Page 66 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“What kind of verification?” The question comes out wary.

“Communications analysis. Financial review. Timeline reconstruction of everywhere you’ve been and everyone you’ve spoken to since the marriage.” His hand drops back to his side. “It won’t be pleasant. It will feel invasive and violating and like I don’t trust you. But it’s the only way to prove definitively that you’re not involved.”

The proposal makes something in my chest tighten. Complete surveillance. Total transparency. Every moment of my life examined for evidence of betrayal.

It’s exactly what I’ve been fighting against—the loss of privacy, the absolute control, the treatment as asset rather than partner.

Refusing would only deepen suspicion. Would make me look like I have something to hide.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Do whatever you need to do. I have nothing to hide, Pavel. Search my life, my communications, my entire existence here. You won’t find evidence of betrayal because it doesn’t exist.”

Something shifts in his expression—relief, maybe, or the beginning of belief.

“I’ll start the full investigation tomorrow,” he says, standing. “Tonight—” He pauses, seeming to struggle with what comes next.

“Tonight I sleep somewhere else,” I finish for him.

“No.” The denial is sharp. “Tonight you stay exactly where you’ve been staying. In my bed, in my room, where I can protect you from whoever is actually compromising our security.”

“You think I’m in danger?”

“I think your father is using you as a pawn in a game you don’t fully understand. I think the Kravin remnants would love to exploit any wedge they can drive between us. I think keeping you close and visible signals to everyone that I believe in your innocence even while conducting necessary verification.” He offers his hand. “So yes, tonight you stay with me. Tomorrow we prove you’re not my enemy.”

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. “What if the investigation doesn’t prove that conclusively? If there’s room for doubt?”

“Then we deal with that when we come to it.” He draws me closer, his arms wrapping around me with familiar strength. “Right now, I’m choosing to believe the woman I love over a tactical assessment that suggests betrayal. That might be foolish.Might be the kind of emotional compromise I’ve spent years avoiding. It’s the choice I’m making.”

I press my face against his chest, breathing in his scent: cologne and gunpowder and something darker underneath. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” His hand moves to my hair, fingers threading through the strands. “The investigation won’t be gentle, Serena. If I find any evidence—any at all—that you’ve been deceiving me, there won’t be second chances.”

“I know.” I tilt my head back to look at him. “But you won’t find anything. Because I’m telling you the truth.”

He studies my face for a long moment, searching for something I hope he finds.

Then he kisses me, deep and possessive and tinged with desperation that suggests he needs this reassurance as much as I do.

When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Even when loving you complicates everything. I love you, Serena.”

“I love you too.” The words feel inadequate for the weight of everything between us.

We return to bed, but sleep is elusive. I lie in his arms, feeling the tension in his body despite the embrace, aware that suspicion still simmers underneath his choice to believe me.

Tomorrow the investigation begins. Tomorrow every moment of my life gets examined for evidence of betrayal I didn’t commit.

Tomorrow I have to prove my innocence to the man I love.

Chapter Twenty-Four - Pavel

The first explosion hits at 4:17 a.m., close enough to rattle the mansion’s reinforced windows. I’m out of bed and armed before the second blast follows thirty seconds later—coordinated strikes designed to overwhelm response capabilities.

Kravin Syndicate.

“Pavel?” Serena sits up, her voice sharp with alertness despite being woken from sleep. “What’s happening?”

“War.” I’m already moving to the closet, pulling on tactical gear with practiced efficiency. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in five minutes.”