Page 26 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
“Congratulations,” he says, his voice low, for me alone.
“Thank you.” I hold up the award with a shaky laugh. “Can you believe it?”
“Yes.” His eyes darken. “The world finally sees what I saw the first night.”
Heat rushes through me. I step closer, lowering my voice. “I thought you only saw me as yours.”
His mouth curves faintly, dangerous and amused. “That too.”
I roll my eyes, but my smile betrays me.
He takes the award from my hands, studying it briefly before tucking it under his arm like it’s just another possession. Then he cups my jaw, tilting my face up, kissing me there in the doorway where anyone could see.
Gasps ripple behind us. Whispers. Scandalized stares.
I don’t care.
Because all I feel is him. His mouth firm against mine, his hand steady on my face, his presence grounding me as surely as it did the night he pulled me into that dance.
When he pulls back, his gaze burns. “The masquerade was the beginning,” he says quietly. “This is forever.”
And I believe him.
Because my sister was right. I needed to step out of the lab, out of my isolation. I thought she was forcing me to live for one night. I didn’t know she was leading me to the man who would change every day after.
Sebastian takes my hand now, leading me out of the hall, out of the applause and the murmurs and the polite academic world that suddenly feels too small. His grip is firm, absolute.
And as we step into the sunlight, award clutched in his other hand, I realize the truth:
I may have been the one who studied orchids, who believed beauty deserved to adapt and survive.
But he was the one who made sure I bloomed.
Sebastian
I’ve spilled blood without blinking. Signed contracts in smoke-filled rooms that shifted the power of entire cities. But I’ve never felt what I felt watching her walk onto that stage.
Caitlyn.
She stood under the lights in her modest dress, hair pulled back, award heavy in her hands, and for the first time the world looked at her the way they should. They clapped, they whispered, they craned their necks to see her.
But none of them knew the truth.
None of them knew that the woman being celebrated for saving orchids was already ruined and marked. That last night she screamed my name into the dark, her body writhing under mine, her walls clenching around my cock until I lost myself inside her.
They applauded her brilliance. I stood in the shadows, applauding the fact that she was mine.
The pride I feel watching her bow her head, cheeks flushed with accomplishment, is unlike anything else. It’s savage, primitive, consuming. Pride that isn’t gentle. Pride that is possessive.
Because while they honor her for her mind, I can’t stop thinking about her body. How wet she was when I pushed her against the wall. How tight she still is, even after I’ve filled her again and again. How her lips trembled when she whisperedyours.
The ceremony ends. She slips away from the crowd, her eyes finding me instantly, like a compass locked to true north. She looks tired, dazed, overwhelmed. And so fucking beautiful it hurts.
I take the award from her hands before she drops it, sliding it under my arm like it’s mine too. Which it is. Everything she touches, everything she earns, everything she is, is mine.
She opens her mouth, maybe to thank me, maybe to protest the way I’m already leading her toward the exit. I don’t give her the chance. I crush my mouth to hers, kissing her hard enough that the gasps of academics echo behind us.
Good. Let them see. Let them whisper. Let them choke on the sight of their darling scientist devoured by a man like me.
