Page 24 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

I don’t want to show up in some wrinkled nightgown or borrowed shirt. Not today. Not when he’ll be waiting, cool and composed in his suit, ready to sign papers that say I belong to him. I want to be worthy of that look he gives me when I walk into the room, the one that saysyou’re the only thing that matters.

I open the wardrobe and sort through the clothes he’s had brought in for me. Most are tilk and lace and fabrics meant for seduction, not a courthouse. But near the back, I find something simpler. A pale blue dress with a high neckline and long sleeves, the material soft and delicate, flowing down my legs without clinging.

It’s beautiful.

Elegant.

Like it was made for someone who knows her own worth.

I press it to my chest for a moment and smile, then take it into the bathroom. I wash slowly, letting the water soak through my hair, washing away the sweat and heat of the night before without losing the memory of it. As I towel off and brush my hair, I realize I’m humming under my breath, something tuneless and light, the sound of a woman who feels at peace.

It takes me longer than it should to get ready, mostly because I’m nervous. I’ve never been to a notary. I’ve never signed anything more serious than a library card when I was a child, before I was locked away. And now I’m about to sign away my name, my legacy, mypast. The weight of it sits in my chest like a stone, but not in a bad way.

It’s not fear.

It’s gravity.

I dry and style my hair in loose waves, slip the dress over my head, smooth the fabric over my hips, and look at myself again in the mirror. I hardly recognize the girl from just a few weeks ago, the one who flinched at shadows and obeyed every rule out of fear of being left behind. This woman standing in front of me isn’t afraid.

I turn slightly, adjusting the fall of my hair over one shoulder, and imagine the look on Maksim’s face when he sees me. That dark, slow burn in his eyes. The way he stares like he’s trying to memorize me. Like I’m the beginning and end of every war he’s ever fought.

And I realize, as I smooth my hands down the front of my dress, that I want him to look at me like that forever.

God help me, I think I love him.

I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it started the first night he touched me, or the second time he whisperedmineagainstmy throat. Maybe it was when he slid his hand over my stomach like he wanted to build a whole future inside me. Maybe it was earlier. Maybe it was the moment I realized that everything he’s done, every terrifying, possessive, obsessive thing, has made me feel morealivethan anything else in my entire life. That, or I’ve truly lost my mind. But either way, I prefer the way he wrecks me several times a day to what I had before.

I want to be his wife more than I ever wanted to be Raymond Donahue’s daughter.

I want to wear his name like armor.

I want to walk into that notary’s office with my head held high and leave as Mrs. Vasilieva.

And when I walk back through this house, when he takes my hand again, I want him to know I didn’t do it because I was afraid or cornered.

I did it because I love him.

Because I choose him.

Because I’ve never belonged to anyone before, and now I finally know what it means.

Maksim

Aleksei waits outside the door to the security office, his posture uncharacteristically rigid. No smirk. No snide comment. Just a sealed envelope held in his hand, the wax already cracked as if even he couldn’t resist seeing what snake Raymond sent slithering to my gates.

He hands it to me silently.

“Delivered by hand,” he says. “Runner didn’t speak. Disappeared right after.”

I take the letter, nod once, and step inside. I need a moment. Just me and whatever version of the man Clara still half-believes in.

The paper is thick, expensive. Meant to impress. Meant to suggest importance. I unfold it slowly, already knowing what I’ll find.

Clara,

I hope this reaches you safely. I wasn’t told where you are, not exactly, but I have to believe you’re being taken care of. I never meant for things to go this far. You were supposed to have choices. I only agreed to certain things to protect you. I didn’t know how desperate the situation would become. You must believe that.

If you’re frightened, if you’re unsure, please know you can always come home. Whatever they’ve told you, whateverthey’ve made you feel, you are still my daughter. That means something. That always meant something. You are my blood.

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