Page 111 of Baby for the Bratva King

“I understand that,” sighs Fleur. “But one of us deserves to spread our wings and fly. Live for both of us. Dance without shame. Show the world what you’re made of. You’re worth more than those lame clubs, Saskia.”

“Ah,” interjects my father. “Finally, something we can both agree on.” He glances pointedly at his watch. “Unfortunately, we’re a little rushed for time.” He steps forward, offering me his hand. “Career or Fleur—which one will it be?”

I catch a glimpse of something truly terrifying in his eye, and I feel sick to my stomach. I am my father’s daughter, which means I’m technically capable of committing similar kinds of evil.

This online attention is already going to my head, my brain soaking it up like a sponge. The hate comments are expected, and I can shake them off. But the supportive comments?

I felt over the moon last night when I was walking back home. I feel validated. Seen. Strangers were congratulating me, asking for tutorials. After being invisible my whole life, ignored by my very own father, the attention feels nice. Perhaps even a little addictive.

“Fleur lives,” I say to my father. “I’ll never dance again.”

“No, Saskia,” sighs Fleur disappointingly.

Is she for real? This is a life-or-death situation and she cares about dancing.

“Good,” says my father. “I knew you would eventually come to your senses.” He releases my hand. “We’re done here, gentlemen.”

“And the grave, sir?”

“Fill it,” says my father. “I don’t want any trace that we were here.”

“You want help with that?” says another voice. “Coming from someone who does this every day.”

The voice is deep, extremely Russian. I have to be going insane…

And part of me wishes I was.

I see a black figure materialize between the trees. Broad shoulders. Tall like a high-rise building.

I look down and instantly regret it. A knife protrudes from the man’s hand. The blade catches the light and gleams silver, just as terrifying as his eyes…

Felix’s starburst gaze find mine, but everything about him is different. His eyes no longer look like two shining stars. They look like weapons—much sharper than the knife in his hand.

One look and I feel indebted, like I owe him something. I felt the same way at my father’s preppy events, but this is different. This is Felix. He takes predatory to a whole new level…

And somehow, he found me.

Before I can open my mouth to speak, chaos erupts.

“Take shelter,” yells Felix.

Felix gives a command and I obey. I see why he makes a good leader. He is authoritative by nature. He’s the biggest man here. My father and his disciples might outnumber Felix and his friend, but Felix is a natural. He kills for a living—that in itself eliminates the competition.

My father doesn’t stand a chance.

Hence why his men are telling him to stay back.

“Fleur!” I cry out.

Felix slides a literal knife into the man that is holding her down.

I gasp in horror, tripping over a grave. I land on my ass, the world tilting as I try to make sense of this.

This is not the Felix I know.

The Felix I know is softer. At one point, I thought the stoicism was an act, designed to push people away.

But as I sit here and watch him, I contemplate everything. Was our connection based on lies, just like his speech? Does his charm fool girls into thinking that he is in love, when this entire time, he was only ever invested in the sex? The profound look in his eye. The tender kisses. Was it all fake?