Page 9 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #15)

I wake with Yelena’s words ringing in my ears— “Cheap blouse and big eyes.”

She didn’t even look at me when she said it, her tone as offhand as a yawn, a flick of her hand dismissing me entirely. It wasn’t just arrogance, it was something colder. Dismissal. As if I didn’t even rate a proper insult. That stings more than I want to admit.

Worse, Adrian said nothing to defend me. Not a word. Just silence, as if I really was invisible.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling, I realize something has to change.

If I want to survive in this world—long enough to find what happened to Eli—I can’t let myself be a background detail.

I can’t wait to be noticed. I need to step forward, on purpose.

Force them to see me. Rattle Yelena’s composure. Make Adrian look again.

I start small. Instead of hiding behind my usual knot of hair, I wear my curls loose, letting them frame my face. I choose clothes that fit me better, that show I care, even if it’s just a touch of color, a necklace I never wore before.

The change is subtle, but I feel it. When I walk into a room, I keep my head up, spine straight, eyes scanning not just for threats, but for opportunities.

I force myself to make eye contact, especially with Adrian. The first time, in the corridor outside his office, I hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer than I mean to. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes linger. I count that as a win.

At meetings, I time my questions carefully.

I listen, wait for a lull, then offer a comment or a suggestion just when no one expects me to speak.

I make sure my voice is steady, my ideas practical but unexpected.

The first time, no one reacts. The second time, Adrian glances up, eyes sharp with interest.

Little by little, I stop letting myself blend in. I sit where I can be seen. I walk into rooms like I belong there. I nod at security, say good morning to the senior staff, make myself visible and impossible to ignore.

Every step forward feels like a risk, but I take it anyway. I want them uneasy, off-balance. I want Yelena to watch me, even if it’s just to sneer. I want Adrian to wonder what I’ll do next.

Adrian never says much, but I see it, the way his gaze drifts to me when I speak, the way he waits for me to finish. He’s watching. For the first time, I feel the balance start to shift, and I’m ready to make the most of it.

Evening falls slow and cold over the estate, the old stone walls trapping warmth and secrets in equal measure.

I spend an hour reworking the personnel files for tomorrow, cross-checking names and departments, fingers stiff from typing and my mind tight with exhaustion.

I’m supposed to be off duty, but I know there’s no such thing anymore.

Adrian’s study is just ahead, a pool of golden light in the otherwise shadowed corridor. I clutch the folder of files to my chest, rehearsing how to announce myself, how to sound competent but not overeager.

My shoes are soft on the old carpet, and I round the corner just as I hear voices—Adrian’s, deep and steady, and Yelena’s, unmistakable in her cool, syrupy drawl.

She stands close to him, hand on his arm, her body angled to block the door. The smile on her lips is all artifice, the steel in her voice as clear as crystal.

“Come out with me, darling,” she purrs, her tone sweet but tight. “Just the two of us. We could get away for a few hours. Dinner, drinks… somewhere private. I think you could use the break.”

I pause, heartbeat fluttering, not wanting to listen but unable to help it. The way she says private is almost a warning, as if she’s reminding him, and anyone who might hear, of what’s supposed to be hers.

Adrian is silent for a beat too long. The implication hangs in the air. I can picture his expression: impassive, patient, assessing. The pause stretches, becomes a challenge. Before he can answer, I step forward, willing my steps to sound even, my voice steady.

“I have those documents you asked for,” I say, soft but clear. “I thought it couldn’t wait until morning.”

Both of them turn. Yelena’s expression hardens, the lines around her mouth going taut. Her eyes slide over me, full of cold appraisal. For a moment she says nothing, the silence sharp as broken glass.

Adrian’s gaze moves from Yelena to me, then back again, weighing something private behind his calm surface.

I hold the files out to him, as if I don’t notice the tension. “It’s the updated security protocols and staff schedules. I wasn’t sure which you needed, so I brought both.”

There’s a long pause, and I feel it: the weight of Yelena’s possessiveness, the way Adrian’s attention pivots between us. For a moment, it’s as if the rest of the world falls away, the corridor reduced to the three of us, locked in some silent negotiation I can’t quite read.

Adrian takes the folder, flipping through the top sheet with a practiced glance. “Thank you, Talia,” he says, voice even. “Come inside.”

He turns to open the door to his study, the invitation clear and deliberate. Yelena’s jaw tightens. She draws herself up, gathering all the hauteur the Chernikovs bred into her.

“Of course she gets priority,” she says, voice sweet but brittle, each word an icicle. Her heels click against the marble as she turns and strides away, spine stiff, head high. I wonder if she means for me to hear her last remark—or if she’s just stopped caring whether I do.

I follow Adrian into the study, the door clicking softly shut behind me. The quiet is thick, but somehow easier to breathe in than the air outside. I force myself not to glance back at the door, not to shrink or falter. I have his attention now. I need to use it.

He gestures to a chair across from his desk, settling himself behind a stack of papers. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just studies the files, flipping pages slowly. The room smells of leather and old books, the scent oddly grounding.

I smooth my skirt, feeling the adrenaline ebb as I let myself sit. I keep my chin up, posture steady, refusing to fidget.

Adrian finally speaks, his voice quieter, more thoughtful than I expect. “You timed that perfectly.”

I shrug, as if it means nothing. “I thought you’d want to see the new protocols before morning. There are some discrepancies in the guest logs I wanted to flag.”

He meets my gaze. For a moment, I can see the calculation in his eyes, the way he measures words and silences, the way he searches for what isn’t being said. “And what would you have done if I said it could wait?”

“I’d have found another excuse,” I admit, keeping my tone neutral but honest. “Sometimes it’s better to bring a problem straight to the source.”

A faint smile touches his lips. It’s almost imperceptible, but there. “You’re not like the others,” he says. It’s not a compliment, just an observation.

I let myself hold his gaze. “Neither are you.”

The silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Less brittle, more electric. There’s an understanding in the air, something shifting, unstable.

He looks away first, refocusing on the documents. “You can stay and help, if you’d like.”

I nod, rolling my chair closer, already unzipping my laptop bag. I feel Yelena’s presence receding, a shadow left behind in the hallway. For once, I’m not content to be background noise. I want to be seen. I want him to see me.

We work together in companionable quiet, our thoughts overlapping in the hush of paper and keystrokes. Every so often, I catch Adrian watching me, curiosity glinting in his eyes. I don’t look away.

Tonight, for the first time, I feel the balance tip just a little. I don’t know if it’s victory or danger, but I want to see where it leads.

The clock on Adrian’s desk reads nearly midnight by the time we finish. We work in silence, save for the rustle of paper and the steady clack of laptop keys.

There’s an energy to the quiet: focused, almost charged. I’m aware of his every movement on the other side of the desk, the way he occasionally glances up, the way the lamplight carves shadows along his jaw.

He never gives anything away, but his attention feels like a hand pressed to the small of my back, steadying, testing, waiting for a reaction.

When we reach the last file, I stand, collecting my notes and tucking them into my bag with careful precision.

I tell myself I’ll say good night and slip out as quietly as I came in.

I don’t want to linger, not when the air feels this tight, this dangerous.

As I reach for the door, I sense him moving behind me.

Suddenly he’s there, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He doesn’t touch me, not exactly, but his arm comes up to brace against the wall beside my head, blocking my path with casual, deliberate certainty.

My pulse spikes. I could move, push past him, but I don’t. The door is at my back, his eyes are on me, and I’m caught in the web of his focus.

He says nothing for a long moment. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s electric, thick with everything we haven’t said. I look up, refusing to drop my gaze. His eyes burn into mine, unreadable, dark and bright at the same time.

Finally, he speaks, voice pitched low enough that it feels like a secret. “You’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?”

The question catches me off guard, a flicker of something wicked curling through me. I don’t let myself look away. I hold his gaze, let him see the challenge there. My breath is shallow, but my voice is steady.

“What if I am?”

He’s so close now that I can see the faintest crease at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile but the promise of one. His eyes drop, lingering on my mouth, then return to mine. The tension is palpable, almost physical, winding tighter with every second.

For a moment, I think he might do something reckless like close the last inch between us, let his composure break. My heart pounds. The world narrows to this single point, sharp and bright.

Just as quickly as the moment flares, he steps back, his expression shuttering. Whatever he’s thinking, I can’t read it. He straightens, voice formal again. “You’re dismissed, Talia. Good night.”

I nod, forcing my features into a mask of calm, and slip out the door. My hands tremble as I walk the empty corridor, but inside I’m more alive than I’ve been in months. I can still feel the heat of his body, the weight of his gaze, the tension that vibrated between us.

Shaken, but satisfied, I let the door click softly shut behind me.

The game has officially begun.

I walk the halls with my head high, every nerve awake and singing. The marble floors seem to echo with the rapid pace of my heart. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting Adrian to follow, but the study door remains firmly closed.

I force myself to slow down, steadying my breaths, smoothing the flyaways from my hair. My hands are still trembling, but it’s not fear anymore. it’s adrenaline, satisfaction. He tried to unnerve me and failed. Or maybe he succeeded, just not in the way he intended.

As I reach the guest wing, I catch my reflection in a gilt-framed mirror: flushed cheeks, wide eyes, lips parted. I look different. Braver, maybe. Changed by the heat of his attention.

Behind closed doors, I sit on the edge of my bed, replaying the moment. Things have been… odd, since I moved to Adrian’s estate.

I think of his voice, the way he caged me in, the look that lingered on my mouth. I want more. Not just answers about Eli or the empire I’m hunting, but this dangerous tension, this battle of wills.

I smile to myself, shaky but determined. If Adrian thinks he can scare me into retreat, he’s wrong.

This is only the beginning.