Page 68 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride

Both of them stop and stare at me in disbelief. They are right up in each other’s faces. I run into the room and stand between them. They’re both tall, towering over me. I shove them, first Kristopher and then Emmanuil. I push them away from each other.

“Stop,” I shout. “Stop fighting.”

“Stay out of this, Anya,” Kristopher snarls, trying to push me away.

“I won’t. You have to stop,” I plead with him.

“Go home,” Emmanuil demands. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I glare at him, his words aching through me. “No. If you two don’t stop fighting right now, I will never speak to either of you again,” I say, my heart breaking all over again. Emmanuil’s eyes are burning into me.

All I can think is, how did he do it so well? How did he do such a brilliant job of making me believe he was falling for me all over again?

It doesn’t matter, though. What matters now is that I stop them from killing each other.

“Fine, I’ll go. But you’re coming with me, Anya,” Kristopher demands.

“I can’t, Kris,” I say sadly.

“Yes, you can, and you will.”

“I can’t. I’m married to Emmanuil.”

His eyes shoot wide. “Married? What the fuck?”

Emmanuil wears a satisfied gleam on his face, a cold, gloating smile that hurts to see.

“I’m tied to him. I cannot leave with you now. But I will come home soon.”

“I can’t leave you with this madman, Anya. You’re not safe,” Kris grumbles, his face pulled tight.

“I’m not in any danger. He hasn’t done me any harm. You being here is the only risk. Please, Kris, go, and we can talk later. I’ll come home soon, I promise.”

My brother shakes his head, clenching his jaw and flexing his clenched fists. He’s not happy to leave me, and the news of me being married to his enemy has upset him even more, but what choice does he have?

“Is this what you want me to do?” he asks, staring right into my eyes. I stare back with confidence, hiding my fears and hiding my heartache. I nod.

“Yes, I want you to go,” I say boldly.

He closes his eyes, and without another word, he turns away from Emmanuil. I can see the tension in his body as he walks away.

Slowly, my heart begins to beat a little slower. The immediate danger is over. They didn’t start shooting; no one got hurt.

I got hurt. My heart is shattered.

That doesn’t matter.

I turn to look at Emmanuil, and his face softens. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I study his expression. His beautiful hazel-green eyes, the dark stubble over his jaw, the way his hair is tussled as though he’s been running his fingers through it. Images flash through my mind. His lips on mine, his body rocking against me. I sigh, letting out a soft breath.

“Yes,” I say, realizing he doesn’t know I overheard everything he said to my brother. He doesn’t know that I know the truth.That he hates me and has only been pretending to forgive me.

It’s better this way. Let him have his moment of satisfaction. I hurt him first. I don’t deserve a second chance with him.

“Can you please take me home?” I ask, my voice shaking, despite my best efforts to hold myself together.

He steps close to me and pulls me into his arms. “You didn’t mean what you said,” he says softly.