Page 3 of Bribed & Bred By The BRATVA (Bred By The BRATVA #9)

The house is too quiet. Even the air feels heavy, like it’s holding its breath.

I keep telling myself I don’t belong here.

I’m not the kind of woman who lives in glass-walled houses with silent hallways and pools that shine blue against the night.

I’m a girl who scrubs floors, who comes home to wallpaper peeling in the corners and a fridge that groans like it’s dying. This place doesn’t fit me.

And yet, here I am.

Married.

The word sticks in my throat like it’s too big to swallow. I can feel the weight of the ring every time I move my hand. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it, waiting for it to vanish. But it doesn’t. It flashes in the light, a shard of proof that none of this is a dream.

I tell myself I’m only here because of Mateo. Because his surgery was instantly booked the second I looked at the handsome, dangerous stranger. That’s all this is. That’s all it can be.

Gratitude burns through me, sharp and dangerous. I don’t want to feel it, but it’s there, threading itself through my veins, knotting itself to him.

I step to the glass doors that overlook the pool. The water lies flat and still, reflecting the stars. My hands press against the cool surface, my breath fogging the glass.

I whisper the lie I’ve been telling myself since the second I climbed into the car. I’m only here for Mateo. I’m only here for Mateo.

The sound of footsteps makes my chest tighten. I don’t need to turn to know it’s him.

“Dinner is here. Come and eat.”

His voice is smooth. Commanding. He doesn’t ask if I’m hungry. He doesn’t wait for my agreement. It’s a statement, like gravity or the weather.

When I turn, he’s framed in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled, shadows cutting across his jaw. He holds out his hand for me to take as the smell of steak and fresh vegetables makes its way down the hallway.

“I’m not hungry,” I whisper. But I don’t know why or what point I’m trying to prove.

His eyes narrow. “Lies don’t work on me.”

He takes my hand and pulls me toward the dining room. “Sit.”

I hesitate for half a heartbeat. Then I sit. My stomach growls as I try to remember the last time I ate a proper meal that wasn’t microwaved from frozen

The first bite burns my tongue, but I don’t care. I eat quickly, shame rising with every mouthful, because I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until now.

He watches me the whole time. The weight of his attention is constant, pressing down on me, cataloguing me. It should feel suffocating, but it doesn’t. It feels like the first time in years someone has actually seen me.

Halfway through, I slow, fork paused halfway to my mouth. My cheeks flush under his stare.

“Why me?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His gaze is unflinching. “Because you’re strong enough to bend without breaking. Because no one else will come for you. And because I decided.”

Anger flares sharp and hot. “So, my whole life, everything from now on, is because you chose it?”

“Yes.” His voice is flat. Certain. “Your brother breathes because of me. You eat at this table because of me. And soon, you’ll carry my child because of me.” He says the last part with a twinkle in his eye and cocky raise of the eyebrows.

The words ripple through me, heavy as stone. They should repulse me. They should make me run. Instead, heat coils low in my stomach, which just makes me angrier.

I push my plate away, appetite gone. “You talk like it’s all already decided.”

“It is.”

The silence that follows stretches long. The pool glows blue outside the glass, catching in the diamond on my hand. The ring feels heavier every time I look at it.

Finally, I manage, “I agreed because of Mateo. Don’t mistake this for anything else.”

He leans forward, elbows braced on the table either side of his plate, gaze locked on mine. “You’ll tell yourself that. You’ll cling to it. But by the end of tonight you’ll be begging me to put you out of your misery.”

Heat crawls up my throat. I want to argue. I want to throw his words back in his face. But I can’t, because he’s right. Gratitude for helping Mateo has already crept in and God only knows my body responds to him before I have the chance to tell it not to.

His mouth curves faintly, not a smile but something sharper. He knows.

When I don’t respond, he rises, towering over me. His presence fills the room until I can barely breathe.

I stand, legs unsteady, and he walks me down the hallway. At the bedroom door, he stops, letting me enter first. He doesn’t follow.

The restraint rattles me more than if he had.

“Get changed,” he says as my eyes land on the cotton nightdress on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t there earlier. I wonder who put it there, and why.

The mirror catches my reflection: pale face, hollow eyes, ring glinting on my finger. I whisper the lie again. I’m only here for Mateo. But it feels thinner this time.

He watches me undress before I change into the cotton nightdress laid out for me, my size, as if he already knew.

“Lie down on the bed,” he commands. I look at him, trying to gauge what he will say next. What he will do. Only his molten stare isn’t giving anything away.

I do as I’m told and sit on the edge of the bed before lifting my legs up and crossing them at the ankles.

He grins, but doesn’t come any closer. Instead, he stands there, unbuttoning his shirt revealing a body covered in dark tattoos and scarred skin.

And I know that this will be the moment that I can’t undo.

Can’t take back. This is the moment that I truly become this man’s wife.

This man I know nothing about, other than he is responsible for saving Mateo’s life.

I try to swallow away the dryness in my mouth as I tell myself one more time that I’m only here for Mateo.

But I don’t believe it anymore.

Then he unbuckles his belt.