Page 54 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"I am full," I said, setting down the toast I had barely touched, and stood.

Olga rose with me. "You barely ate. What the hell happened?"

"I just don't have an appetite."

"Elena—"

"I am fine."

I smiled, but my cheeks felt stiff, wrong.

I left the dining room and went into the studio, shutting the door behind me. The second my back hit the wood, tears fell.

That photo and Kiryan's promises from that night kept looping in my head. My heart hurt like it had been torn open.

I didn't know how long I cried before something else finally cut through.

Work. I just needed to work. Let color fill my head. Let the brush move until the grief thinned out—even if it was only for one minute.

I grabbed a brush.

The moment the tip hit paper, the line went crooked. I wiped it away and tried again. Still wrong.

My eyes slid to the nude portrait I had painted of Kiryan, and I remembered the night he had placed the studio key in my palm.

And then—like a slap—the image of him and Isabella in that bed slammed back into me.

When I blinked myself back, the outlines of the two of them were already on my paper.

My stomach lurched.

I dropped the brush, clapped a hand over my mouth, and ran down to the first-floor washroom. The second I knelt by the sink, acid surged up my throat. I hadn't eaten enough to throw up, so I just gagged and heaved, gripping the cold counter until the nausea eased.

Then I heard a voice outside. Low. Hard. So familiar my whole body locked up.

Kiryan had come back.

Olga's voice followed, sharper than usual.

"Nice of you to finally show up."

"Where is Elena?" Kiryan sounded calm, like always.

I turned on the faucet to drown them out and rinsed the sour taste from my mouth.

The studio was on the second floor, the only place in this house that ever felt safe. But to get back there, I had to pass the staircase facing the main hall.

I didn't want to see him. No—more than that, I was scared to.

If I didn't look at that familiar shirt, I could still pretend the photo didn't exist. Pretend last night hadn't erased the softness of the past few days.

I wanted the studio. I wanted the door shut. I wanted paint and canvas around me. Even if it had betrayed me too, it was still the only place I could breathe.

I stood there with my hand on the doorknob for a long time before I finally pushed it open.

Kiryan stood in the center of the hall, still wearing the same shirt from the birthday party. The collar had been buttoned now, but the fabric held the wrinkles of a night slept in.

The moment I appeared, he saw me. His eyes landed on my face and didn't move.