Page 20 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

She almost seemed... cute.

The thought surfaced, and I crushed it.

I set the tray on the nightstand and leaned in, pressing my hand to her forehead. My palm could've covered half her face. Her lashes brushed my skin, a faint tickle. If her eyes had been open, I would've accused her of trying to seduce me again.

Heat burned against my hand.

She hadn't lied. She was really sick.

Her lashes fluttered. I yanked my hand back. She opened her eyes. When she realized it was me, confusion flashed first—then instinct made her shrink deeper into the blankets.

"You're this bad, and you didn't say anything?" The words came out, and I heard something in my voice that wasn't just accusation.

She didn't seem fully awake. A few seconds passed before she answered, barely a whisper. "It is just a fever. I would've slept it off."

Her voice sounded raw, almost gone.

"You're burning up, and you're still trying to act tough." The sliver of concern pissed me off. I straightened, rebuilding the line between us. "Who are you putting on that pathetic look for this time?"

She stared at me like she couldn't process it. Then those hazel eyes filled with something she couldn't hold down—hurt, sharp and bright.

"Am I really that awful to you?" Her voice trembled, but she didn't look away like she usually did. "Even getting sick is a scheme. Even staying in my own room is me begging for pity. What did I do that made you think I can't even breathe without some ulterior motive?"

Her sudden pushback caught me off guard.

I'd never seen her like this. The woman who always kept her head down, who couldn't even finish defending herself—now she glared at me, eyes red.

"If you don't feel well, you could say so."

"And what would that change?" Elena tried to sit up. Her body wobbled.

My hand lifted before I thought, almost reaching for her waist. Then I remembered exactly who she was, and I stopped myself cold.

"If I told you, would you believe me? Even if I begged you to call a doctor, you would say I was just trying to milk your sympathy." She dragged in a breath, stubbornly holding my gaze.

"I wouldn't—"

"You would." She cut me off for the first time. "To you, I am the woman who drove Isabella away, climbed into your bed, and did whatever it took to become Mrs. Morozova. If you already decided that, what difference does it make whether I speak up or not?"

Her eyes burned at the corners. Tears gathered fast.

"If you don't say anything, how am I supposed to know?" I watched her teeter on the edge, and my voice dropped without permission.

Before, every time I confronted her, the first thing out of her mouth was sorry. Even with her shoulders shaking, she'd lower her eyes, like if she stayed quiet enough, everyone's anger would pass over her quicker.

But today wasn't like that. The fever burned away her caution. Everything she'd swallowed—about life, about her family, about me—spilled out, out of control.

"I knew it would end up like this," she muttered. "No matter where I go, nobody ever likes me. I try so hard to be careful. I don't fight Isabella. I don't make Father mad. I stay out of your way. You don't like my paintings, so I begged you to let me hide them. I just want to keep something that is mine. Why is that still not allowed?"

Her tears finally fell.

"I know I am not pretty. I have freckles. I am not like Isabella—beautiful, effortless. I don't even know how to make people like me. Father said I wasn't someone he could show off. He said my art was trash." Her voice got softer and softer. She wiped the tears hard, and more spilled right back out. "And now you think I don't deserve to be Mrs. Morozova either."

"Elena."

"This whole thing is wrong." Her voice broke. Her body shook with it. "The one who should have married you was Isabella. She is pretty. She is polished. Everyone loves her. Not me. I shouldn't have walked into the wrong room. I shouldn't have liked you. I shouldn't have been standing where she belonged. But none of this was my plan. So why does everyone keep telling me I ruined everything?"

She cried with no guard up, laying the ugliest pieces right in front of me. For the first time, I couldn't explain Elena away as manipulation.