Page 43 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
It stopped being strategy somewhere along the way.
Now, it’s personal.
Chapter 9 – Ellie
“You look beautiful,” Mike says softly.
I don’t respond. I keep my gaze on the world whipping past the window as the car speeds toward our destination.
I have no idea where we’re going. Mike called it an alliance meeting and insisted I come with him—to “solidify our bond,” as he put it.
The phrase still makes my stomach tighten.
Yesterday he took me shopping. Not normal shopping—Mike-style shopping. Within an hour, I was standing in a private boutique surrounded by assistants and racks of designer dresses I’d only ever seen in magazines. Now I’m wearing one of them. A sleek, elegant gown that fits my body like it was stitched directly onto my skin.
The shoes alone probably cost more than my monthly rent used to. The jewelry around my neck could pay off my student loans twice.
I look beautiful. I know that.
But I don’t want to hear it from him.
I don’t want him talking to me at all.
It’s been five days since we slept together, and I’ve withdrawn completely.
It’s not his fault. Not totally.
That’s the frustrating part.
It was consensual. Completely. And if I’m being honest with myself, it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my very limited experience.
But that’s exactly the problem.
I hate myself for giving in.
For losing control.
For letting the lines blur so easily.
So I punish both of us the only way I know how—I rebuild my walls and pretend none of it mattered.
Outside the window, the city lights streak by in long golden lines.
Inside the car, the silence between us grows thicker.
Why does he have to be so attractive?
Why does his voice do that thing to my brain—send tiny sparks through my body like my nerves have been rewired?
Why does every small touch from him feel amplified?
It’s infuriating.
And unfair.
Because this isn’t just my fault.
It’s his too.
