Page 54 of Scarred Bratva King

The library is quiet. I’m curled up on one of the overstuffed armchairs, flipping through a thick catalog of bookstore furniture and decorations.

Maxim sits across from me on the sofa, his legs stretched out, an open book in his hands. The fire crackles softly in the background, casting flickering light across the shelves.

“Dark oak or light oak?” I ask, holding up a photo of a towering bookshelf.

He barely glances up. “Dark. It’ll age better.”

“Practical and stylish,” I say, setting the catalog down and tilting my head. “I didn’t peg you as someone with strong opinions about shelving.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “You’d be surprised.”

I study him for a moment, unable to stop myself from noticing the way the firelight catches the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed way he leans back as if this is his natural state.

I’m not sure what comes over me, but before I can second-guess myself, I cross the space between us and sit beside him on the sofa.

“You’re blocking the light,” he murmurs, but his arm lifts automatically, draping over the back of the couch to make room for me.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, not moving an inch. “I’ll just get comfortable here.”

His hand grazes the back of my neck as he brushes a stray strand of hair away. The touch is brief, but it sends a shiver down my spine. I glance up at him, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken between us, an unbearable tension hanging in the air.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says, his voice teasing.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to argue with me over bookshelf styles again.”

I roll my eyes, a small laugh escaping. “I’m not that predictable.”

He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You are. And I like it.”

Before I can respond—or figure out if he’s being serious—the sound of someone clearing their throat shatters the moment. We both look up to see Victor standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze fixed on us.

Victor steps into the room, his imposing presence filling the space. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches us with an unreadable expression. I shift awkwardly, about to slide off the couch, but Maxim’s hand tightens on my shoulder, keeping me in place.

Victor finally speaks. “I’ve seen enough.”

I blink, unsure what he means. “Seen enough of what?”

“This,” he says, gesturing between the two of us. “You’re convincing. Too convincing to be acting. This is no arrangement, is it?”

I open my mouth to respond, but Maxim beats me to it. “Glad to hear you finally believe us,” he says smoothly, his tone cool and unaffected, though I can feel the tension radiating off him.

Victor studies us for another long moment, then nods. “You’re good for each other. That’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, unsure if he even hears me.

Victor turns to Maxim, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll retire in one week. Officially hand everything over to you. It’s time.”

Maxim nods, his face unreadable, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes—pride, maybe? Or something closer to relief.

“I’ll see you both for breakfast tomorrow,” Victor adds, his tone more businesslike now. He casts one last glance at us before leaving the library, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

The silence stretches after he’s gone, and I turn to Maxim, my heart still racing. “Well,” I say, trying to sound casual, “I guess that means we’ve done it.”

He doesn’t reply right away, his eyes fixed on the empty doorway. When he finally looks at me, there’s a weight to his gaze that makes my stomach flip.

“One more week until the handover,” he says quietly. “A few more days after that the signal replicator gets here.” He frowns.

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