Page 44 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

From the corner of my eye, I catch Mark watching me, his gaze intense. I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his stare. “It was a private moment, just the two of us. Mark's not one for grand gestures, but he has a way of making even the simplest things feel special.”

The words come easily, a lie that feels dangerously close to a confession. The woman sighs dreamily, clearly satisfied with my answer. “You two make such a lovely couple. I can see the adoration in his eyes when he looks at you.”

I force a laugh, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches at her words. If only she knew the truth.

As the woman drifts away, Mark’s hand rests on the small of my back. “You handled that well,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “Just enough details, but not too many to give us away.”

I tilt my head to look up at him, my pulse quickening at his proximity. “Thank you.”

His lips curl into a smirk, yet there's a softness in his eyes that takes me by surprise. “Dance with me,” he suddenly says, taking my hand and guiding me to the center of the room.

I follow silently, my skin tingling where his fingers intertwine with mine. As we sway to the music, Mark draws me closer, his body shaping to mine in a way that feels both familiar and exhilaratingly fresh.

“Quinn,” he breathes, my name a caress on his lips. “I...”

But before he can continue, an apologetic friend of his appears, asking for some urgent advice. The moment broken, Mark steps back, his mask slipping back into place.

I watch them walk off the floor. What was he about to say? And why do I feel a flicker of disappointment at the interruption?

***

As the party starts to wind down, Mark guides me towards the exit, and I feel a sudden surge of panic at the thought of leaving his side. It's irrational, I know, but after spending the evening playing the role of his adoring fiancée, the idea of being alone feels strangely unsettling.

As if sensing my unease, Mark tilts his head in my direction. “You okay?” he murmurs.

I nod, unable to speak. The truth is, I'm nowhere near okay. The lines between pretense and reality are blurring, and I'm uncertain how much longer I can maintain this charade without completely losing myself.

We step out into the cool night air, and I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head. But before I can fully compose myself, Mark leads me towards his sleek black car, its enginealready purring. “I hope you’re not too tired. We have one more appearance to make.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice sounding small and uncertain to my own ears.

Mark's lips quirk in a half-smile, his eyes glinting with excitement. “My family's place. My sister Lara and her husband Dima Orlov are throwing a little gathering.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and nervousness sweeps over me. “We’re meeting your family?”

“All of them,” he nods.

***

As we pull up to the sprawling mansion, I take in its grandeur—the manicured lawns and towering columns speak of wealth and status. Mark helps me out of the car, his hand lingering on the small of my back as he guides me towards the entrance.

The moment we reach the doorway to the living room, I'm engulfed in a whirlwind of activity, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. A bunch of curious faces turn in our direction, and I stiffen, suddenly nervous.

Mark's arm tightens around my waist, his presence a steadying force amidst the chaos of my thoughts. “Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple. “You're with me. You're safe.”

I lean into him, drawing strength from his solid frame, and we move into the living room together.

The next thing I know, we’re surrounded by a group of people. I recognize Lara immediately, who embraces me. “I’m soglad you dropped by!” She turns to introduce me to a tall man. “This is my husband, Dima.”

“You’ll find that we Orlovs are much better company than the Zolotovs,” Dima grins at me, helping to put me at ease.

“That’s because you’re all frightfully boring,” a man I don’t recognize chimes in, giving me his hand. I laugh as I take it.

“Sergei,” he introduces himself.

“The most notorious of my cousins.”

“Don’t tell my wife that,” he winks at me as a beautiful woman slides up to him.

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