Page 102 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

The ride is quiet but charged. Kolya’s hand finds mine again, thumb stroking across my knuckles absently. He looks relaxed—at least outwardly—but I can feel it in him. The tension. The restraint. Like he’s already counting the minutes until we’re alone again.

As the mansion comes into view, lit up in the soft glow of evening, I feel the pressure of reality settle in. This is it. I’m no longer Elise Emberly, orphan girl with nothing to her name. I’m Elise Sharov. The wife of a man who commands armies with a glance.

The front doors open before we even step out of the car. Staff, security, a handful of select guests already ushered inside for the private reception. The chandelier above the foyer sparkles like a thousand tiny suns, casting light on marble floors and polished wood.

At the center of it all, I spot him.

William.

His suit is neat. His hair slicked back. He looks older than I remember, and heavier with something that isn’t just guilt—it’s resignation.

He steps forward as we enter, eyes landing on me first, then flicking briefly to Kolya, who remains at my side like a shadow made flesh.

“Elise,” William says softly. “You look… radiant.”

I nod once. “Thank you.”

A pause stretches between us.

“I never wanted it to happen the way it did,” he adds, voice quiet. “But I see now… it brought you here.”

Kolya’s hand tightens slightly on mine, but I don’t pull away. I study William’s face, the lines that have deepened since the betrayal. The sorrow etched into his expression. Though I’m not ready to forgive, I’m too tired to hold the blade forever.

“I’m not the girl you raised,” I say evenly.

“I know.”

We hold each other’s gaze for a breath more, then I lean forward and kiss his cheek—gentle, final.

“Goodbye, William,” I whisper.

His eyes close briefly. He nods. Then, like smoke, he drifts into the crowd.

Kolya’s arm is around my waist in an instant, drawing me back to him. “You’re too kind,” he mutters.

“I’m not,” I reply. “I just don’t want his shadow in our house any longer.”

That earns me a dark smile. “Ours, is it?”

I arch a brow. “You married me, didn’t you?”

He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “Then I expect you to act like it.”

Before I can answer, his hand slips lower, scandalously so, and I gasp, slapping it away with a half laugh. He grins, wicked and unrepentant.

We slip away from the main reception hall—too many eyes, too much noise. I catch glimpses of our guests: Andrei raising a glass, Alina laughing with some suited man I don’t recognize. None of it sticks.

Not when Kolya pulls me down a side corridor, mouth already on mine before we’re even out of sight.

It’s not gentle this time.

His hands are in my hair, on my waist, pushing me back against the wall as his body crowds mine. My veil slips, forgotten. His jacket is open, tie askew. My dress is too tight, too much, and I can’t breathe—not from panic, but from the need he ignites in me every time he so much aslooksat me.

“Kolya,” I whisper, dragging his bottom lip between my teeth. “People are going to notice.”

“Let them.”

I gasp as his hand slips beneath the fabric at my back, his mouth dragging along my throat.

---