Page 21 of Bratva Bidder

The terms of the contract keep running through my head.

One year. That’s what I agreed to.

One year of service—though no one defined exactly what service meant. The language was vague on purpose, crafted by men who don’t want restrictions placed on them. Technically, the man who buys the contract can do anything he wants—keep the woman as a mistress, parade her as a trophy, use her however he sees fit.

This isn’t a world where women are treated kindly once they’re bought. Here, women are currency. Weapons. Trophies. And once they lose their value, no one blinks when they disappear. Alive, broken, dead—it doesn’t make much difference to men like the ones who were at that auction.

The so-called contract is a joke. A paper shield against men who crush bones for amusement. There’s no guarantee I’ll survive the year, no promise of safety. Only the thin, brutal reality that I belong to a man who paid more than anyone else in the room—and he can do whatever he wants.

I glance at the door, imagining the men still celebrating their trades, drinking and laughing while the women they bought are parceled out like spoils of war.

Konstantin may not have touched me last night, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s still part of this world. He bought me like livestock. He’s no better than the rest. Maybe he hides it better, but he’s still the same at the core.

He’s a bad man.

I don’t care if he didn’t leer at me. I don’t care that he stopped my father from humiliating me further. He bought me. That’s all I need to know.

The worst part is, I know Konstantin didn’t spend fifteen million dollars just to have a concubine tucked away in one of his rooms like some spoiled pet.

He paid too high a price. Too much money. Too much attention. He could have had any woman he wanted for a fraction of the cost.

So what does he want from me?

I hug my knees to my chest, staring at the doorway like I expect answers to come through it. The thought slithers through me, cold and unwanted.Maybe he plans to use you against your father. Maybe he has some score to settle that has nothing to do with you at all.

I shake my head, trying to clear it, but another thought creeps in—darker, more desperate.

Maybe you’ll have to find a way out.

My gut twists at the idea. I’m not stupid. I know what Konstantin is capable of. He didn’t get where he is by being soft. If I defy him too openly, he’ll crush me like a bug under his boot.

Still, the idea takes root.

Defy him. Find a weakness. Escape.Kill him if you have to.

The thought shocks me.

It’s too brutal, and it’s not who I am. Not who I ever wanted to be.

But for Nikolai and Mila? For my kids? There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do.

I shove the thought away when a soft knock sounds at the door.

Before I can answer, it opens and a maid steps in—a small woman in a simple black uniform, her brown hair tied back neatly.

“Good morning,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes respectfully low. “Mr. Buryakov asks that you come downstairs. Breakfast has been prepared.”

I wipe a hand across my face, forcing myself to stand, smoothing the wrinkles out of my jeans as best I can.

My reflection in the mirror catches my eye—my hair tangled from tossing and turning, my mouth set in a hard line. I look like someone I barely recognize.

After the maid leaves, I go into the bathroom attached to the room. The counters are marble, the towels thick and new, the fixtures polished so clean I can see my reflection in them. I brush my teeth quickly, rinsing my mouth and splashing cold water on my face.

There’s a wardrobe full of clothes hanging for me, probably picked out by some personal assistant Konstantin keeps on payroll. I don’t touch any of it. I’m not playing dress-up in whatever silk costume he thinks fits the part.

I leave the room in my jeans and plain white blouse from last night, my hair pulled into a low messy knot. If he doesn’t like it, too bad. He didn’t buy a doll to parade around.

The maid waits in the hallway and leads me down a long staircase, the thick runner muffling my footsteps. The house is quiet but not empty. I see the occasional guard posted at discreet intervals, a few staff moving like ghosts through the massive space.