Page 18 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“Back to your post,” Pavel says quietly.

Alexei practically runs.

I watch him go, then turn my attention to Pavel with my most innocent expression. “That was rude. We were having a pleasant conversation.”

“Stand up.”

The command is delivered in the same quiet tone, but something in it makes my defiance waver slightly. Still, I don’t move immediately, holding his gaze with deliberate challenge.

“Now, Serena.”

The use of my name carries a warning I can’t quite interpret. I stand slowly, gathering my book with exaggerated casualness.

Pavel’s hand closes around my upper arm, not painfully but with enough firmness that I know pulling away would be pointless. He guides me toward the house without a word, his grip steady as we move through the courtyard and into the main hallway.

We don’t stop at the sitting rooms or the library. Instead, he steers me directly to his office—a room I’ve only glimpsed once before, located in the restricted wing I’m normally not permitted to access.

The door closes behind us with a decisive click, and Pavel releases my arm only to move past me and turn the lock.

My heart rate picks up. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t.” He turns to face me, and for the first time since the courtyard, I see actual emotion in his expression. Not rage, exactly, but something controlled and dangerous underneath the calm exterior. “Don’t play games with dangerous men.”

“I was having a conversation. Is that against the rules now too?”

“You were flirting.” He moves closer, each step measured and deliberate. “Testing boundaries, seeing how far you could push before someone stopped you.”

“So what if I was?” I lift my chin, refusing to back away even as he approaches. “You control every other aspect of my life. Am I not allowed to talk to people now?”

“You’re allowed to talk.” He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “Except that wasn’t talking, and using one of my men to prove a point is a mistake you won’t make again.”

“Or what?” The challenge comes out more breathless than I intended. “You’ll add it to the list of rules?”

His hand moves to my hip, settling there with the same controlled firmness he used on my arm. The heat of his palm burns through the thin fabric of my sundress.

“I’m reminding you,” he says quietly, his voice dropping lower, “that playing games in my house, with my people, has consequences you might not be prepared for.”

I should step back. Should put distance between us, reassert some kind of boundary. Instead, I find myself frozen in place, hyperaware of his hand on my hip, the solid wall of his chest barely a foot away, the way his gray eyes have darkened to something almost stormy.

“What consequences?” The words come out as a challenge, but my voice wavers slightly.

Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of dark amusement that sends heat pooling low in my stomach despite every logical reason to feel otherwise.

“You had your fun teasing,” he murmurs, his thumb beginning to trace slow circles against my hip bone through the dress. “My turn.”

Before I can process what that means, his other hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face up toward his. The touch is firm but careful, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone in a gesture that feels far too intimate for this tense confrontation.

“Uh, Pavel?”

“I’m testing a theory.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “You wanted to see how far you could push. Now I want to see how you react when someone pushes back.”

His thumb trails down from my cheekbone to trace the line of my jaw, then lower to press lightly against the pulse pointin my throat. I know he can feel how fast my heart is racing, can probably see the way my breath has quickened despite my attempts to stay composed.

“Let go of me,” I manage, but it lacks conviction.

“No.” The refusal is calm, certain, maddeningly controlled. “Not until I make my point.”

His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, pulling me closer until there’s barely any space between us. The heat of his body seeps through my dress, and I’m suddenly overwhelmingly aware of how much bigger he is—how easily he could overpower me if he wanted to.