***
The next evening, Mikhail delivers the signed contract to my office.
His hands shake as he slides it across my desk. I pick it up, examining both signatures. His is steady—he was sober enough for this, at least. Hers is shakier, the letters slightly uneven.
"She signed it?" I ask, though I can see she did.
"Yes." He won't meet my eyes. Guilt, probably. Good.
"She understood what she was signing?"
A pause. Too long. "I told her it was for her university fund."
I look up sharply. "You lied to her."
"She wouldn't have signed otherwise—"
"I don't care." And I don't. The contract is legal either way. Bratva marriages don't require the bride's enthusiastic consent—just her signature. And I have that now, in black ink on expensive paper. "It's done."
Mikhail nods, miserable. He's already spent the two hundred thousand in his mind, I can tell. Probably planning which casino to hit first.
"She's mine now," I say, more to myself than to him. I trace her signature with one finger.Vera Reznikova. Soon to be Vera Maksimova. "Two years, Mikhail. Two years and then I collect."
"She's a good girl," he says suddenly, desperately. "Smart. Kind. She deserves—"
"She deserves better than you." I stand, tucking the contract into my safe. "And she'll get it. I'll give her everything she needs. Structure. Protection. Purpose."
A collar. My cock. My babies growing in her belly.
But I don't say that part out loud.
Mikhail leaves without another word. I pour myself a drink and sit back down, thinking about the girl who just signed her life over to me without even knowing it.
She'll find out eventually. When I come to collect her. When I make her mine in every possible way.
***
The preparations begin immediately.
I buy an estate outside the city—isolated, secure, perfect for keeping a wife who might try to run at first. I have it furnished to my exact specifications. Soft colors in the master bedroom. A nursery down the hall—pale yellow walls, a crib already assembled, "Baby Maksimov" painted above it in delicate script.
I have Vera followed. I know her schedule down to the minute. Coffee at 7 AM from the shop on campus. Classes until 3 PM. Library until 6. Home by 7 unless she's meeting friends, which is rare. She's solitary. Perfect.
I know she sleeps on her left side. That she's afraid of thunderstorms and sleeps with a nightlight. That she keeps a journal under her mattress where she writes about feeling lost, overwhelmed, uncertain about her future.
She won't be uncertain for long. I'll give her certainty. Purpose.
She'll be my wife. The mother of my children. Mine.
I sabotage three different boys who try to date her. The first develops sudden financial problems and transfers schools. The second has a regrettable accident involving his car and a guardrail—he lives, but he loses interest in dating. The third simply disappears after I have a conversation with him about respecting what belongs to other men.
Vera never knows. She thinks she's just unlucky in love.
She has no idea she's been claimed.
Every night, I jerk off thinking about her. About spreading her legs and sinking into virgin pussy that belongs to me. About watching her belly swell with my baby. About her on her knees, looking up at me with those big dark eyes while I fuck her mouth.
About owning her. Completely.
