Page 49 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
I got in. I got out.
The success hums in my bloodstream. It should be enough. It should feel like victory.
Now, about that file… Obelisk-12.
Even now, the name sticks in my mind. Stark. Ominous. It felt different than the others. Protected differently. Buried deeper. I hadn’t even opened it, but my gut clenched the moment I saw it—like my body recognized a threat before my mind could catch up.
Whatever it is, it matters. More than numbers, more than ledgers. More than shipments and offshore accounts.
I turn from the mirror, move to the small chair beside the bed, curling into myself with the still-burning aftershocks of adrenaline still thrumming through my bones. The quiet is thick now. Too thick.
The file presses at the edge of my thoughts with a weight heavier than guilt, heavier than fear. I don’t know what’s inside it, not yet—but I know what it felt like to look at that name. Like standing on the edge of a drop I can’t see the bottom of.
And I know myself; I’ll go back.
Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow, but soon. Because now there’s a new question burning beneath my skin. A new piece of the game laid bare.
The game is only beginning—and this time, I’m not playing defense.
I should feel satisfied. I should be proud of what I’ve already taken—hundreds of files, trails of data, names, passwords, accounts. It’s enough to keep my brother’s people busy for weeks.
I press my palms to my thighs, grounding myself. My legs still feel taut, every muscle holding tension like I’ve sprinted a marathon. I can’t stop thinking about the way the cursor hovered above it, how one more click would’ve been too much. Would’ve triggered the system. Would’ve ended everything.
It also would’ve given me the answer.
I should leave it. Be smart. I got away clean. I shouldn’t risk a second breach, especially not when the first one could still catch up with me.
My instincts aren’t wrong. That file wasn’t some locked financial record. It wasn’t old surveillance or an outdated kill list. It was something deeper.
Chapter Sixteen - Maxim
I step into the foyer, the weight of the day trailing behind me like smoke. My tie hangs loose in one hand, my jacket already slung over my shoulder. I expect quiet—dim lights, low voices, the soft hush of a house preparing for sleep.
Something feels off the moment I cross the threshold.
Not noise. Not chaos. Her absence. It settles into my chest with more force than I expect.
I nod to one of the guards and head down the main corridor. The staff clear the halls instinctively—trained, respectful. I find Maria, the head housekeeper, near the side stairs, clipboard in hand, already ticking off the nightly rundown.
She looks up as I approach. Doesn’t flinch. She’s been with the family long enough to know I don’t need ceremony.
“How is she adjusting?” I ask.
Maria doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. She tucks the clipboard under one arm and answers calmly, evenly.
“She’s polite. Quiet. Keeps to herself.”
That part doesn’t surprise me, but then Maria adds, “Always watching.”
My brow lifts. “Watching?”
She nods once. “Not in a way that causes concern. She’s observant. Takes in everything. Staff rotations. Window locks. Routes through the gardens. That kind of thing.”
I’m quiet for a moment.
“She asked about the surveillance system in the east wing last week,” Maria adds, like it’s an afterthought. “Said shecouldn’t sleep. Wanted to know which corridors were monitored after dark.”
“And you told her?”
