Page 41 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“He went to the devil,” she sighs. “He came back that night with a wad of cash. He was so happy. He said we could stay together.”

“And then?”

“We were happy for a while, but he vanished two years ago.”

She looks away, staring at the dark window.

“I waited, but he didn’t come back. I went home, but the apartment was empty. I waited for days. Weeks. I told myself he was just working. That he was busy.”

“He wasn’t.”

“No.” She turns back to me, her gaze intense. “He was gone, and I was alone.”

The silence stretches between us.

I understand the debt now. I understand the loyalty. Ayaan wasn’t just a brother. He was a father figure who sold his soul to keep his sister safe.

And it killed him.

“He loved you,” I say, surprising myself with the admission.

“He did,” she whispers. “He was the only person who ever did.”

The vulnerability in her voice is a weapon she doesn’t know she’s using. It strips away the anger, the defiance, leaving behind the wounded girl underneath.

I reach out, my hand finding hers in the dark. I don’t squeeze it, just cover it with my own. “He didn’t die in vain, Freya,” I say softly. “He bought you time.”

“Time to what?” she asks, a bitter edge returning to her voice.

“Time to grow up,” I say. “Time to become strong enough to come looking for him.”

She looks at our joined hands, then up at my face. The accusation is gone, replaced by a wary curiosity.

“Is that what I’m doing?” she asks. “Being strong?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I counter. “You’re married to the enemy. That takes a kind of strength most people don’t have.”

“Stupidity, you mean.”

“Survival.”

We fall silent again. The emotional storm has passed, leaving behind a strange, quiet intimacy.

She doesn’t pull her hand away. Neither do I.

“I’m tired,” she admits, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Then sleep.”

She shifts, lying back down on the pillow. This time, she doesn’t turn her back to me. She faces me, her eyes closing as the adrenaline fades.

“Nikita?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Instead of replying, I just watch her in the dark. The tension has left her body. Her breathing is deepening, slowing down as sleep pulls her back under.