Page 59 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

He’s trying. I can see it in how he explains threats and strategic decisions, including me in analysis I would have been excluded from weeks ago. Showing trust by revealing vulnerabilities in ways that clearly make him uncomfortable.

All I can think about is the red folder in his desk drawer, three feet away from where he’s sitting.

“Serena, are you listening?” Pavel’s voice cuts through my distraction.

“Yes. Sorry.” I refocus on him. “You were explaining the territorial negotiations with the remaining Kravin contacts.”

“I was asking your opinion on the approach.” His gaze is sharp, assessing. “You’ve been staring at my desk for the past five minutes instead of engaging with the actual discussion.”

My face heats. “I’m engaged.”

“You’re planning something.” Not a question. “I can see it in your expression. What’s going on?”

The direct confrontation makes panic spike. He’s reading me too accurately, seeing through attempted deception like it’s transparent.

“Nothing’s going on.” The denial comes out too defensive. “I’m just tired, like I said.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He stands, moving around the desk toward where I’m sitting. “We just agreed to transparency. That means honesty even when it’s uncomfortable.”

He’s right. We did just agree to that. Here I am, already violating the trust we’re trying to build.

The hypocrisy makes me feel sick.

“I—” I stop, unsure how to explain without revealing the message. “I’m struggling with something. I need to work through it myself before I can discuss it with you.”

“Work through what?” He crouches in front of my chair, his hands settling on the armrests on either side of me. “Serena, if something is threatening you or making you uncomfortable, I need to know.”

The genuine concern in his voice makes the guilt worse. He cares. Actually cares, beyond strategic value or political alliance. I’m repaying that care by planning to steal from him.

“It’s not a threat.” At least that much is true. “Just personal conflict. About my father and the choices he made andwhether—whether I can ever really trust him again after what he did.”

It’s close enough to the truth that it doesn’t feel like a complete lie.

Pavel’s expression shifts to something harder. “Did he contact you?”

The question is too sharp, too knowing. “Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been fine until today. And now suddenly you’re distracted and conflicted about your father specifically.” His gaze holds mine. “He reached out, didn’t he? Somehow got a message past security.”

I could deny it. Could maintain the lie and hope Pavel doesn’t push further.

The weight of deception is already crushing, and we’ve barely started this conversation.

“No.”

His jaw tightens. “If you say so.”

“Pavel—”

Showing him the message means losing the choice. Means the decision gets made for me instead of by me.

“If you’re hiding something, Serena—”

“I’m not trying to hide. I promise.” The lie tastes bitter on my lips.

Silence falls, heavy and charged.

Pavel stares at me, something painful flickering in his expression before control reasserts itself. “I see.”