Page 28 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
Her eyes blaze hotter, and she scoffs, throwing her hands up. “Saved me? I wouldn’t need saving if you hadn’t been obsessed with me in the first place!”
I don’t deny it. I don’t even flinch. Instead, I step closer, letting my shadow fall over her. “Obsessed?” I repeat, low, controlled. “You belonged to me the moment I saw you.”
Her stare hardens, incredulous, as if I’ve lost my mind. “You’re crazy,” she spits, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
I watch every flicker of disbelief, every pulse in her throat. The world narrows to just her. And despite the anger, the accusations, part of me aches with the truth she can’t see yet—I’ve wanted her from the moment I first laid eyes on her. And now, no force on Earth will change that.
I lean just slightly closer, voice dropping to a growl that vibrates against the tension between us. “Crazy? Maybe. But you—” I pause, letting my gaze lock with hers, “—you’re mine. Whether you believe it or not.”
Her eyes widen, lips part slightly, and I see the flash of realization, terror, and…something darker flickering underneath. Defiance. Challenge.
The room feels impossibly small. Her fury and fear, my obsession and control—they collide like storms, and neither of us will back down.
“I don’t belong to anyone. I don’t belong to you, Mike.” Her words are sharp, defiant, and they hit like stones.
I shake my head slowly, my gaze locked on her. “You do. I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way. I wanted to do it properly, to come to you like a gentleman. I waited because I wanted you to choose me. I would still be waiting if they hadn’t marked you, but your life and safety are more important to me than anything else.”
Her eyes flash, disbelief, fury, a storm of everything I’ve never been allowed to touch.
“Leave,” she snaps, her voice firm, yet exhaustion lingers, the kind that comes from fighting and realizing there’s no escape. “Just go.”
I nod once, deliberately, letting the weight of the moment settle between us. “I’ll see you at the altar.”
Her glare burns into me, but I do not flinch. I turn, leaving the room quietly, the sound of my boots echoing against the floor.
Behind me, I know she’s fuming, terrified, and confused. But she’s also perfectly alive, and perfectly unbroken. That’s all I want.
Chapter 5 – Ellie
The wedding is intimate but political, every seat filled with the Bratva hierarchy and powerful men observing.
I don’t recognize more than half of them as I walk down the aisle, but there are a few familiar faces, mostly from the rare Rusnak events I’ve attended courtesy of Raelyn. I try not to involve myself with the Bratva, and the few times I did go, it was only because Raelyn cajoled me into it.
It’s strange, almost surreal, that I’m seconds away from saying “I do” to one of them.
I focus on keeping my eyes straight ahead, refusing to look at Mike as I approach the altar.
Soft music fills my ears. My flower bouquet is my favorite, lilies, and I suspect Raelyn had a hand in choosing them. Mike would never know my favorite flowers.
I pass Samantha and Adrian. Their faces are wide with shock. I can almost feel what they’re thinking. Three days ago, we were arguing about my pathological organization and Professor Ben’s sweater, and now I’m walking down the aisle.
I don’t know how much they understand about the Bratva, but I wish I could hug them. Especially Samantha, who looks completely lost. Poor girl.
Finally, I reach the altar and stand before my soon-to-be prison warden slash husband.
I can’t deny that he looks handsome, even though I hate him. He stands tall, the black suit hugging his body perfectly, exuding control and authority.
The priest clears his throat, voice steady and commanding, and begins. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of two people, not only of hearts but of families, loyalty, and protection. Marriage is a bond built ontrust, responsibility, and honor. Let all who are present bear witness to the promises these two will make.”
I swallow hard, gripping my lilies tighter. My chest tightens at the briefest flicker of his icy blue eyes, sharp and unreadable. I hate him. I hate this. And yet something dark and dangerous twists inside me, something I can’t name.
The priest continues, “Michael Rusnak, do you take Ellie Carver to be your lawfully wedded wife, to protect her, honor her, and keep her safe through all trials life may bring?”
Mike’s gaze remains locked on me, unflinching, controlled, and in that moment I feel everything—anger, fear, and something else I can’t define—collide inside me.
“I do,” he says, low. Every word drips with authority, with ownership.
When I repeat the vows, my voice is clipped, tense. “I do.” It doesn’t feel like a vow of love. It feels like surrender, a calculated move to survive.
