Page 6 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” I announce, turning us so we face the crowd. “Freya’s recent article… it wasn’t an attack. It was a cry for attention.”

I feel her recoil. She tries to pull her hand back, but I tighten my grip. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that she’s not in control anymore.

“She’s been under so much stress lately,” I continue, pouring on the charm. I look at her, letting the mask slip just enough to show her the predator underneath. “Planning our wedding.”

The reaction is instantaneous. The room gasps. Cameras flash. I see Marcus’s jaw drop and Freya’s eyes widen in shock.

It’s beautiful.

She starts to speak, her lips parting to deny it, to scream the truth to the roof. I squeeze her fingers.

“Just play along,” I murmur, leaning in close so only she can hear. “Unless you want to explain to your friends why you’re lying?”

I feel her defeat. It’s a heavy, sagging weight in her posture. She knows she’s trapped. If she denies it now, she looks unhinged. If she fights me, she ruins her own reputation.

“Nikita,” she says, her voice tight. “You have quite the sense of humor.”

“I know I do.” I raise our hands. “I know the rumors have been flying, but I wanted to set the record straight. Freya and I are engaged. We’ve been keeping it private, but… well, she’s fiery. She likes to keep me on my toes.”

The crowd laughs. They eat it up. Everyone loves a scandal, especially one that ends in romance. The narrative has flipped. The villain is now the doting fiancé. The whistleblower is just a drama queen.

I look at her face. She’s pale, her breathing shallow. She’s fighting a war on two fronts—against me and against the room.

I reach into my pocket, letting my fingers brush against the cold velvet box. Inside is an engagement ring.

I know she’s already clocked the ring that I wear. It’s not an engagement ring. It’s not diamonds and platinum. It’s a heavy, oxidized silver band set with a chunk of black onyx. Although it’s beautiful, it belonged to a man who owed us more than he could pay.

I pull it out, letting the light catch the black stone.

Freya’s about to pull away, about to storm off, and salvage what’s left of her dignity. Then her eyes snap to my hand.

She freezes. The color drains from her face. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her gaze locks onto the stone, fixated, horrified.

I have her.

“I was going to save this for the private reception,” I say, my voice dropping. “Since my future wife is so eager to share our life with the world…”

I slide the ring onto her finger.

The ring fits perfectly, and I have to wonder just how he knew my exact ring size.

The applause is deafening. I only hear the blood rushing in my veins. I won. I took the weapon she pointed at me and turned it back on her.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. She’s trembling, her body rigid against mine.

“You started this, milaya,” I whisper, the Russian word meaning little one rolling off my tongue. “Now I have to finish it.”

I don’t pull back immediately. I stay there, breathing her in, letting her feel the heat of my body. She smells like vanilla and rage. It’s an intoxicating combination.

My hand is still on her waist. I move it slightly, my thumb brushing against the silk of her dress, feeling the curve of her hip beneath. She tenses, a sharp intake of breath that she can’t hide.

It’s not affection. It’s a claim.

I’m marking her in front of everyone. She belongs to me now. Not just in the headlines, but in reality. If she wants to dig into my world, she’s going to find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

I pull away finally, forcing a smile for the cameras. I raise her hand, showing off the ring. The diamond glints, a dark promise on her finger.

She looks at me, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. Behind that, though, there’s something else.