Page 113 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“And now?”

I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her soap, her skin.

“Now,” I murmur, “it’s because I can’t imagine a world where you don’t exist.”

She exhales, a long, shaky breath. She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me tight.

“We’re a mess,” she says against my hair.

I pull back, looking into her eyes. I see the future there. A future where the secrets are gone, where the lies are burned away. A future where we can just be.

“I need five minutes. Just five minutes to remind myself that you’re here. That you’re real.”

She smiles, a genuine, radiant smile that lights up the room. “You have all night, Nikita.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Freya

The drive to the penthouse is the longest fifteen minutes of my life.

The city blurs past the tinted windows of the SUV—gray buildings, dark alleys, the usual neon chaos of Manhattan that now feels like a distant, irrelevant dream. My entire world has narrowed down to the man sitting across from me.

Ayaan.

He’s wearing a tactical vest that looks too large for his frame, his face smeared with dirt and soot. He hasn’t stopped looking at me since we got in the car. His eyes are guarded, weary, but alive. So incredibly alive.

I’m gripping Nikita’s hand so hard my knuckles are white. He hasn’t tried to pull away. If anything, his grip has tightened, his thumb tracing soothing circles over my knuckles. He’s my anchor, the solid ground beneath my feet while the rest of the world spins off its axis.

“We’re here,” Yuri says from the driver’s seat.

We get out. The night air is cool, smelling of damp brick and grass. Ayaan moves first, scanning the perimeter with the practiced ease of a soldier. He’s different. The boy who left my apartment two years ago is gone. In his place is this man—harder, colder, sharper.

When he looks at me, the hardness melts.

“Freya,” he says.

My name breaks the dam. I pull him in for another hug, face buried in his chest.

Then I pull back to look at him, really look at him. There are scars on his arms that weren’t there before. A jagged line on his jaw. His eyes have seen things I can’t even imagine.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Sis.”

He hugs me again, burying his face in my hair. I hold on tight, afraid that if I let go, he’ll vanish like smoke.

A hand settles on my lower back.

I pull away from Ayaan slightly, turning to look at Nikita.

He’s standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, watching us. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes are burning. There’s a possessiveness there that makes my knees weak, a fierce, primal claim that he’s barely holding back.

He’s the reason Ayaan is standing here. He’s the reason I’m alive.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

He doesn’t smile. He just steps closer, invading my space. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. It’s a public declaration, a marking of territory.

Ayaan looks at Nikita, and something unspoken passes between them. A nod. A salute.