Page 47 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

I freeze. The glass of champagne in my hand remains perfectly still, though my internal world tilts on its axis. I slowly lower my hand, pulling the phone from the hidden pocket of my gown.

I don’t need to unlock it to know. The vibration has a distinct, jagged intensity that distinguishes it from every other notification.

I glance around. Sienna is mid-sentence, laughing at a remark Raelyn just made, while the others are focused on a story Ellie is telling about one of the children. No one notices the millisecond of stillness that overtakes my body.

I swipe the screen. The message is waiting, plain and cold, glowing against the backdrop of our wedding colors.

Unknown: A beautiful ceremony, my love. White suits you, though it looks far too pure for a woman who belongs to a monster. You think this ceremony makes you safe? You’ve only given me a better view of what I intend to take. Enjoy the masquerade while it lasts. I’m closer than you think.

My breath hitches, a sharp, involuntary sound that I manage to mask as a gasp of laughter at a joke I didn’t actually hear. I force my facial muscles to relax, though my skin feels as though it is crawling. The words are dripping with an obsessive, suffocating sense of ownership. He isn’t just watching; he’s dissecting every detail, turning our celebration into his own private theatre of cruelty.

I look up, catching my reflection in a nearby gilded mirror. My face is composed, my smile perfectly crafted, even as the cold dread pools in my stomach.

Across the room, Samuel’s gaze snaps to me. He isn’t looking at his brothers anymore; he’s looking at me. He reads the shift in my posture—the subtle rigidity in my shoulders—before I even realize I’ve betrayed myself. His conversation with Konstantin dies instantly.

I quickly lock the phone and tuck it away, forcing myself to turn back to the women.

“Is everything all right, Ashley?” Sofia asks, her brow furrowing with a hint of concern, her keen eyes tracing the sudden pallor of my skin.

“Just a headache,” I lie, my voice smooth and practiced. “The adrenaline, I think. It’s finally catching up to me.”

“Sit down,” Ellie insists, guiding me toward a velvet chair. “You’ve had a hell of a few days. You need to breathe.”

I sit, nodding my thanks, and look back toward the main hall. Ethan is still running, his laughter ringing out like a bell, beautiful and oblivious.

Chapter 24 – Samuel

The penthouse is silent, save for the rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the city lights pulsing against the floor-to-ceiling glass. It is long past midnight. I stand in the doorway of Ethan’s room for a long time, watching him sleep, his breathing deep and steady, before I finally turn and walk toward our master suite.

When I step inside, the room is bathed in the soft, amber glow of the nightstand lamp. Ashley is standing by the window, her back to me. She is still wearing the ivory silk gown from the ceremony, but its grandeur has faded into the exhaustion of the night. She’s reaching behind her, her fingers fumbling with the intricate, tiny row of buttons running down her spine. Her movements are tired, slightly jerky, a stark contrast to the composure she maintained all day.

I cross the room in a few long strides.

“Let me,” I say quietly.

She stiffens for a fraction of a second, her hands dropping to her sides, before she lets out a long, shaky breath and relaxes. I move behind her, my presence filling the space she creates.

My fingers are large, calloused, and shaped more for the grip of a weapon than the delicacy of silk, but I move with a careful, deliberate precision. One by one, I undo the buttons. As the fabric gives way, the dress slips slightly off her shoulders, revealing the warm, smooth skin of her back. The air in the room feels thick, charged with the sudden, quiet intimacy of the moment.

She doesn’t move as the zipper slides down, the silk pooling around her feet until she stands in her lace undergarments. She turns to face me then, her eyes soft, reflecting the dim amber light.

“Did you enjoy today?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low, rough rumble.

A genuine, fragile smile touches her lips. It isn’t the practiced, defensive smile she used to wear, but something softer. “Yes,” she whispers. “I did. Even with everything…it was beautiful.”

I step closer, closing the final inch of distance between us. I reach out, my hands cupping her waist, pulling her flush against me. The contrast of her softness against my hardness is a sensation I’ve craved for four years without ever truly admitting it to myself.

She rests her hands on my chest, her fingers curling into the lapels of my loosened shirt. There is no resistance left in her, only a quiet, settling surrender.

“You were breathtaking today,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

She tilts her head back, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that strips me bare. When she leans in, the kiss is not a demand or a conquest. It is a beginning. It is soft at first, a gentle exploration of the new reality we’ve built, before it deepens, turning desperate and searing.

I pull her against me, shielding her, holding her as if I could press her into my own skin and never let her go. In the quiet of the penthouse, with the city lights flickering like distant stars, the threat of the stalker feels like a world away. For this moment, there’s only the weight of her body against mine and the absolute, terrifying certainty that she is finally, irrevocably mine.

“Samuel…” She looks up at me. “Make love to me. Please.”

The air in the room thickens, electrified by her request. The professional restraint I’ve maintained all day, the measured steps of the wedding, the tactical caution—it all shatters.