Page 2 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

Maksim

She flinches when I touch her, like she wasn’t expecting to feel anything. Not heat. Not want. Not that sharp little spark that shoots through her wrist and makes her gasp.

But I was expecting it.

I’ve been waiting for it.

Her pulse stutters beneath my fingers, fast and fragile. Her breath catches, her eyes wide and stunned. She doesn’t pull away. Just stands there trembling in her pretty little shoes, wrapped in cream-colored wool and the scent of expensive soap. Her cheeks are flushed. Her mouth parted. Her innocence is painted across every inch of her, but her body is already reacting like it knows the truth before her mind catches up.

Good. That means I was right about her.

I let her wrist go slowly, deliberately, dragging my fingers down the length of her palm like a promise. She shivers. I smile.

“Come inside, Clara,” I say, turning before she can reply. “It’s cold out.”

I don’t look back to see if she follows. I already know she will. They always do. But she’s not like the others. I don’t want her obedience. I want her hunger. I want to watch her fight herself, fight me, and lose.

The doors swing open as we reach the top of the stone steps. She lingers just behind me as I step inside, and I pretend notto notice how her presence shifts the air. I feel her confusion pressing between her shoulder blades like a hand. She’s used to silence, restriction, being told what to do. Not this. Not the velvet trap of suggestion. Not the illusion of choice.

“This way,” I say as I move through the foyer. The house was designed to overwhelm: marble and gold, high ceilings and polished black floors that echo with every footstep. There are no clocks here. No mirrors. No windows that open. Time doesn’t move in this place unless I allow it to.

Clara walks quietly beside me, trying to stay composed. Her hands are clasped in front of her. She’s too aware of how she looks, how she sounds, how she takes up space. That, too, will change.

“You’ll have free access to the house,” I say casually. “You’re not a prisoner.”

Her head snaps toward me. “Then why did the gates lock behind us?”

I chuckle. “For security. The world’s dangerous, Clara. Your father said you needed protection. I agreed.”

She stiffens at the mention of him. She should. He didn’t hesitate to offer her a collateral. Pathetic, really. Men like him make deals. Men like me collect what’s owed.

I lead her through the sitting room and down the corridor that curves toward the guest wing. We pass the doors she’ll eventually open; library, indoor pool, garden conservatory. She glances at them but doesn’t ask questions. Not yet.

Her silence is almost reverent. Or maybe it’s fear. Either way, I don’t rush her.

We stop at a set of double doors.

“This will be your room for now.” I open them and step aside.

She walks in like someone entering a museum, slow, cautious, her gaze trailing over the king-sized bed, the velvet curtains, the fireplace already flickering. It’s not a cage. Not in the literal sense. There are no locks. No visible chains. Just furnishings and firelight and a million ways to make her forget she ever wanted to leave.

“I assume you’d like a moment to yourself,” I say. “There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. Your cases will be brought up shortly. Dinner is at eight. I expect you to be there.”

Clara turns to face me, her chin lifting slightly. There’s that spark again. She’s afraid, but she’s angry too. Good. I can work with that.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m here,” she says, voice trembling but firm.

I step closer, watching the way her breath hitches. “You’re here because I’m the man your father sold you to.”

Shock flashes across her face. Denial. Then fury. Her lips part, but no words come out.

I don’t give her time to form them. I lean in close, just enough to let her feel the heat of my breath along her jaw.

“You may not understand it now,” I murmur, “but soon, you will. Everything that was denied to you before? I will give it to you. Every inch of freedom. Every forbidden pleasure. Every dark, aching hunger you were taught to fear.”

I pull back just in time to see the shiver ripple through her.

“See you at dinner,bride.”

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