Page 16 of Sold to the Bratva
The drive to Isaac’s mansion is long and silent. The tinted windows of my SUV shut out the world. The leather seat beneath me feels colder than ever. Andrei sits behind the wheel, stoic as always, eyes fixed forward. He doesn’t care that he’s chauffeuring me to the end of the line.
I want to text Evie. I want to crawl out the window. I want to vanish. Instead, I sit straight-backed and smiling. Andrei is loyal to my father to a fault, and he’ll report any hint of me bolting.
By the time we pull through the gates, I feel as if I’ve aged ten years. Isaac’s mansion is everything I expected. Cold, grand, and immaculate. The doors open before I can knock. A woman, maybe in her late sixties, stands there with a crown of silver hair and eyes that remind me of my mother’s. She wears a tailored black dress and a string of pearls and doesn’t blink at my unimpressed scowl.
“You must be Katya,” she says kindly. “I’m Maude. Come in, dear.”
I step inside and exhale slowly. The air smells of lemon polish and white cotton, expensive through and through.
Maude takes my suitcase and leads me through a maze of hallways. I try not to gape, but the size of this place is absurd. Wepass three sitting rooms, a marble staircase, and what I swear is a library with a spiral staircase.
“Your room is here,” Maude says, opening a door near the end of the hall. “Right next to Mr.Kozlov.”
I pause on the threshold. The door across the hall stands slightly ajar, and the dark, spicy, suffocating scent of Isaac’s cologne drifts toward me.
Of course he put me right next to him. He wants me under his thumb, close enough to kill any real sense of privacy or safety. I guess none of that matters, because we’re supposed to be married in a week. If only he knew that’s never happening.
Maude sets my suitcase down gently and straightens.
“There’s an intercom on the nightstand if you need anything. The bathroom is fully stocked in case you forgot something. The sheets are Egyptian cotton and mighty comfortable, if I do say so myself. The closet and dresser are empty, so feel free to unpack. After the wedding, your personal assistant will move everything into Mr.Kozlov’s room.”
I nod, my throat tight. My wings are officially clipped, the cage door shutting tightly. My only way out now is to drive Isaac crazy.
“Thank you,” I say, because it isn’t her fault I’m in this situation.
She hesitates, then smiles softly. “I think you’re going to be very happy here,” she says with much more conviction than I feel.
I want to believe her, but I’ll never be happy in a prison, no matter how luxurious it is.
When the door closes behind her, the mask drops. My shoulders sag, and my hands tremble. I stare at the suitcase packed with only the essentials. It held a few changes of clothes, some makeup, a toothbrush, and other toiletries. No heels, no cocktail dresses, or any other articles that show I plan to stay.
Yet as I unzip the bag and start to unpack, something gnaws at me. What if I’m wrong? What if Isaac actually wants this and nothing I do changes his mind? What if he outlasts my rebellion and I really have to marry him?
I shove my clothes into drawers and pretend the knots in my stomach are just nerves. Not doubt or fear, and definitely not anticipation.
I’m halfway through folding a black cashmere sweater when a sharp knock splits the quiet. I pause. The knock comes again, confident and deliberate. I already know who it is before I even turn around. I smooth my expression and open the door with a carefully arched brow.
Just like last night, I find Isaac lounging in the doorway, infuriatingly at ease. He traded his suit jacket for something somehow even more dangerous. Perfectly tailored black dress pants and a crisp white button-down, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Of course. God forbid the universe allow me a single moment of peace.
His forearms flex as he folds them across his chest, lean muscle shifting beneath the starched cuffs. My gaze skims over those big hands, those toned arms, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I’m yanked back to last night. I wonder where he stashed my vibrator after he so casually stole it from me.
I inhale through my nose and stand up straighter. He doesn’t get to win this round.
“What do you want?” I ask, proud of the way my voice stays mostly steady.
Isaac tilts his head, gaze dipping briefly to my bare feet and then back to my face.
“Did you really think calling up everyone involved in the wedding planning would somehow deter me from wanting to marry you?”
My stomach drops.
I blink once, then twice, trying to feign ignorance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room. The air shifts instantly, becoming charged between us. The moment he crosses the threshold, the bedroom no longer feels like mine. It feels like an extension of him, and at any second he could simply claim me as his.
