Page 124 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

He sets down the bottle without taking a swig.

“For what?” he asks.

“For saving me from being raped,” I reply.

It’s the closest we’ve ever come to discussing it—what happened between us at The Siren. Maybe on some level, we’ve both been avoiding it this whole time.

Like we just agreed to leave that past behind us.

As if the people who consumed each other with passion in that nightclub bathroom and the people here on this beach aren’t one and the same.

Artem nods, accepting my thanks without a word.

“Did you really not know who I was?”

“I didn’t,” Artem replies. “That’s the truth.”

I nod, but his eyes still bore into me.

“Do you believe me?”

It’s not a question I expect from him, but I understand in that moment that it does matter to Artem that I believe him.

Perhaps it even matters that Itrusthim.

I hesitate. “Actually… I do.”

He nods like he appreciates that.

My eyes fall to the whiskey bottle next to him. “How much have you had to drink today?” I ask.

“Not as much as usual.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What’s the usual?”

“Why do you care?” he asks, but his tone is not combative. It’s like he genuinely wants to know.

“You’re the one who keeps insisting we’re married,” I counter. “I’m playing my part.Nagging wife.”

He almost smiles at the joke. “I like whiskey.” But his shrug is too practiced, too casual. He’s used this lie before.

“No one likes whiskey that much.” I pause, then charge forward. “You wanna know what I think?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me regardless.”

I ignore that and continue. “I think you’re self-medicating.”

“Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Moreno?”

“You were different when we first met. Or maybe I was just blinded by your strength, the natural power you have,” I say. “But now I can see past it.”

He tenses a little and his forehead creases. I know he doesn’t like that, but I keep pushing forward anyway.

“You are strong. You are powerful,” I say. “But you use it as a shield to hide the pain you feel.”

“You don’t know that,” he says sharply. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” I nod. “Sometimes, when you think no one’s watching you… you look the way I feel.”

---