Page 76 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"I don't know."

"You were here. How the hell did you not know?"

Olga strode up and stared at the papers in my hand, anger sparking in her eyes.

"Now you care?" she shouted. "When she held that agreement and said she had no reason to stay, where were you?"

"I didn't give her this."

"It has your signature on it!"

"It was forged."

She froze.

I slammed the papers to the floor. "I never signed it. I never had a lawyer draw up a divorce."

Olga's face drained, bit by bit. "Then what about the recording?"

"What recording?"

"The one Isabella sent her. In it, you said you were divorcing Elena and marrying Isabella. Isabella also sent a pregnancy test report."

My spine went tight. "When did she get it?"

"This morning. After you left."

A forged agreement. A recording. A conveniently timed pregnancy report. All dumped in Elena's lap at once. Last night Isabella had tried to force my hand. I'd refused. Hours later, Elena had stepped aside and made room for her.

That wasn't coincidence.

If this had been a spur-of-the-moment move, there was no way the paperwork would've been ready that fast. Which meant Isabella had been waiting. The second I said no, she'd already had the knife ready to cut Elena out.

"It was all bullshit," I said, not even sure who I was trying to convince. "Even that report. The kid might not have been mine."

But I remembered letting go of Elena's hand at the birthday party. Following Isabella when she cried. Standing guard at the hospital after the crash. Leaving Elena alone at home until dawn.

Nobody needed to forge anything.

Everything I'd done had already been evidence for the divorce.

The agreement was fake. The signature was fake. The recording was fake. But Elena would've believed it because I'd poured the foundation myself. I'd put Isabella ahead of her again and again, told her this marriage was just a replacement. Last night I'd held her and still refused to explain. A forged answer had sounded more believable than the truth.

She left because I'd never given her a reason to stay.

"Did she say where she was going?" I asked.

Olga shook her head. "She said New York is big enough. She can live off her painting."

Of course she could. The only thing Elena had ever begged me for was not to throw away her art supplies. She'd always been able to survive on her own talent.

"So it was all that bitch Isabella," Olga spat, like she'd finally found someone to aim at. "I should have said it louder. She can't be trusted."

I couldn't argue. I'd trusted Isabella and driven Elena out. It was the dumbest thing I'd ever done.

I called Feodor.

"Find Elena fast and make sure she is safe," I ordered. "She left the manor with luggage this morning."