Page 18 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
The possessive certainty in his voice should scare me. Instead, it sends a strange, electric calm through me.
We pull into the stream of traffic, the city blurring past. I watch skyscrapers flash by, people hurrying along sidewalks, horns blaring. All of it feels distant, like I’ve slipped into another reality.
Sebastian watches me instead of the skyline. His gaze is heavy, searing. I turn to him, cheeks heating. “What?”
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I’m a scientist. Thinking too much is kind of my job.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Tell me.”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I’m wondering what I’m doing here. Why I said yes. Why I’m still sitting next to you instead of running back to my lab.”
“And?”
“And…” My voice trails off as I look at him. His eyes are sharp, dark, dangerous, but they soften when they meet mine. My chest tightens. “And I don’t want to run.”
His hand squeezes mine, a quiet victory, before he lifts my fingers to his mouth and kisses them. The simple gesture wrecks me more than last night’s intensity.
The car slows, turning down a private drive flanked by tall iron gates. They open without hesitation.
Sebastian’s home, or fortress, rises ahead. A modern mansion of steel and glass set back from the street, surrounded by manicured gardens that look more like a show of dominance than decoration. It’s beautiful in a cold way, like an orchid kept alive under glass, perfect and untouchable.
My stomach knots as we pull up the drive.
Inside, the air smells faintly of wood polish. Marble floors gleam under soft lighting. Everything is minimalist, expensive, controlled. There are no family photos, no clutter, no softness.
It feels like him.
He doesn’t release my hand as he leads me deeper into the house. The silence is heavy, broken only by our footsteps.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice low, curious.
I glance around at the flawless furniture, the enormous windows, the sleek art. “It’s beautiful. And cold.”
His mouth curves. “So are you, little botanist. At first glance.”
My breath hitches. “I’m not cold.”
“No,” he agrees, stepping closer, crowding me against the edge of a glass table. His hand skims down my arm, goosebumps rising in its wake. “You burn. And I like it best when you burn for me.”
I shiver, caught between wanting to argue and wanting him to touch me again.
Instead, I clear my throat. “You asked about my research earlier.”
He tilts his head. “Yes.” His eyes stay locked on me, sharp and focused, as if every word matters. “And what drives you?” he asks.
The question stops me. No one’s ever asked me that either. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s… the idea that beauty shouldn’t have to die just because the world changes. That it deserves a chance to adapt, to keep thriving.”
His expression softens in a way I’ve never seen before. He steps closer, his thumb brushing my jaw. “Then you and I aren’t so different.”
“How?”
“I kill to protect what’s mine. You create to protect what’s yours.”
The starkness of his words makes me shiver. But instead of recoiling, I find myself leaning into his touch.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispers. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. Not your work. Not your life. Not your loneliness.”
