Page 68 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I slow as we reach the steps. My fingers brush her lower back. She doesn’t move.

“You surprised me today,” I say casually.

She arches a brow. “That I can fake civility?”

“That you didn’t try to run.”

She exhales a laugh, breathless and dry. “Why would I? You’d just chase me down again.”

I lean in, voice thick with heat. “Maybe I like the chase.”

She looks up at me. Her lips curve—not quite a smile. Not quite defeat.

“I’m not yours,” she says quietly.

“No,” I whisper back.

We both know she’s lying, because the line between pretending and surrender is thinner than she wants to admit.

I intend to cross it. Again and again. Until she stops pretending entirely.

***

She’s already halfway up the stairs when I hear the voice.

Soft. Familiar. A sound I haven’t heard in years but would recognize in any room, any city, any lifetime. It snakes through the silence of the foyer, sultry and sharpened like a blade disguised in silk.

“Kolya.”

I freeze. It’s Darya.

I don’t turn. Not immediately. I don’t need to see her to know how she’ll look—poised, polished, wearing that smug expression that always made me want to silence her with something brutal or indulgent, depending on the hour. When I do glance back, I’m not surprised.

She hasn’t changed.

Still beautiful. Dark hair, sharp eyes. She’s dressed like she’s attending a funeral for someone important—tight black dress, sky-high heels, and a necklace that probably costs more than most men make in a year. The same arrogant tilt to her chin. The same effortless ownership of any room she walks into.

Except this one isn’t hers, and I’m not the same man she once played.

“You look the same,” she purrs.

I walk down the final step and stop beside the grand piano, putting space between us.

“Darya.”

“Still so warm.” She smiles with those blood-red lips.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, don’t be cruel.” She circles me like she used to, slow and assessing. “I heard the news. About yourfiancée.”

I don’t respond.

Her eyes flick to the staircase, just in time to catch Elise peeking down from the landing. Darya’s grin sharpens, and I feel a coil of tension wind tight through my chest.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Who’s this?” she says, loudly enough to reach her.

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