Page 31 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
After thinking on it for a second, he only shrugged, turned toward the back of the house, and quietly stormed off.
Chapter 10 – Elena
It happened in the spring, the kind where the cherry trees along the school courtyard were just beginning to flirt with full bloom.
The air was soft and smelled faintly of flowers and pencil shavings. I still recalled the way the sun hit the windows that morning, how the yellow light made even the worn-down lockers glow.
It was Katya’s fifteenth birthday.
We had only been friends for a few weeks by then—fast friends, like sparks on dry paper.
She was wild and brilliant and beautiful in a way that didn’t feel real. The kind of girl who could command a room just by laughing.
And me?
I was still figuring out how to breathe in places like that—polished halls, students in designer shoes, the way they spoke casually about yachts like they were bicycles. I was there on a scholarship, clinging to the edge of a world I never really belonged to.
That morning, the moment I walked through the school gates, I felt the buzz in the air. The type that Sharpay’s presence brought inHigh School Musical.
The usual calm conversations of students were replaced by rising murmurs of excitement.
That was when I saw a line of sleek black cars, glossy like beetles, parked along the curb.
Men in suits—actual suits, not just blazers from the school uniform—stood beside a long, crimson carpet that had been rolled out from the school’s front steps like we were at the Oscars.
At the end of the carpet, a glimmering ice sculpture of a phoenix stood on a pedestal of real marble. Not the fake kind from the art department props.
Beneath it, there were trays of golden macarons, delicate finger foods, and bottles of sparkling fruit water chilled in silver tubs. And right in the middle of it all was my best friend, Katya.
Wearing a white silk dress with tiny silver beads that shimmered every time she moved, she looked like a dream.
She waved when she saw me, and suddenly, I forgot how to walk. Or breathe.
“Lena!” she called, grinning as she pulled me into the chaos. I think I stumbled over my own feet. Everyone was looking—some in admiration, some with that amused, sideways glance that rich kids have when something surprises them but they won’t admit it.
She leaned close and whispered, “My papa wanted to do something unforgettable for me. I think this is the best birthday party yet. I’ll forever remember it.”
I hadn’t even gotten her a present. I didn’t have the money to.
I nodded like I understood.
But truthfully, my whole body was still humming with disbelief. I had never seen anything like it—neither in books nor on TV. Never this close. I was accustomed to birthday cakes from discount bakeries and reused streamers for parties held in basements or tiny apartments, with laughter squeezed between thin walls.
This, however, was a different universe.
And yet, when she handed me a macaron and said, “You’re my favorite part of today,” I swear I felt like I belonged.
It wasn’t even the glittering ice or the velvet ribbons tied around each guest’s gift box that stayed with me.
It was her smile.
Her choice to look at me, the scholarship girl with hand-me-down shoes, and say, “You are my best friend.”
That was the first time I realized friendship could feel like magic, too.
***
I dabbed the tiniest bit of shimmer on the corners of my eyes and a smudge of eyeliner, leaning in closer to inspect my handiwork. It was funny; no matter how many times I stood here repeating the same routine, there was still a flutter of nerves in my stomach.
