Page 98 of Auctioned to My Bratva Boss

"I'm just learning to be a proper Director of Design." I blinked innocently.

He stared at me for two seconds, then suddenly leaned over and nipped my lip.

"Fast learner, Director Quinn."

He released me, turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life.

I turned toward the window, unable to suppress my smile.

The car merged into traffic, and the cabin fell quiet.

I snuck a glance at Matvey in the driver's seat. One hand on the wheel, his profile looked especially striking in the morning light, a hint of darkness showing beneath his shirt collar.

"Your wound... is it really okay?" I couldn't help asking quietly. "Didn't the doctor say you need rest?"

"Having you around helps me heal faster." He didn't turn, but his lips curved. "If you're worried, tonight you can personally examine me. Check my recovery yourself."

"Matvey!" My face heated again.

He didn't tease me further. The car stopped smoothly outside Bykov Group.

The moment I walked into the lobby with Matvey, I sensed countless eyes on us.

Those looks held surprise, speculation, and undisguised jealousy. I could guess what they were thinking—how did that intern Veronica sent back to her desk suddenly return on the CEO's arm?

My steps involuntarily slowed, my back rigid.

"Ignore them." Matvey seemed to sense my unease, naturally wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me close. "Starting today, you don't need to care about anyone's opinion."

His palm's warmth loosened my tension.

"I've arranged everything." He said quietly, guiding me into the elevator. "From now on, you only need to do one thing—focus on your designs."

"Everything else—assistants will handle it. Reports, coordination, schedules. Nothing you need to worry about anymore."

I looked up at him.

I'd done so much work unrelated to design just to become a designer. Been insulted by bosses, ostracized by colleagues, served coffee, made reports, worked late into the night.

And now, he'd laid that path I thought would take years—maybe a lifetime—directly at my feet.

"Thank you," I said softly, throat tight.

"Don't thank me." His thumb traced my waist, making me shiver. "This is what you deserve."

The elevator opened. He stopped at a door.

"Your office." He pushed it open.

I walked in and froze.

It was an impossibly spacious office. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight pouring in unobstructed ontoplush carpet. A huge worktable dominated the center, with a comfortable leather chair by the window.

This wasn't just an office—this was the dream studio I'd only seen in magazines.

"Well?" Matvey leaned against the doorframe, watching my stunned expression with barely concealed indulgence. "Satisfied?"

"I..." I opened my mouth but couldn't form a complete sentence.