Page 67 of Baby for the Bratva King

“Why am I not good enough to be loved?”

“Love isn’t about what you do,” says Fleur. “It’s who you are.”

“And it will never be enough.”

Fleur holds my hand, squeezing. “Trust me, we’ll get through this.”

“How the hell are you so strong?” I groan. “I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to be the strong one.”

“You’re strong in other ways. Like those shoulder mounts? Fuck, I don’t know how you can do those things back-to-back.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“Exactly,” says Fleur. “Drowning in your sorrows every day, staying at the bottom, will never get you anywhere. You can’t learn to swim if you’re drowning.”

“What are you proposing?”

“Nobody is strong forever, not even me. If we stay, we become trapped forever, chasing the receding tide instead of making our own way. Is that what you want?”

“I want father to appreciate us.”

“Find a new want. A new drive. What do you want more than that?”

“I want to dance. To be free.”

I scroll through pole dancing videos on my phone, editing a few clips. I post tutorials online, earning a few dollars here and there. I have a few thousand followers, and I’ve gained a couple thousand more since the news stories.

Anything Felix related makes the numbers go up. His face is a marketing tool, and now I have users commenting under my videos—with no involvement in the pole dancing community—calling me a whore, a gold digger; an attention-seeking bitch who needs to put on some clothes.

Sure, Chloe. Try hanging upside down in leggings and a full-length top. I’d fall to my death, which is what lots of these people apparently want to see. I stole their man. I checked into Hotel Pozharsky, and we both stayed there the whole night. That means something serious must be happening, according to Gossip Central Magazine.

And they’re right. Something serious is happening. Felix wants to make my father pay, and I’ve never seen him go out of his way for someone like this before. He hates the media, drops his head to the floor at every opportunity, avoiding the cameras. But I saw the way he looked at them yesterday when we were in the hotel. He wants to cause a stir.

I take advantage of the onboard Wi-Fi, editing a quick allegra tutorial and uploading it online, avoiding the hate comments.

“I bet her tits are like spaniel’s ears when she takes them out of that bra.”

A creative insult—I’ll give user12363562 that. Honestly, they’re more like lopsided watermelons, but if Felix likes them, so do I.

I hit upload and switch off my phone before I fall down the rabbit hole. Internet trolls are nasty, but the attention is nice. I never had much of that from my father growing up.

“Something troubling you?” asks Felix, sliding next to me in my suite. He holds a glass of champagne, taking steady sips.

“Nothing.”

Felix studies me intently. “The comments.”

“Someone compared my breasts to a spaniel’s ears.”

Felix hardens his jaw, not finding that amusing in the slightest.

I let a smile creep onto my face, breaking out into uncontrollable laughter.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s hilarious, and you should loosen up.”

“Your body is no laughing matter,” says Felix, shuffling closer. “And while we’re on this topic, your body is not a selling point, sweetheart. You are something to be cherished, to be adored.” He grabs my hand, planting a tender kiss to the back of it. “You belong to me.”