Page 26 of Bratva Bidder

But I’m not stupid. I know how easily people lie when there’s money on the line. I never put stock in the promises whispered behind closed doors.

I never expected her to be pure. Purity is a myth men like my father cling to because it makes ownership feel cleaner.

I don’t care about that.

And yet…

Watching her now, typing furiously, her face tight with urgency, I wonder anyway.

Who is she texting?

Who is she thinking about?

Who, if anyone, is she wishing she could run back to?

Something thorny lodges under my skin, something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

She’s yours now. It doesn’t matter.

I remind myself of it the way I would remind a soldier where the line of battle is drawn.

This isn’t about love. It never was.

Nadya is a move on a chessboard, a piece I needed in place to close a door my enemies were clawing through. She’s a political pawn, nothing more.

But when she tucks the phone away and folds her arms tight across her chest, curling into herself like she’s bracing for impact, the part of me that’s supposed to be cold and detached stays silent. I turn my head away and look back out at the lights, the tightness in my jaw refusing to ease.

She’s the one who breaks the silence first, her voice cool. “Who’s invited to this little…event?” She keeps her tone casual, but the way she grips the strap of her purse tells me she’s more anxious than she lets on.

I glance over at her, taking in the way she sits so stiffly, the way her jaw tightens when she pretends not to care.

“A few people,” I say easily, letting the vague answer hang between us for a second longer than necessary.

She narrows her eyes. “Define ‘a few.’”

I smirk slightly, turning my gaze back out the window. “Enough.”

She exhales sharply, annoyed. “Family? Friends?”

“Associates,” I say. “Business partners. Some family.”

I see her stiffen a little more.

“Your father will be there too,” I add casually.

That earns me a look, full of something I can’t quite place. Anger. Betrayal. Maybe just exhaustion. “You didn’t think to mention that sooner?” she says tightly.

“I thought you’d like the surprise,” I say, voice dry.

This marriage isn’t just a contract. It’s a message. A clean severing of old loyalties and the start of a new power structure. And there’s no better way to send that message than to have everyone who matters standing in the room to watch it happen.

She shifts in her seat, folding her arms tight across her chest again. I can feel the anger rolling off her now, thick and hot. But she doesn’t lash out. She knows better than to make a scene before the battle even starts.

Good.

Let her hate me for it. It’ll make what comes next even easier to survive.

I glance back at Nadya one last time before the car rolls to a stop. Her face is blank, but her hands are fisted so tightly in her lap I can see the strain in her knuckles.