather than someone’s mouth. The scent of expensive perfume mingles with the faintest hint of cigar smoke, a reminder that this isn’t just a party—this is a gathering of people who matter.

I don’t have to search long before I spot the birthday girl.

“Julie!” Elise Emberly’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright and delighted as she turns toward me, already reaching for my hand. She looks exactly as I expected—perfect, in a sleek champagne-colored dress that hugs her figure, her auburn hair cascading down in soft waves. Her makeup is flawless, not a single detail out of place.

“Happy birthday, Elise,” I say, letting her pull me into a quick hug before she leans back to examine me.

“You look stunning,” she declares, her green eyes scanning me with approval. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I almost wasn’t,” I admit with a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Last-minute family drama.”

Elise rolls her eyes in exaggerated sympathy. “Isn’t it always family drama with you?”

I smirk, shaking my head. “You have no idea.”

She sighs dramatically, looping her arm through mine as she plucks two champagne flutes from a passing tray. “Well, whatever it was, forget it. You’re here now, and we’re celebrating.”

I take the glass from her, letting the crisp, bubbling liquid fizz against my lips. “Where’s Rhianne?” I ask, glancing around the massive room.

Elise makes a face, half amused, half dismissive. “Around. Somewhere. You know how she is these days—she never stays in one place for too long.”

I do know. Rhianne has always been part of our group, but lately, she’s been more distant, caught up in things none of us fully understand. She’s still Rhianne, still our friend, but she’s also something… other now, something more removed. I don’t know if it’s by choice or circumstance.

“She said she’d be here,” Elise continues, “so I assume she is. She’s probably just avoiding me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Avoiding you? What did you do?”

Elise grins mischievously. “I might have tried to set her up with someone last time we went out.”

I snort, shaking my head. “You never learn.”

“What?” Elise defends herself, laughing. “She needs someone. She’s been so serious lately.”

“Maybe she likes being serious,” I say, though I understand what Elise means. Rhianne has changed, though I don’t think any of us really know why.

“Whatever. If she shows up, she shows up,” Elise says, waving a hand as if brushing off the topic. “More importantly, are you going to have fun tonight?”

I laugh softly, taking another sip of champagne. “I’m trying.”

Elise narrows her eyes at me, as if deciding whether or not to accept that answer. Finally, she smiles, squeezing my hand. “Good, because I refuse to let you mope around looking all tragic and mysterious when there’s a party happening.”

Before I can respond, someone calls Elise’s name from across the room. She turns, eyes lighting up, and within seconds, she’s being swept away into another conversation, another moment of attention that she was clearly born for.

I watch her go, a little relieved, a little envious. Elise belongs in this world in a way that I never truly have. She moves through it effortlessly, unconcerned with expectations or responsibilities. She enjoys it.

Me? I feel like I’m constantly trying to hold on to something slipping through my fingers.

Shaking off the thought, I finish my champagne and scan the room once more. Maybe I should look for Rhianne. Or maybe I should just let myself be for a little while—drink, dance, pretend for one night that nothing outside this house exists.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Tonight, for just a little while, I don’t want to think about it.

The night drifts on in a warm haze of laughter, champagne, and music that thrums through my veins. I float through conversations, exchanging pleasantries with people whose names I barely remember, indulging in the illusion that I belong here. It’s easier with a drink in my hand, easier when the weight of my family’s expectations feels miles away.

I let myself enjoy it.

A man I vaguely know from another social gathering—a son of someone important, but not someone I particularly care for—leans in too close as we talk, his breath tinged with expensive liquor. I laugh at something he says, though I don’t quite catch it, the edges of my thoughts softened by the alcohol. The champagne has made everything feel lighter, more distant.

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