Page 83 of Owned Bratva Bride
“Almost thought you were an intruder,” Marielle revealed when I walked into our bedroom.
She was on the couch, but I didn’t give her a second glance to see her face or what she was doing.
“Of course,” I heard her mutter as I went into the closet.
By the time I stepped out of the closet in casual clothes, she had left the room.
My eyes caught the purple box on the stool beside the couch she formerly occupied.
I opened it.
More than half of the wide box was gone.
She was eating it when I arrived.
And she likes it.
Taking my phone out of my joggers’ pocket, I took a picture of the name on the carton.
She apparently left angrily. Because of me.
I sat at the edge of the bed.
Would she be this sensitive to my ignoring her if she didn’t care?
I found her in the study.
“Hi.”
She looked up from her book with a raised brow before resuming her reading.
“Marielle.”
“What?” she asked, giving me a tired look that made my chest tighter than an angry yell ever could.
“I’m about to have an early dinner. Have you eaten?”
“Now you feel like talking?”
I sighed, having no response to offer. Turning around, I left the study.
Then she walked into the dining room just as Agatha served my food.
My happiness multiplied when she took her seat to my left.
“Oh, I’ll serve you,” Agatha offered as she came back out of the kitchen with water.
“I can serve myself,” Marielle insisted, smirking jokingly at Agatha.
“Did something bad happen at work?” Marielle questioned once Agatha left us.
I paused.
“You’re back early and in a kind of…mood,” she pointed out, shrugging.
“It happens like that sometimes,” I responded.
Not the full truth. Not a lie, either.
