Page 41 of Scarred Bratva King

Maxim steps closer, his gaze locked on mine. His hand dwarfs the delicate band as he picks it up, his fingers brushing mine as he takes my left hand in his.

His grip is steady, firm yet careful, as though he’s afraid of breaking me.

“Veronica,” he begins, his voice intimate, “with this ring, I give you my promise. My protection. My loyalty.” He pauses, his eyes boring into mine. “And all that I am.”

The weight of his words wraps around me like a blanket. My lips part, but no sound escapes.

He slides the ring onto my finger, his touch warm against my skin. The metal feels cool, but as it settles into place, a sense of security washes over me.

This is just pretend,I remind myself, but the pounding of my heart won’t listen.

I reach for his ring with trembling fingers, the band feeling heavier than it should. He extends his hand, his rough palm turned upward, waiting.

“Maxim,” I say, “with this ring, I give you my trust. My respect. And all that I am.”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his face. I slide the ring onto his finger, the action feeling more intimate than I ever expected. Why does this feel like it might last forever?

The officiant’s voice breaks the spell. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Before I can process the words, Maxim steps closer, his hands settling firmly on my waist. His touch is possessive, claiming, but there’s a gentleness in the way he pulls me toward him.

When his lips meet mine, the world vanishes.

The kiss starts slow but quickly deepens. His hand moves to the small of my back, pulling me closer.

The applause erupts around us, but it’s distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. All I can feel is him—his lips, his hands, the unrelenting intensity of his presence.

When we finally pull apart, his gaze searches mine, dark and burning. My heart stutters as I realize I don’t want to look away.

If this is pretend,I think with anxiety gnawing at me,then why does it feel so real?

20

MAXIM

Three weeks later…

All I can focus on is Veronica. She stands in the center of the gym, dressed in tight workout leggings and a tank top, her arms crossed in an attempt to appear casual.

She’s trying not to look impressed, but her eyes keep darting to my muscles.

You’d think I’d be used to her body by now but it still drives me wild to just stare at her.

"Ready?" I ask, forcing myself to focus, leaning against the wall and folding my arms.

She narrows her eyes, her lips twitching in a challenge. "Ready to kick your ass again? Always."

I let out a low chuckle, gesturing for her to step closer. "You’ll need to do better than sarcasm if someone grabs you who isn’t pulling his punches. Remember what I taught you yesterday?"

She raises an eyebrow, stepping into the space I’ve cleared for us. "Sarcasm is my best weapon. Haven’t you heard? Words cut deeper than knives, they say."

"Not if you’re unconscious," I retort, gesturing for her to lift her hands.

I step behind her to adjust her stance, placing my hands firmly on her waist. She stiffens for a second before relaxing into the contact. "Feet shoulder-width apart,” she says. “I remember. Knees slightly bent. Keep my center of gravity low."

“Do it, don’t say it.”

She squares her stance again, adjusting her weight just enough to tell me she’s about to try something new. I keep my expression neutral, circling her slowly, waiting for her to make her move.

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