Page 60 of Bratva Bride

"Ivan—"

"Bed, kotyonok. Whatever you're feeling—anxiety, defiance, fear—it'll be clearer after sleep."

"I can't sleep now," I protested. "Not with consequences hanging over my head."

A small smile touched his lips. "Can't? Or won't? Because I think you're curious what consequences feel like. I think you want to know if our structure is real or just elaborate playacting."

My breath caught. He'd seen right through me, identified the test even I hadn't fully admitted to myself.

"Morning," he said firmly. "After breakfast. When we're both fully awake and can discuss this properly."

He moved toward his bedroom with my laptop, leaving me sitting at the table surrounded by the debris of my research binge—scattered notes, empty water bottles, the lingering smell of anxiety sweat.

"Ivan?"

He paused but didn't turn. "Yes?"

"You're really going to—to punish me?"

"I'm going to give you consequences for breaking a rule you agreed to," he corrected. "Punishment implies anger or retribution. This is about reinforcing structure that keeps you safe."

The distinction mattered, though my body's response—heat pooling low, pulse accelerating—didn't seem to care about semantics.

"Okay," I whispered.

"Bed," he repeated. "Marina and Peanut are probably wondering where you went."

I stood on shaky legs and made my way back to the regression room. But sleep was impossible now, my body humming with anticipation and anxiety and something that might have been want. The word "consequences" played on loop in my head, each repetition sending new sparks through my nervous system.

Tomorrow morning. After breakfast.

The wait might kill me, but what a way to go.

Breakfastwasimpossiblybeautiful——tropicalfruit arranged in precise fans, yogurt topped with honey that caught light like amber, toast I'd already torn into nervous pieces. I couldn’t manage a bite.

Ivan ate with his usual methodical focus, but I caught him watching me between bites, cataloging my anxiety tells like data points on a spreadsheet.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it was heavy with waiting. My stomach had relocated somewhere near my throat, and lower, everything felt tight and hot and anticipatory in ways that definitely weren't about fear.

"I can hear you thinking," Ivan said finally, setting down his fork with deliberate precision.

"I'm always thinking."

"Yes, but right now you're thinking loud enough to disturb the fish."

Despite everything, my lips twitched toward a smile. "That's not scientifically possible."

"Many things about you aren't scientifically possible." He stood, extending his hand. "Come. Let's talk."

His fingers were warm around mine, steady where I was shaking, and he led me to the deck overlooking the ocean. Two chairs positioned to face each other rather than the view—intentional, making this a conversation that required eye contact. No hiding behind the horizon.

I sat, pulled my knees up despite the chair's width, making myself smaller while my heart tried to beat its way out through my ribs. Ivan took the opposite chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, bringing himself to my eye level.

"Tell me why you broke the rule."

"I was anxious," I started, then stopped. Too simple. Too surface. "No, I was—I was testing. I needed to know if thestructure was real. If you'd actually follow through or if it was all just . . . theory."

"And underneath that?"