Page 11 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
I shrugged. “Life backed you into a corner, Autumn. I’m just offering you a door.”
She fell silent, staring down at the untouched latte. I let her think, knowing I’d already won.
“Fine,” she finally said, her voice barely audible. “I’ll marry you.”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She agreed.
I let out a smile and leaned back against my chair, motioning at the waiter to bring the check.
“I…” Autumn reached to grab her bag. I leaned over, cupped her hand in mine, and levelled a look to stop. She gasped, her eyes darting to our hands, before meeting mine. A sharp, shooting current shot up my arm.
“I’ve got it,” I said, my voice turning to gravel. From now on, I’ve got it all for her.
***
We walked out of the café, and Autumn looked to her right, like she was wondering what her next steps were to be.
“Do you have a car here?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Leave it. We’ll take mine. I’ll have yours collected later.
My car was parked across the street; the scratched Bentley had been replaced with a Mercedes. I opened the passenger door for her, watching as she hesitated before getting in.
“Where do you live?” I asked as I slid behind the wheel.
She gave me the address I already had, and it led to a run-down part of town. She sat in silence the whole drive over, staring out the window like a prisoner being transported to a life sentence.
“You won’t regret this,” I said after several minutes of tense silence.
She turned to look at me, her expression unreadable. “I already do.”
I laughed. She really didn’t beat around the bush or sugarcoat things, did she? “You’ll change your mind.”
“Don’t count on it.” She rolled her eyes.
I couldn’t help but smirk.
We arrived at her friend’s apartment building—a shabby walk-up that made me grimace. I parked and was reaching for the door when she whispered. “Please…can I go alone?”
“Alone?” I inquired, wondering why. “Don’t you want help?”
“I’d rather my friend doesn’t know what we’ve agreed to. Also… if it’s okay, I want to keep our arrangement a secret from my sister.”
That was the first time I felt guilty. Not because I regretted what I’d done—but because she was ashamed of what she’d accepted. And I’d made her feel that.
“Of course,” I said softly. “Take all the time you need.”
I watched her disappear into the building, wondering briefly if she might try to run.
But I knew she wouldn’t. Not with her sister’s safety at stake.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged with two suitcases and a duffel bag.
