Page 32 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
She finishes her breakfast, pushes her chair back, and leaves the dining room.
And we don’t see each other again until nightfall.
It’s wearing me down—the fact that she doesn’t understand I’m trying to keep her safe. What else can I do to make her understand?
I’m at the breakfast table again this morning when I hear her footsteps coming down the stairs.
My pulse quickens instantly. My heart pounds in my chest like a man half my age seeing a woman for the first time.
She appears in the doorway wearing a soft fur sweater and black pants. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.
I stare a little too long before I can stop myself.
She doesn’t look at me.
She doesn’t greet me.
She walks to the table, pulls out her chair, and sits down as if I’m nothing more than another piece of furniture in the room.
She begins to eat.
I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything she does. The way she lifts the fork. The way her hair falls over one shoulder. The quiet rhythm of her breathing.
I force myself to swallow the food in my mouth, though it feels like gravel going down.
A few minutes pass in silence.
She finishes eating, takes a sip of water, then finally looks at me.
Her gaze is steady and determined. I already know what she’s about to say.
“I’d like to return to the laboratory and continue my work,” she says. “You can’t take my life away from me.”
The words spark irritation immediately.
My jaw tightens.
“You act like I’m the one who kidnapped you with the intent to hurt you,” I say, setting my fork down. “Ellie, I saved you.”
Her chair scrapes slightly as she leans forward.
“I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t put me on the map in the first place.”
That lands harder than I expect. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to keep my temper in check.
“I’m trying to make it right,” I say. “Do you understand that? Everything I’m doing right now is to protect you.”
She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Protect me?”
Her eyes sweep around the massive dining room.
“You married me to keep me safe. Fine. I didn’t have a choice in that.” Her voice sharpens. “But do you really have to lock me up like a prisoner too?”
I stare at her.
God, she has no idea what’s out there.
“No one’s locking you up,” I say, though it sounds weak even to my ears.
