Page 46 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Time disappeared in the rush of planning Kiryan's birthday party.

Kiryan didn't care about parties. He never had. I still thought he needed warmth sometimes—something real, even if he pretended he didn't.

He hated flashy decorations. He didn't touch anything too sweet. I had them take down the gold flower wall and swap it for simple greenery. The cake stayed rich but not cloying. The wine followed the years Olga recommended.

"You know what he wants better than he does," Olga said.

I only smiled.

I didn't tell her I'd memorized those details back when I'd been quietly in love with him. He never drank dessert wine at parties. He couldn't stand people showing up late. When someone laid on boring compliments, he tapped the side of his glass with his knuckle like he was counting seconds until he could leave.

Back then, I'd watched him from across crowded rooms.

Now I stood beside him.

The night of the party, the second Kiryan came downstairs, the chatter in the ballroom dropped like someone had turned a dial. He wore a black suit, his brown-black hair slicked back. That hard, grown-man presence made people part automatically, like they didn't even realize they were moving.

Kiryan stopped in front of me, his eyes hot on my body.

"You look beautiful tonight."

"Thanks." Heat flared in my chest, uncontrollable. "Happy birthday, Kiryan."

He held out his hand. When I put mine in his, his thumb slowly stroked across my knuckles.

I'd had his gift ready for days, waiting to give it to him after the party, alone. It was a custom watch. The price nearly wiped out everything I'd saved from selling my paintings. I hadn't hesitated when I swiped the card.

And on the back, I hadn't picked some generic shop engraving. I'd designed it myself—a simple line drawing of Kiryan. I thought he'd like that. Something quiet. Personal.

The first half of the night went damn near perfect. When he introduced me, he smiled. His arm stayed around my waist the whole time.

It might've been the happiest I'd ever been.

Then, while Kiryan and I stood with champagne, making polite rounds, the ballroom doors swung open.

The people closest to the entrance went silent first. Then the quiet spread outward in ripples, rolling toward the center until the whole room stared at the doorway.

I looked.

And there she was.

Isabella.

She wore a long white dress. She still looked elegant, composed—only now she carried something fragile, like she might crack if someone breathed wrong.

Kiryan still held my hand, but his grip loosened.

My blood went cold.

Under everyone's eyes, Isabella walked toward us, step by step. When she stopped in front of us, her eyes were already red.

"Kiryan... you two are together?" She looked at our joined hands and forced a smile that didn't reach anywhere.

I waited for his answer. I pictured him saying it—claiming me in front of her, in front of everyone.

Instead, he let go.

My palm went empty. So did my heart. A sick premonition crawled up my throat, and all I could do was pray it was wrong.