Page 74 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

I need air.

I need something that isn’t this room, this silence, these thoughts I don’t fully understand.

I leave the room and step into the hallway.

Since I arrived, I’ve restricted myself without really thinking about it. My room. The library. The foyer. The dining room. Safe spaces. Predictable spaces.

That’s it.

Now I’m bored. The house is huge enough to explore, so I walk. Slow at first, then with more confidence as I move deeper into the house.

I stop in front of doors I’ve never opened before.

Some rooms are ordinary—guest rooms, empty offices, spaces that feel like they exist just to fill the structure of the house.

Others are locked.

I frown at one of them for a moment longer than necessary before moving on.

Eventually, I hear a faint thud of impact followed by movement.

I follow the sound without thinking, curiosity pulling me forward before caution can stop me. The sound grows clearer as I get closer. I reach another door.

It isn’t locked.

It’s slightly ajar.

I push it open.

And stop.

It’s a home gym. Large. Clean. Expensive equipment lined neatly across the room like it’s been placed with purpose rather than used casually.

One entire wall is a mirror.

Music plays softly through hidden speakers—low, steady, almost hypnotic.

And there Lukyan is. He’s working out. Focused. Completely unaware of anything beyond what he’s doing.

He wears a sleeveless shirt that clings to him in places where sweat has darkened the fabric. His arms are exposed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement. There’s sweat on his skin. Enough to make him look… real. Human. Unpolished in a way I haven’t seen before.

I don’t mean to stare, but I do.

He hits another rep.

My fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the door.

I should leave.

I should close it quietly and go back to my room like I didn’t see anything.

But I don’t move. He’s so ridiculously hot, it’s almost unbelievable.

He finishes the set and sets the weight down carefully, taking a breath through his nose. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just stays where he is, hands resting lightly on the bar as his chest rises and falls.

Then, slowly, he straightens.

As if he’s known I was there long before I stepped into view.