Page 54 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

Who would have thought that fucking bastard, Joaquin, would have a daughter as lovely as her?

She is made of smooth lines and soft edges. She seems slightly fuller than when I last saw her, but I can’t be sure.

Either way, it suits her. Softens her. Makes her cheeks rosy against her caramel complexion.

I remove the coat I’m wearing and drape it over her. She sighs a little but she doesn’t move.

Even her eyelashes have stopped fluttering now. It’s a dramatic shift from the frightened girl I found huddled on the floor of her bathroom.

She still looks just as innocent, though. Just as pure. Just as young.

Looking at her, I get the same feeling as when I dirtied the white tiles of her bathroom with my muddy, bloodstained boots.

Like laying a finger on her—much less claiming her as a wife, the way my father wants me to do—is a crime against something so untouched.

But she has no choice in this.

Truthfully, neither do I.

I find my thoughts drifting to Marisha.

My second wedding will be completely different to the first.

No, this isn’t a real marriage. It’s nothing more than a political strategy. A power play.

What I had with Marisha was real.

This… this is just business.

Yet, even as the thought crosses my head, I know I’m more preoccupied with this woman than I should be.

I flash back to The Siren, the way her thighs had clenched around me, inviting me in.

The way her hands had fallen over my ass, pulling me deeper, begging me for more.

That memory has haunted my thoughts for four months now.

But I can’t afford to be distracted anymore. She was just a random fuck—up until now.

Knowing who she is changes everything.

I make a decision here and now: I won’t stain her. And I sure as hell won’t let her corrupt me.

It’s bad enough that she’s plagued my thoughts for months.

But no more.

She’s a prop. A bridge from the present to the future.

Beyond that, she means nothing to me.

“Everything okay?”

I turn to find Cillian staring at me. His eyes turn to the jacket I have just draped over Esme, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Wise choice—I’m not in the mood for his jokes.

“Everything’s fine,” I reply gruffly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

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