Page 19 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"This doesn't concern you." I lifted my coffee and drank.

"Your mother gave you and this house to me when she died. Not so I could stand here and watch you treat people like dirt." She stopped across from me. "Now tell me. Who isn't allowed to eat?"

If anyone else had talked to me like that, they'd have been tossed out of the manor before they finished the sentence. Nobody challenged my place in my own home for a woman who'd just walked through the door. But Olga had taken care of me since I was a boy. After my mother died, she'd treated me like her own son.

She wasn't my subordinate. She was one of the few people on earth who could make me swallow my temper and listen.

I kept my voice cold. "Who else? My lovely wife. Elena doesn't want to come down. She is upstairs pretending to be sick."

Olga's brows pinched.

"Have you checked her?"

"No."

"Not even a look, and you decided she lied." Olga held my gaze. "Kiryan, since when did you start judging people on nothing but your own prejudice?"

I said nothing.

Pera glanced at Olga, lips parting like she wanted to jump in.

Olga caught it. "You saw Elena this morning?"

"Yes." Pera hesitated, then rushed on. "Madam's face looks flushed. Her forehead feels hot. I wanted to call a doctor, but she said she just needs rest. She doesn't want to cause trouble."

"Stop making excuses for her." Irritation snapped through me. "If she is really that sick, she'd make damn sure everyone knew it."

Olga's expression darkened. The restless anger I'd been holding all morning churned up in my chest.

"She drove Isabella away. She climbed into my bed when I was drunk and forced my hand." The words came out like gravel. "Now she just wants sympathy with a little fever act. It isn't the first time she's pulled shit like that."

"Whatever your reasons for marrying, Elena is your wife now. She is Mrs. Morozova." Olga's disapproval didn't soften. "You don't have to like her. But you have to give her basic respect."

"Respect isn't stolen."

"But she is already in this family." Olga shoved the tray toward me. "If she needs to eat, she eats. If she needs a doctor, she sees one. And the staff follows protocol and calls her 'madam.' If you are so sure she is lying, you go upstairs and see it with your own eyes. Take her breakfast."

I stared at the tray and didn't move.

Olga sighed, her voice dropping. "When your mother suffered the most, your father stood back and watched her with cold eyes, just like this. Do you remember how much you hated him for it?"

My mother's eyes—dull, emptied out—flashed through my head without warning. My gut twisted like someone had grabbed it and wrung it hard.

I stood up fast enough to scrape the chair behind me. Olga didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

I held there a second. Then I finished my coffee in one last swallow, set the cup down hard, and grabbed the tray.

"If she is faking, I'll make sure she learns what that costs." I turned and walked out.

It was just breakfast. And when Elena's lie got exposed, I'd make it crystal clear—pulling stunts like this only earned her a higher price.

The second-floor hallway lay quiet. At the far end, Elena's door sat slightly open. I knocked twice. No answer. I went in.

The curtains were drawn. An empty easel still stood by the window. Yesterday's scattered luggage had been put away, neat and tight.

Elena lay in bed, curled under the blankets, only her face showing—flushed deep red. Her freckles looked darker under the heat. Her eyes stayed closed. Her breathing came shallow and quick. A few strands of hazel hair clung to her cheek, making her look smaller than usual, swallowed by that oversized bed. She looked too young—too wrong—for this marriage deal. No timid apologies. No obvious, clumsy lie.

Quiet Elena didn't seem as unbearable.