Page 36 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
I told him everything that led up to the marriage, and like the rest of my brothers, he approved.
He nods once. “You’re right,” he says. “That was a smooth political move.”
But his eyes betray scrutiny. He’s measuring and calculating like always.
I lean back, testing him. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
He shakes his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “I just want to meet your wife.”
I glance toward the stairs, where Ellie will appear any moment. “Good. Join me for breakfast. She’ll be here any moment now.”
Almost five minutes later, Ellie descends. Usually, she doesn’t acknowledge me at the table, but when she sees we have a guest, she manages a restrained smile and murmurs, “Good morning.”
I return her smile and say, “Ellie, meet Timofey, one of my many cousins. The Rusnaks are…a very big family.”
She nods politely, taking Timofey’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
Timofey mirrors her formality, his grip firm. “Likewise.”
She sits, and breakfast begins. Conversation is polite, casual, but I notice the way she subtly measures him, and how he subtly measures her.
By the time we finish, she announces she’ll head to the library and disappears quietly, leaving me to escort Timofey to my office.
Today, she doesn’t push to go to the lab. A small relief, because I don’t know how much longer I can continue to say no.
We enter the office. Timofey clears his throat as he sits down, folding his hands on the desk.
I pour us drinks, take a seat, and glance at him. “I know you have something on your mind.”
He downs his vodka in one gulp and wipes his mouth with his arm. “It’s about your wife.”
“Spit it out.”
He leans back slightly. “Ellie doesn’t look like a woman who will remain compliant for long.”
My chest tightens, but I brush it off, forcing a calm exterior. “I’m aware. But don’t worry, I know how to take care of her.”
The words spill from my lips before I can stop them. Timofey’s brows shoot up, and I look away, grabbing my laptop, eager to change the conversation.
“I’ve been working on finding out who sent those men after her that night. Here’s what I found.” I turn the screen toward him. His expression immediately turns serious.
Without another word, we both get to work. Plans, reports, surveillance data—our conversation drops to business, though my thoughts keep drifting to Ellie and the quiet storm that waits upstairs.
Chapter 7 – Ellie
I’ve decided that today, there’s nothing Mike can do to stop me from leaving the house.
Three weeks. Three weeks of being trapped between the suite, the dining room, and the library. Occasionally, a walk in the garden, but even that feels monitored.
I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m unraveling.
Every step I take toward Mike’s office is fueled by defiance and desperation. I don’t care what he says. If it comes down to it, I’ll run. I have to.
The mansion is suffocating. Everything is perfect—immaculate marble floors, gilded furniture, priceless artwork—but it feels more like a gilded cage than a home.
I’ve forced myself into routines, the only thing keeping me sane: reading case studies, reviewing old research files, annotating notes I know I don’t need. Just to keep my head sane.
But the worst part isn’t the guards, the cameras, the restrictions. It’s the creeping understanding of Mike’s world. It’s like I’m starting to comprehend the logic, the control, the way he moves through it all with precision. The realization terrifies me.
