Page 21 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I remembered her yesterday, planted in front of her easel. She'd been scared of me, and she'd still talked back. Then after I left, she'd run out into the rain and ripped through the trash just to get back what I'd thrown away.

If she only wanted the title Mrs. Morozova, why did she treat a few worn-out brushes like they mattered more than anything?

I hesitated. Then I reached out anyway and wiped the tears off her face. She froze. Her skin felt shockingly hot.

"Eat something." I picked up the bowl of semolina porridge and brought the spoon to her lips.

Elena looked at me, slow and dazed, like she couldn't understand why the man who'd just shredded her was now sitting on her bed feeding her.

"Didn't you think I was faking?" Her voice came out thin. Her hot breath fell over my knuckles.

"You weren't." Admitting it made my tongue feel thick. "Now eat. Don't make me say it twice."

She didn't argue again. She ate a few spoonfuls in silence, then swallowed the fever pills under my watch.

Every time her lips and the tip of her tongue brushed the spoon, my fingers tightened on their own. It made no sense. I blamed the heat in the room and refused to think about it.

When she lay back down and finally fell asleep, I let out a breath.

I'd been so sure she'd fooled everyone.

But maybe the one blinded by prejudice the whole time had been me.

Chapter 7

Kiryan

Kiryan's palm pressed to the small of my back, holding me tight against him.

His kiss came hard and hungry, tongue pushing in like he owned my mouth, stealing what little breath I had left. All I could do was fist his shirt and tilt my head back, take it. But he didn't humiliate me like he had at the wedding. He didn't treat me like Isabella. He kissed me again and again, like the woman in his arms was the one he'd been starving for.

"Kiryan..."

The second I said his name, he cradled the back of my neck and kissed me again. This one slowed down. He caught my lower lip and sucked gently, then licked the spot he'd bitten raw, so intimate it made me shake.

"Don't hide," he murmured against my mouth. "Look at me."

I opened my eyes. Those dark gray eyes held no disgust. No cold assessment. For the first time, I saw myself reflected there.

"So you finally want to see me?" I asked.

His fingers slid through my hair, tucking the loose strands behind my ear.

"I was the one who looked too late." His voice sounded rough, like it didn't quite belong to him.

The softest part of my chest took the hit. I didn't believe it. I was scared that if I blinked, he'd turn back into ice.

"I'm not Isabella."

"I know."

"I have freckles. And I don't even know how to be a proper Mrs. Morozova."

"So what?" His thumb brushed my cheek. "I want you."

Tears poured out before I could stop them. Kiryan dipped his head and kissed them away, one by one. The kisses at my lashes, the bridge of my nose, my cheekbones—light, careful. Nothing like the man I knew.

"Elena." He said my name like it mattered. "I never loved Isabella. I just never saw who I really wanted."