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I hum a catchy pop tune as I rummage through my closet, tossing aside outfits that aren't quite right for tonight. My fingers brush against sequenced blazers and silk shirts, each piece a tiny rebellion against my old life. Finally, I pull out an A-line emerald green dress that hugs my curves in all the right places and skirts around my knees. It’s the perfect dress, cinching right above my waist and flowing out to reveal what needs revealing and conceal what I’m not comfortable showing.

I know I’ll feel confident in it and that’s something I could use a lot of tonight, considering how I’d probably be surrounded by modelesque women tonight at the club.

"Perfect," I murmur, holding it up to the mirror. My reflection grins back at me, dark blonde hair tousled and chocolate brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

I can't help but do a little dance, relishing the quiet of my apartment. No stern-faced guards, no watchful eyes. Just me, Natalia Orlov, free as a bird and ready to paint the town red with my girls.

As I slip into the dress, my mind wanders to the clubbing plans for tonight. It still feels surreal, having friends who want to hang out just because they like me, not because I'm an Orlov. Before, when I was trailed by hulking men in black suits, people gave me a wide berth. Now? I'm just another 23-year-old looking for a good time.

"Take that, Bratva lifestyle," I say to my reflection, striking a pose. But even as I revel in my newfound freedom, a pang of guilt hits me. This life is all so new to me, and while I enjoy living independently, sometimes I think of what it took to get here. Right now, my brothers' faces flash through my mind back from when I told them I’d be moving out—Nikolai's stern frown, Dima's worried eyes, Fedor's clenched jaw, and Artyom's sad yet understanding smile.

I sigh, flopping onto my bed. I love my family and sometimes find myself wishing they’d understand my perspective. On one hand, I tell myself that their opinion shouldn’t matter. Yet, on the other, I find myself wanting them to be on board. It’s hard to choose an unknown path, and their support would make this transition so much easier.

If only they could see I need this. My stubbornness flares up, remembering our last argument. They just don't get it. They're happy with the chaos of the Bratva life, with all its power and danger. But me? I want something different. Something… normal.

I roll over, hugging a pillow to my chest. "Is that so wrong?" I ask softly, feeling a mix of love and frustration toward my family. They mean well, I know they do. But I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a grown woman who can make her own choices, even if those choices scare them.

Shaking off the melancholy, I bounce back up when I see the time. Tonight isn't about dwelling on family drama. It's about freedom, fun, and maybe a little mischief. I grin, excitement bubbling up again as I reach for my makeup bag.

Just then, the door crashes open with a bang, and I nearly poke my eye out with my mascara wand. My heart plummets as four hulking figures burst into my bedroom.

"Seriously?" I yelp, whirling to face my brothers. "I gave you that key for emergencies, not to scare the life out of me!"

Nikolai, ever the stern eldest, crosses his arms. "This is an emergency, Natalia."

I roll my eyes, but can't help the grin tugging at my lips. "What, did you run out of vodka at home?"

Dima, the worrier, steps forward. "This isn't a joke, little sister."

"Aw, come on," I tease, poking him in the ribs. "You guys are worse than a bunch of old babushkas. But tell me, what’s the emergency?”

“We wanted to see how you’re doing,” Nikolai says.

“That,” I fold my arms in front of my chest and roll my eyes at him, “is not an emergency. And I’m doing fine, thank you.”

Fedor, with a clenched jaw, mutters, "You won't be if you keep living like this."

I turn to face him now and narrow my eyes. "What, happily?"

Artyom, my closest brother in age, tries to lighten the mood. "Nice place, Nat. Though I think I saw a mouse in the kitchen."

"Ha!" I laugh despite feeling infuriated. "The only rodents here are the four of you!"

Despite my irritation at their intrusion, I can't help but feel a warm rush of affection. These four overprotective bears might drive me crazy, but they're mine.

"Look," I say, trying to keep my tone light, "I appreciate this unwarranted ‘emergency’ visit, but I've got plans tonight with some girls. We’re heading out for a night of partying so if we could just hurry along whatever this is no—”

Nikolai's frown deepens and he interrupts me with a groan. "Natalia, you don't understand the dangers—”

"Oh, I understand plenty," I interrupt, my stubborn streak flaring. "I understand I want a life outside of bulletproof cars and armed guards. Is that so terrible? I’m 23 for god's sake and I’m only going to be young once!"

I can see the conflict in their eyes, torn between love and duty. It makes my heart ache, but I stand my ground. This is my choice, my life.

Dima now steps forward. "Natalia, it's not all about living your life, consequences be damned. There are real threats out there. People who'd use you to get to us. People who could hurt YOU!"

I feel a flicker of familiar fear, quickly squashed by determination. I’m done living my life looking over my shoulder. This is exactly why I want to be away from my family. “I’m not naive, Dima. I know the risks. But I can't live my life in a gilded cage."

Nikolai's voice is gruff with concern. "We've had reports of rival families sniffing around. Your safety isn't guaranteed out here."

I cross my arms, feeling my fierce side emerge. "And what about my happiness? My chance to be normal? To make friends who don't flinch at the sight of a gun?"

Artyom reaches out, his hand gentle on my shoulder. "We want you to be happy, Nat. But your life comes first. If anything happened to you, we wouldn’t be able to survive it.”

I shrug him off, my chest tight with frustration. “I know that. I do. But I’m suffocating in our world! Don't you see? I need space to breathe, to figure out who I am beyond just being an Orlov."

Fedor's eyes narrow. "And who exactly is that, Sister? Some club-hopping party girl?"

His words sting, but I lift my chin defiantly. "If that's what I want to be, yes! Or maybe I'll open a bakery. Or travel. The point is, I get to choose."

I can see the worry etched on their faces, know how scared they are for me. It seeps me in guilt, but I’ve reached an inflection point where I know I have to start living for myself, even if it brings pain. It took me a long time to finally understand what it is I want, and even longer to muster up the courage to take action toward building this life.

"I love you all," I say, my voice softening. "But I need this. Please, try to understand. You can't just barge in here and dictate my life. I'm not a child anymore."

My older brothers look at one another as though they’re hiding something. Meanwhile, Artyom smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Could've fooled me. Especially with that stuffed bear I spotted on your bed."

I feel my cheeks heat up. "Hey! Mr. Snuggles is a cherished childhood memento, I'll have you know."

"Mr. Snuggles?" Artyom chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, Nat, you're not helping your case here."

Despite myself, I can't help but laugh. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm not entirely grown up. But I'm adult enough to make my own decisions."

Nikolai clears his throat, his expression turning serious again. "Speaking of decisions, Natalia… we've come up with a solution. A compromise, if you will."

“Oh, we’re doing this now, are we?” Fedor mutters under his breath, avoiding my gaze.

Nikolai doesn’t respond and all my brothers go quiet, even Artyom. I try to meet their gazes and they bristle under my look. Something’s up and I know them well enough to know whatever plan they have isn’t something I should be excited for.

My smile fades, replaced by a knot of apprehension in my stomach. "What kind of compromise?"

The brothers exchange glances, and I feel my heart rate quicken. Finally, Fedor speaks up.

"We've arranged a marriage proposal… to the Zolotov family."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stagger back until I’m leaning against my dressing table, my mind reeling. "What? Marriage? Are you out of your minds?"

"It's for your protection," Nikolai insists.

I shake my head vehemently, anger and disbelief coursing through me. "No. Absolutely not. You can't just… just trade me off like some pawn!"

"Natalia, please," Artyom pleads. "At least consider it. The Zolotovs are a good family, and—"

"I don't care if they're the bloody royal family!" I explode, my voice rising. "This is my life we're talking about. My future. And you think you can just… just arrange it without even asking me? I’ve only just moved out to live my life away from you and you’re trying to reel me right back into it!”

The room falls silent, tension thick in the air. I look at each of my brothers in turn, seeing the conflict in their eyes. I’ve never felt more betrayed. My mind races, a jumble of conflicting emotions. Freedom. Safety. Love. Duty. The words swirl in my head, colliding and separating like oil and water. I begin to pace the room, my brothers' eyes following me.

Dima clears his throat, and I instinctively look at him. He steps forward, but seeing the rage in my eyes thinks better of it and steps back into his original position. "Look,” he says, his hands in a placating gesture. “Think of it this way, You'd be away from us, but still under the umbrella of a powerful family. It's the best of both worlds. You get to be free of us and discover who you are without the Orlov name attached, but you’d still be protected. It’s a compromise between the freedom you seek and the protection we want you to have. As Nikolai said, it’s a compromise and you can meet us halfway.”

"You're saying I'd be… free?" I finally ask, my voice small. "Away from the family, but still protected?"

Dima nods eagerly. "Exactly, Nat. You'd have your own life, your own space. You can do the work you want, travel around, and still be out and about without being under our radar all the time. We’d be happy knowing you have the added security of the Zolotov name.”

I chew my lip, considering. It sounds almost too good to be true, which means it probably is. Suddenly, my stubborn streak flares up, and I whirl to face them.

"And what about what I want?" I demand, hands on my hips. "Did any of you even think to ask me if I want to get married? To a stranger, no less?"

Nikolai sighs. "Natalia, we're trying to—"

"No," I cut him off, my voice sharp. "You don't get to decide this for me. I'm not a child anymore. I'm a grown woman, and I deserve to have a say in my own life!"

My chest heaves as I stare them down, daring them to argue. The room falls silent, thick with tension. I can see the struggle on their faces—the instinct to protect warring with their respect for me as an individual.

"You're right," Artyom says softly, surprising us all. "We should have talked to you first. We just… we worry, Nat."

I feel my anger deflate slightly, replaced by a twinge of guilt. "I know you do," I admit. "But this isn't the way.”

I watch as my brothers exchange glances, and Nikolai speaks next. “But there is no other way, Nat. We hear you, but you have to understand. This isn't just about what you want. It's about keeping you safe.”

“And alive,” Dima adds.

Despite my protests, I can see they're not backing down.

I feel the walls closing in, my dreams of a normal life slipping through my fingers like sand. "But—"

"No buts," Dima interrupts, his usual jovial tone replaced by seriousness. "We've made our decision. The Zolotovs are a good family. This marriage will give you protection and freedom."

I sink onto my bed, my curvy frame feeling suddenly heavy. "Some freedom," I mutter, twirling a strand of my dark blonde hair around my finger.

Fedor kneels in front of me, his brown eyes—so like mine—filled with sympathy. "We love you, little sister. This is for the best."

As they file out of my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I feel a storm of emotions brewing inside me. I flop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

"For the best," I whisper to myself, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “This can’t be happening.”

I grab my phone, my fingers hovering over my best friend's number. But what would I even say? 'Hey, guess what? My brothers just arranged my marriage to a complete stranger!'

Instead, I toss the phone across the bed and flop over to my stomach, burying my face in a throw pillow. "Ugh!"

My fierce side is itching for a fight, but who am I kidding? This is the Bratva world. My world, whether I like it or not.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," I try to convince myself, sitting up. "Maybe he's… nice? Funny? Doesn't snore?" Besides, my sister Sofia is married to a Zolotov. She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her be, with Vladimir by her side. Perhaps I could find the same joy in my marriage.

But the knot in my stomach tells a different story. No matter how nice my future husband might be, I can’t just force myself to love him because we’ve had an arranged marriage. I’ve always dreamt of a lot more than just nice. I close my eyes, trying to imagine a future I never asked for. A stranger for a husband, a new family to navigate.

Guess what’s done is done. But since this is happening, I’m going to have to make sure it happens on my terms. Just because we’re getting married, doesn’t mean I’ll be the perfect, doting wife. I have no idea how the future will pan out, but whoever I am to marry will have to earn my trust.