Page 25

Elise, Two Months Later

I stand before the mirror, hands folded at my waist, the silk of the gown whispering against my skin with every slow breath.

The woman staring back isn’t a stranger—but she isn’t the girl I once was either.

That girl wanted freedom. Escape. She flinched when thunder cracked, when voices rose, when a door slammed too hard. She survived with her fists clenched around silence and her heart locked behind her ribs like a secret.

She never could have imagined this.

The gown hugs me like a second skin, fitted through the bodice before spilling into waves of ivory that shimmer faintly under the soft golden light. My hair’s pinned back in loose, deliberate curls, a few strands left to fall near my face. A veil rests nearby, untouched.

I haven’t decided whether I’ll wear it.

I take a breath. Hold it. Let it go.

I’m not nervous. I’m… still. Calm, in a way that feels dangerous.

Today, I marry Kolya Sharov. Not because I’m trapped. Not because I’ve run out of options or leverage or fight, because something in me—something broken and dark and real— wants him.

The world may not understand that, but it isn’t for them.

I smooth my palms down the sides of the gown, watching the way the fabric glides beneath my fingers, and I catch the faintest tremble in my hands. Not fear. Not quite excitement.

Something else. Resolve.

There’s a knock at the door—quiet, respectful. I don’t answer. Whoever it is knows better than to come in.

My gaze shifts again, this time to the window. The sky outside is overcast, but the light still filters through soft and warm. Somewhere downstairs, I know the mansion is alive with quiet movement—security sweeping the perimeter, staff preparing the reception space, Boris barking instructions into his phone. It’s a Bratva wedding. Nothing is left to chance.

Except maybe me. Kolya never forced me into this. Not once. He didn’t need to.

I chose this. Chose him. Chose to bury the girl who flinched at shadows and walked into this fire instead.

Somehow, it makes sense.

My thoughts drift—without permission—to the last thread I never wanted to touch again. The one name that still echoes sometimes in the dark when sleep won’t come.

My father.

The last time I saw him, he was desperate. Not for redemption—he didn’t understand the word—but for control. Bargaining with memories. Gripping on to the idea that blood gave him rights to a daughter he abandoned in a closet while storms shattered the night around her.

He looked at me like I owed him something.

Then Kolya came. He didn’t speak about it afterward. Just one sentence, delivered cold and final, the way only Kolya can.

“He won’t hurt you again.”

I never asked for more. That part of my past is buried now, not under grief, but under the hard certainty that no ghost can touch me again.

There’s a strange kind of peace in that.

Maybe it should scare me—this life, this man. But what terrifies me more is the thought of not choosing it. Of walking away and never feeling the way I do when his eyes find me in a room, when his hand wraps around my throat with reverence instead of rage. When he says nothing and still makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

There’s power in being wanted like that. God help me, I crave it.

I reach for the veil but don’t put it on. Instead, I trace the edge of it, soft between my fingertips. A symbol of purity, of tradition, of things I never had.

It doesn’t belong to me.

Kolya doesn’t want me pure. He wants me scarred . Sharp. His.

A soft knock comes again, followed by a familiar voice on the other side of the door.

“Elise? It’s time.”

I recognize the voice—it’s Alina, bless her. She volunteered to stand by me today, despite the chaos that has shadowed my life since the day we reconnected.

“Coming,” I say softly.

I don’t move yet; I look back at the woman in the mirror one last time.

She doesn’t look like a prisoner. Or a victim. Or a lost girl. She looks like someone who knows what she’s walking into.

A throne built from violence. A crown made of ash and devotion. A man whose love feels like a blade against her throat—and still, she leans into it.

I take one last breath, square my shoulders, and turn from the mirror.

Time to walk down the aisle and become Kolya Sharov’s wife.

The soft click of the door pulls my gaze away from the mirror.

It’s too early. I haven’t even stepped into the hallway yet, haven’t taken those first quiet steps toward the altar.

“Hello?”

Heavy, certain footsteps cross the threshold. No hesitation. No apology. Kolya.

He never cared for rules.

He fills the room with his broad shoulders. His dark suit is perfectly tailored, cutting sharp lines over muscle and menace, but it’s his eyes that catch me first. They always do. They burn, hungry and unwavering, locked on me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.

A crooked smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony,” I say, voice light, teasing.

He doesn’t answer, at least not with words.

He crosses the space between us in two long strides and stops directly in front of me. His hands find my waist with a reverence I didn’t expect—like he’s reminding himself I’m real, not a mirage he’s conjured from the chaos we’ve lived through.

“Elise.” My name leaves his mouth low and rough. His thumbs press gently into my hips. “You’re radiant. Tell me, I’ll see you down the aisle?”

I know what he’ saying. It’s not about the dress. Or the ceremony. Or the guests waiting outside, some of them carrying guns beneath their suits, others smiling over champagne.

He needs to hear it.

That I want this. That I want him. No regrets. No hesitation. No last-minute doubts.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’m not running,” I say softly. “Not from you. Not from this.”

Kolya exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. Maybe longer. Maybe since the moment he knew he loved me.

His mouth crashes into mine without warning, devouring the words I’ve just spoken, sealing them between our lips. His grip on my waist tightens as I fall into him without resistance. The kiss is wild, consuming, more than I expected—but exactly what I need.

It tastes like fire. Like promise. Like the unspoken vow we’ve already lived through more times than I can count.

My fingers find the lapels of his suit, tugging him closer, and he groans against my mouth like I’ve hit a nerve. His hand slides up my spine, anchoring me to him. I press against his chest, needing more, needing all of him.

Outside, the music begins.

His forehead rests against mine as we part, breath mingling in the small space between us. “You’re mine,” he says quietly. “Love you.”

“I’ve always been yours,” I whisper back.

He brushes a knuckle across my cheek. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

His smile isn’t sweet—it never is. It’s dark. Dangerous. Satisfied. “Then let’s get this over with before I change my mind and drag you back to my bed instead.”

“You already ruined the tradition,” I say, half laughing, breathless and flushed. “Might as well ruin the reception too.”

His mouth curves with something wicked. “Don’t tempt me . You know what happens when you do.”

I step back with a teasing smirk, smoothing my gown with both hands. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Kolya’s hand lingers a second too long before he lets go.

His eyes rake over me one final time, possessive and unrepentant, like he’s committing this version of me—gowned, flushed, breathless—to memory. Then he nods, steps back, and disappears through the doorway without a word.

I stand in the silence he leaves behind, every inch of me still tingling. The scent of his cologne clings to the air. The ghost of his mouth lingers on my lips. My heart thunders—not from nerves, not anymore, but from knowing that man is going to be mine in every way, in front of the world.

The door creaks again.

Alina re-enters in a rush, breathless and wide-eyed, picking up the veil on her way. She stops short and gives me a look, something knowing flickering across her face.

“I thought maybe you got cold feet,” she murmurs with a wry smile, stepping close. Her eyes narrow. “By the look of you, I think your fiancé got to you first.”

I roll my eyes, cheeks warming. “He’s impossible.”

“But hot,” she adds, pinning the last of my curls into place. “Don’t forget that part.”

I glance at the mirror again. The gown’s slightly rumpled at the waist, the bodice askew. Alina notices too and grins, tugging at the fabric with practiced fingers until it lies flat again.

When she’s done, she smooths a hand over my shoulder. “You ready?”

I nod once. Steady. Certain.

The hall is quiet as I step into it, the weight of the veil whispering behind me like silk shadows. The world outside that door doesn’t know what’s coming. They see Kolya Sharov as a king, a monster, a god in a suit.

The music swells again.

Soft strings, slow and elegant. My cue.

I walk alone—no one to give me away, no trembling hand at my side. Just me. Every step is a choice. A declaration.

Then I see him.

At the far end of the aisle, Kolya waits beneath an arch of white lilies and soft-draped silk. His hands are clasped in front of him, his face an unreadable canvas of control.

Until our eyes meet. Then everything in him changes. The hardness softens, the pride sharpens.

His gaze drags over me like a caress, and I feel it in my chest, in my belly, in places deeper still. Like his eyes are hands and I’m already undressed beneath them.

The crowd blurs around me—flashes of faces, champagne flutes, whispered awe. But none of it matters.

Just him.

I stop in front of him, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for his. He takes them without hesitation, his grip strong, warm, grounding.

“Hi,” I whisper.

A twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You kept me waiting.”

“I was busy getting kissed.”

That smirk deepens. “Was it any good?”

I lean in, lips brushing his ear. “You tell me.”

A faint, growled curse escapes his throat, low enough only I can hear.

The officiant clears his throat politely, drawing us back to the moment.

We turn to face him, but Kolya’s fingers tighten around mine like he has no intention of letting go again.

The words wash over me—vows, promises, ancient rituals made modern by a man who has no god but power, and no faith but in his own fists.

Yet, when it’s Kolya’s turn to speak, he does it without notes. Without hesitation.

“Elise Emberley,” he says, voice low, steady. “You were never meant to be part of this world. Still, you walked into it—fought it, challenged it, bled for it. For me. There’s nothing I can give you that matches that. I swear this. I’ll burn it all down before I let it touch you again. You’re mine, and I’m yours. In this life, or whatever comes after.”

My throat burns.

The officiant nods gently. “Elise?”

I meet Kolya’s eyes and speak without a script.

“I never wanted this,” I say, soft but sure. “Not the danger. Not the chaos. But then I met you. You ruined me, Kolya Sharov. You taught me how to fight back. How to want. How to need. You gave me fire. So now I’m yours, because I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

His jaw clenches like he’s trying not to react. His eyes burn into me like he’s committing every word to memory.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

He doesn’t wait.

Kolya steps forward, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other behind my neck, pulling me into him like he’s waited centuries. His mouth claims mine with a dark hunger, deeper than anything we’ve shared before. I melt into it, arching against him, my fingers tangled in his lapel, my body responding to his without thought.

There’s heat. Tongue. Teeth. Someone gasps. Someone cheers.

All I hear is his breath, his low growl when I nip at his lip, the way his fingers slide just slightly down my spine, enough to promise more.

The kiss breaks reluctantly. My lips are swollen. My breath is gone.

His hand curls around my jaw as he leans in close, mouth against my ear. “You look good in white,” he rasps. “But I’ll have it off you before sundown.”

A thrill runs through me. “Promises, husband?”

His answering smile is pure sin.

“Absolutely.”

Then his mouth is on mine again—rougher this time, possessive, unbothered by the guests or the applause swelling behind us. His hand slides to my lower back, pressing me flush against him as if to say: you’re mine now, in every way.

When he finally pulls back, I’m flushed and breathless, my lips tingling, heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. I can feel the weight of every stare, the stir of whispers. None of it touches me. Kolya’s gaze is locked on mine, and in it, there’s nothing but pride. Hunger.

His fingers lace with mine.

We turn together, face the aisle, and begin our walk as husband and wife.

The walk down the aisle feels longer now, more surreal. The air is thick with heat and champagne and unspoken power. Men nod respectfully as we pass, women with diamond-draped throats offer polite smiles, some laced with envy. None of them matter.

Boris is waiting just outside, leaning against a sleek black town car. He eyes Kolya with a knowing smirk and opens the back door without a word.

“About time,” he mutters under his breath.

Kolya grunts in reply and helps me into the car, his hand lingering at my hip a little longer than necessary. When he climbs in beside me, the door slams shut, sealing us inside.

I glance at Boris in the rearview mirror. “To the mansion?”

He meets my eyes briefly. “Already waiting for you.”

The ride is quiet but charged. Kolya’s hand finds mine again, thumb stroking across my knuckles absently. He looks relaxed—at least outwardly—but I can feel it in him. The tension. The restraint. Like he’s already counting the minutes until we’re alone again.

As the mansion comes into view, lit up in the soft glow of evening, I feel the pressure of reality settle in. This is it. I’m no longer Elise Emberly, orphan girl with nothing to her name. I’m Elise Sharov. The wife of a man who commands armies with a glance.

The front doors open before we even step out of the car. Staff, security, a handful of select guests already ushered inside for the private reception. The chandelier above the foyer sparkles like a thousand tiny suns, casting light on marble floors and polished wood.

At the center of it all, I spot him.

William.

His suit is neat. His hair slicked back. He looks older than I remember, and heavier with something that isn’t just guilt—it’s resignation.

He steps forward as we enter, eyes landing on me first, then flicking briefly to Kolya, who remains at my side like a shadow made flesh.

“Elise,” William says softly. “You look… radiant.”

I nod once. “Thank you.”

A pause stretches between us.

“I never wanted it to happen the way it did,” he adds, voice quiet. “But I see now… it brought you here.”

Kolya’s hand tightens slightly on mine, but I don’t pull away. I study William’s face, the lines that have deepened since the betrayal. The sorrow etched into his expression. Though I’m not ready to forgive, I’m too tired to hold the blade forever.

“I’m not the girl you raised,” I say evenly.

“I know.”

We hold each other’s gaze for a breath more, then I lean forward and kiss his cheek—gentle, final.

“Goodbye, William,” I whisper.

His eyes close briefly. He nods. Then, like smoke, he drifts into the crowd.

Kolya’s arm is around my waist in an instant, drawing me back to him. “You’re too kind,” he mutters.

“I’m not,” I reply. “I just don’t want his shadow in our house any longer.”

That earns me a dark smile. “Ours, is it?”

I arch a brow. “You married me, didn’t you?”

He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “Then I expect you to act like it.”

Before I can answer, his hand slips lower, scandalously so, and I gasp, slapping it away with a half laugh. He grins, wicked and unrepentant.

We slip away from the main reception hall—too many eyes, too much noise. I catch glimpses of our guests: Andrei raising a glass, Alina laughing with some suited man I don’t recognize. None of it sticks.

Not when Kolya pulls me down a side corridor, mouth already on mine before we’re even out of sight.

It’s not gentle this time.

His hands are in my hair, on my waist, pushing me back against the wall as his body crowds mine. My veil slips, forgotten. His jacket is open, tie askew. My dress is too tight, too much, and I can’t breathe—not from panic, but from the need he ignites in me every time he so much as looks at me.

“Kolya,” I whisper, dragging his bottom lip between my teeth. “People are going to notice.”

“Let them.”

I gasp as his hand slips beneath the fabric at my back, his mouth dragging along my throat.

A cough startles me, and I jump back. We break apart, flushed and breathless.

Alina stands at the end of the hall, eyebrows raised, expression caught between amusement and exasperation.

“Well, this seems to be a theme,” she says, dry as ever. “Glad to see married life’s off to a respectable start.”

Kolya just grins, unbothered.

I groan, hiding my face in his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Alina adds with a wink as she turns. “I’ll make sure the champagne keeps flowing. Just try not to scandalize the whole guest list before dessert.”

Then she’s gone.

Kolya chuckles low in his chest. “I like her.”

I tug him close again, lips brushing his. “Good. Because she’s family now.”

We don’t go back to the party right away.

Kolya leans against the wall beside me, his hand brushing mine, fingers tangled in the silk of my gown like he doesn’t want to stop touching me, even for a second. The hallway is quiet again, the echo of Alina’s footsteps fading into music and laughter somewhere down the corridor.

For a while, we just breathe. The noise of the world fades. The weight of what this night means begins to settle.

I glance at him—at the sharpness of his jaw, the faint red mark on his throat where my mouth left a claim, the ghost of a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“What now?” I ask softly, unsure if I mean tonight or the rest of our lives.

He looks at me like there’s no other question worth answering. “Now we rule.”

I laugh once, too loudly, and he pulls me into him again, burying his face in my neck like he can’t get close enough. I melt into him, the silk of my dress crushed between us, his warmth grounding me like it always does.

His mouth finds my ear. “You still think you’re the same girl who wanted to escape?”

“No,” I breathe. “She’s long gone.”

Kolya’s fingers tilt my chin up until our eyes meet. “Good. Because I didn’t fall in love with the girl who ran. I fell in love with the woman who stayed.”

I want to cry at that, but I don’t. I just kiss him instead—slow and deep and final in all the best ways. A kiss that says we made it. That the worst is behind us. That everything else, no matter how dark, we’ll face together.

“Come on,” I whisper when we part. “Let’s go back.”

“To the party?”

“Mmm. We should show our faces, shouldn’t we?”

His eyes light with something fierce, something full of hunger and peace all at once. Without a word, he leads me there.

Hand in hand.

The halls are quiet as we walk, the soft sound of my heels against polished stone echoing beneath our steps. Kolya doesn’t rush. He never does. His presence beside me is steady, certain, like gravity itself has chosen to follow his lead.

As we pass through the foyer, a few lingering guests offer nods, half curious, half awed. No one stops us. No one dares.

I lean into him, resting my head briefly against his shoulder. “They’re all watching,” I murmur.

“Let them,” he says, his voice low and rough.

It should sound like a threat, and maybe it is—but it settles in me like a promise. Fierce. Unshakeable. His love may be brutal, but it’s honest.

We reach the stairs. He pauses at the base, eyes dragging up my body like he’s already undressing me in his mind.

“You ready, Mrs. Sharov ?”

The words make my pulse skip.

I smile, slow and dangerous.

“Absolutely.”

*****

THE END

The next part in this series is “Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva”.

Check out the book and order your copy here:

Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva

A brutal Bratva king took me as revenge. Now he says I belong to him.

He is twice my age, a monster with bloodstained hands and ice-cold eyes.

He destroyed my father’s empire, but that wasn’t enough. Now, he’s taken me too.

He forces a ring on my finger and a vow from my lips.

I’m his revenge bride, his possession.

But when he finds out I’m untouched… he makes it his mission to ruin me completely.

He says I’ll learn to obey, that he’ll break me until I beg.

But I refuse to surrender to a man who sees me as nothing more than a pawn.

Every clash ignites something dangerous between us.

His cruel touch leaves me breathless. His lips steal my protests.

And when he whispers filthy promises against my skin, I forget why I should resist.

I hate him. I fear him. But slowly I start to see the cracks in his armor.

When the lines between hate and obsession blur, will he let me go… or will he destroy us both to keep me?

Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva