Page 74 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
He says it so plainly.
No.
Not with pride. Not with shame. Just fact.
“I bought his debt,” he says. “All of it. Quietly. Every loan, every favor, every unpaid shipment, every account he thought was hidden under another man’s name. Then I waited.”
“For what?”
“For him to feel safe.”
I stare at him.
His face remains unreadable.
“He threw a birthday party here for his youngest grandson,” Yaromir says. “A magician. A pony in the garden. Imported cake. The kind of ridiculous performance men arrange when they are trying to convince everyone they have not lost control.”
The more calmly he speaks, the worse the story feels.
“At midnight, after the guests had gone, I came with the papers. He didn’t leave.”
I know what’s coming next but I can’t help but ask. “Then?”
“I collected my debt,” he says simply.
I see it in his face. The stillness. The lack of apology.
“You killed him,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
I stare at him, unable to look away.
“He lived fifteen years in a house that belonged to my mother,” Yaromir says. “Fifteen years because he thought the boy she left behind would never become man enough to take it back. When I came for what was owed, he reached for a gun.”
“And you killed him.”
“I killed him before he could use it.”
My hand tightens on the banister. The house feels different now. The polished floors. The heavy curtains. The old portraits. The silence.
Not just beautiful. Paid for in blood.
“Does that frighten you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I hate the answer. I hate that he doesn’t soften it.
“You wanted to scare me?”
“No,” he says. “I want you to understand where you are, who you now belong to. I assume you’ve heard stories about me. They’re not lies. I didn’t grow up in luxury, Anya. I grew up learning that men only return what they stole when they are forced to. So I learned the language myself, mastered it even.”
The words make something cold crawl over my skin.
I thought I was marrying a dangerous man. Now I understand that was too simple.
