Page 100 of Bratva Bidder

He nods once. Too fast. “Of course.”

And just like that, the door shuts.

Not literally. But I feel it all the same.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t press. Just pulls back slightly, his warmth dimming like someone turned off a light behind hiseyes. He reaches for his shirt, moving with that familiar stiffness he wears like armor, like habit. The Konstantin I met tonight—the one who touched me like I was the only thing in the world worth saving—he’s gone in a blink.

I sit up on the desk, heart cracking as I watch him retreat into himself.

I hate this. Hate myself for doing it. But I also know I’m not ready to crawl into his bed like none of the past exists. Like trusting him again wouldn’t make me stupid.

I can give him my body. I already have. But my heart? That’s harder.

Not because I don’t want to.

Because I do.

Too much.

And that scares me more than anything.

He doesn’t say another word as he buttons his shirt. Just turns away slightly, shoulders squared like he’s preparing for war instead of bed. The air between us shifts—cooler now, despite the heat we shared just moments ago.

I hop down from the desk slowly, legs a little wobbly. I reach for my top, slipping it on with shaky fingers. I don’t look at him again. I can’t.

Because if I do, I’ll cave.

I’ll whisperokay, and follow him to bed, and sink into the comfort of his arms like it means nothing to me. Like it won’t cost me everything.

But it will.

So I pull my hair back into a messy knot, tug on my skirt, and smooth down the front of my shirt even though I’m still flushed and raw and glowing from what we did.

“I’ll check on the twins,” I say gently.

He hums. Low. Barely there.

I step toward the door. My hand rests on the handle a second longer than it needs to. Waiting. Hoping, maybe.

But he says nothing. So I go.

The hallway outside is dim, and the carpet is soft beneath my feet as I pad down the hall. My body still feels the ghost of him. The ache between my legs, the heat in my chest, the tension in my heart. All of it still throbs with him.

I slip into the kids’ room. Mila is curled into a ball, one chubby hand fisted near her cheek, dark lashes resting on her soft skin. Nikolai’s sprawled like he’s fought off a dozen invisible enemies in his sleep, his blanket kicked to the floor, one leg hanging off the edge of the mattress. I bend to tuck him back in, my fingers lingering on his tiny shoulder.

They look so peaceful.

So untouched by the chaos that churns outside this room, outside these walls. It’s what I wanted for them. What I bled for. Lied for.

What I ran for.

I ease down into the armchair in the corner, pulling the throw blanket over my legs. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself. Justlong enough to watch their chests rise and fall. Just long enough to settle the storm inside me.

Because being with Konstantin tonight?

It felt like standing too close to a fire.

Too tempting. Too dangerous. Too easy to get burned.