Page 12 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #15)

I have not touched her again since that night. Not even a brush of fingers, not a lingering pause beside her chair, not so much as a word with weight behind it. Instead, I watch her. Unforgivingly.

I track her through the estate, through meetings and corridors, through the dull hum of routine, and I know she feels it.

I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten when she senses me in the room, the way her jaw sets, how her eyes never linger but always, always glance back once more than necessary.

She tries to walk as if she doesn’t notice. I know the difference between fear and anticipation. The way she holds herself—tighter, sharper, alert—tells me the kiss did not frighten her.

It unsettled her, yes, but in the way a predator unsettles its match. Whatever that moment was, whatever lines were drawn and crossed and redrawn in the heat of that night, it is not over. It lingers in the air between us, a wire stretched taut.

Some of my staff sense it, though no one is foolish enough to comment. Miroslav is warier, more silent than usual. Yelena grows sharper, circling both of us like a jealous vulture. Even Markian watches me with a kind of amusement, a private joke that never reaches his lips.

The estate itself feels charged, like a storm building just over the horizon.

This morning, there is an internal security briefing. Routine. The entire team gathers in the small conference room, the air stale with tension and over-roasted coffee. I arrive late, as is my habit, and take my seat at the head of the table.

Talia stands at the far end, notes in hand, her hair caught back in a loose twist. She glances up as I enter and then lowers her gaze, forcing herself to focus.

She delivers her summary with clinical precision. She reviews incident logs, new protocols, subtle improvements she’s recommended. Her voice is steady, low but clear, and she never stumbles, never lets the room see anything but professionalism.

I see how her hands tremble just enough to betray her nerves. I see how she never quite looks my way, even when her words are meant for me.

I study every word she speaks, every small shift of posture, every flicker of her eyes. She feels it, and so do I. Her report is thorough. Impressively so. If the others notice my attention, they hide it well. When she finishes, she sits, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

The briefing drags on, more questions, more reports. I answer as needed, keeping my voice clipped, my expression unreadable. My mind keeps drifting back to her. Her mouth, her defiance, the way she let herself be kissed and kissed me back, hungry and wild and unbroken.

When the meeting ends, the team filters out in twos and threes. I stand, gather my papers, take my time. Talia moves quickly, wanting to slip out before anyone can catch her, but she turns too fast and nearly collides with me in the corridor outside the conference room.

She pulls up short, face flushed, eyes wide. I do not step back. I do not apologize. I simply look down at her, waiting. The silence is thick, heavy with everything unspoken.

“We need to talk,” she says, voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it.

I raise an eyebrow, deliberately calm. “Then talk.”

She hesitates, then squares her shoulders. “Not here.”

For a moment we just stand there, measuring each other. Something dangerous simmers in the space between us. Something neither of us trusts, but neither of us will walk away from.

Without another word, I turn and start down the hall toward my office. I do not look back. I know she will follow.

I hear the quick tap of her shoes behind me, every footstep punctuated by that tension that has become our private language. My office door swings shut behind us, sealing us in together.

I do not offer her a chair. I do not move to the other side of the desk. Instead, I wait, close enough that I can see the faint flush on her throat, the way she forces her breathing even.

The anticipation between us hums: bright, sharp, impossible to ignore.

She stares up at me, lips pressed tight. I see her searching for the right words, the right weapon, the right truth to hurl. I know her now—know that she does not bluff, that her silences are not submission, that every word she chooses is deliberate.

The office is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic through the windows, the faint shudder of her breath.

She is going to speak. She is going to demand answers. I am ready to give them—at least the parts of them she has earned.

Talia stands with her arms folded, back straight, chin lifted in a challenge. For a moment, the only sound in the office is the faint tick of the old clock and the distant, muffled city beyond the windows.

The quiet grows sharp, razor-edged.

“You have a fiancée,” Talia says finally. Her voice doesn’t shake. “And you still kissed me.”

I hold her gaze, unflinching. “You didn’t pull away.”

She blinks, stunned for just a heartbeat. Her jaw clenches. “That’s not the point.”

I step closer, slow and measured, feeling the tension stretch between us like a live wire. “Isn’t it?” I ask, voice soft but relentless. “You wanted it.”

For a moment she says nothing, but her eyes flicker. I see the heat there, the refusal to surrender, the way her denial tangles with memory. She stands her ground, proud, but I see the way her breath hitches, the way she can’t quite mask the flush on her cheeks.

I circle around her, deliberately slow, a predator measuring his prey. My footsteps are the only thing moving in the thick, suspended air.

I pause just behind her, lowering my voice to a whisper. “You think I’m the one playing games?”

She turns toward me, eyes flashing—anger and longing burning together, twin flames. She looks like she might strike me or pull me closer, and for a moment I want her to do both. I want to see how far she’ll go, how far she’ll let herself fall.

I do not touch her. Not this time. I straighten, let the coldness return to my posture, force distance back into the space between us. I see the way her chest rises and falls, how her fists curl at her sides.

“You’re not as innocent as you pretend,” I say quietly.

The words hang between us, the final blow. I turn, feeling her eyes on my back, and walk to the door.

She says nothing, but the room vibrates with everything unsaid. I know she’s watching, struggling to control the chaos I leave behind.

I pause, hand on the knob. “There’s no future in this, Talia.”

She flinches, just barely. “I know,” she whispers, voice rough.

I let the silence stretch, holding her in it, making sure she understands. Then I open the door and step into the corridor, the heavy panel closing with a soft but decisive click.

My heart is hammering as I walk away, each footstep echoing my own warning.

“You’re not as innocent as you pretend.”

Back in the corridor, I keep my pace steady. I do not look back, but I feel the pull of her behind me, like gravity.

In my chest, the chaos churns, hot and dark. She is a temptation I cannot afford, a danger I cannot name, but I do not want to let go.

I replay every moment—her stare, the fire in her voice, the way she didn’t deny what she wanted.

I know I should be angry, should be cold.

But underneath it all is something sharper: anticipation.

I want more. I want to push until one of us breaks, until the truth is out in the open, raw and undeniable.

I tell myself it’s over, that I can step away, lock the door on whatever this is. But I know better.

In the dark, I hear her voice, defiant and soft. I see her eyes, daring me to call her bluff.

We are both liars here. Both lost.

This game—ours alone—is nowhere near finished.

I don’t make it far before I hear the telltale sound of heels against polished marble. It’s a sharp, staccato rhythm that could only belong to one woman in this house.

Yelena rounds the corner, elegant in black, lips painted in a perfect red that never smudges, no matter how many staff she’s just cut down with a word.

She doesn’t bother with a greeting. Instead, she falls into step beside me, matching my stride, eyes sliding over my face with open calculation. Her perfume clouds the air between us—familiar, suffocating, expensive.

“You’re in a mood,” she says quietly, tone playful but edged in steel. “Care to share what’s gone wrong now? Or should I guess?”

I keep my expression flat, refusing to rise to the bait. “Not now, Yelena.”

She arches a brow. “You know, it’s rude to leave your fiancée to entertain guests alone. People will talk.”

Let them , I think. I say nothing.

She steps closer, lowering her voice, her tone dropping to something more dangerous. “Or is this about your little intern?” She leans in, her mouth close to my ear. “I saw her storm out of your office just now. You should remember who’s watching, Adrian. Who you owe.”

I pause, turning to meet her gaze. She searches my face, waiting for a reaction: a flicker of guilt, a crack in my control. I give her nothing.

“Careful, Yelena,” I say softly. “Some things are best left unspoken.”

Her smile goes brittle. She straightens, composure flawless once more. “You forget, I’m not afraid of a little competition.”

I pause, letting Yelena’s words linger in the air between us.

She steps closer, blocking my path, her hand coming to rest lightly on my arm. Her grip is deceptively gentle, her nails cool against my sleeve.

“You think I don’t see what’s happening?” she murmurs, eyes narrowed, her voice low and intimate. “You watch her, Adrian. More than you should. It’s obvious.”

I hold her gaze, refusing to flinch. “Be careful, Yelena. Your jealousy is showing.”

She laughs, soft and cold, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. Is it jealousy, or is it self-preservation? “Don’t forget why we’re here, what we’re supposed to be. Scandal wouldn’t just ruin me, Adrian. It would ruin you too.”

She tilts her head, studying my face as if searching for something human beneath the stone. “Are you really so careless? Or is she just that dangerous?”

I say nothing, knowing that any answer would only fuel her.

Yelena’s grip tightens for a moment, then relaxes. “You think you can play with fire and walk away unburned.” She steps back, her gaze lingering, full of warning. “Just remember when this ends badly, it won’t be me who pays the price.”

She releases my arm and finally glides away, leaving the scent of her perfume and the threat in her words hanging heavy in the hallway. For a long moment, I stand alone, the weight of the coming storm pressing in from every side.