Page 55 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Some pathetic part of me still tightened under his stare. My brain had seen the photo. My body still remembered his heat when he came close.

His gaze swept over my eyes, my bloodless lips, and something in him sank.

"You look like shit."

When he spoke, his voice dropped lower than it had been with Olga.

"The paint smell is too strong. It gave me a headache," I said, grabbing the first excuse I could.

"In the afternoon, someone will check every paint you have," he said. "Anything that reeks gets replaced. From now on, you write a list for Olga—whatever brands you want."

Olga stood there with her arms crossed and gave a short nod.

The broken place in my chest somehow hurt again.

Kiryan did cruelty clean. He did care like it was his right.

"No," I said, trying to slip past him.

"I am not asking." Kiryan shifted and blocked my way.

That familiar force pressed down. Before, I would've felt my pulse jump at that unreasonable kind of concern. Now it just felt absurd. His breath hit me—and threaded through it was a thick rose scent.

Isabella had worn that perfume since she was eighteen. She had always said it made people remember her the second she walked into a ballroom.

That smell clung to my husband. My stomach tightened again.

"You cried," he said.

It wasn't a question.

"Something got in my eye."

"Elena."

My name fell from his mouth and skimmed my spine, wrecking my breathing. He lifted a hand like he was going to touch my face. His thumb hovered a breath from the corner of my eye—then stopped midair.

I stared at his hand. A few hours ago, Isabella's body might've been pressed under it. I flinched away.

His hand lowered slowly. The warmth in his eyes cooled.

"Let me pass."

He didn't move.

"Don't start pretending you give a damn now," Olga strode over, looking straight at Kiryan. "Your wife didn't sleep all night. She called you countless times. You didn't answer once. This morning you hung up on her. Elena didn't tell me where you went, but I am not senile."

A muscle jumped in Kiryan's jaw. He drew in a breath, like he swallowed down something nastier.

"Last night was more complicated than you thought."

"Complicated?" Olga shook her head, disappointment cutting into every word. "So complicated you stayed out all night and couldn't even tell your wife? What you did isn't any different from your father."

The air froze.

"Don't mention him in front of me," Kiryan's voice sank.

"Then don't do the same damn thing and break Elena's heart—"