Page 75 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

He turns slightly toward the mirror first, his gaze catching something in the reflection, and only then does he look directly at me.

Even from the doorway, even with distance between us, I feel it immediately—the shift in attention, the way the room seems to narrow around that single point between us.

My breath catches before I can stop it.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just looks at me.

I should leave.

That thought comes late, as if my body hasn’t caught up to what my mind already knows.

But I don’t move.

Not yet.

And neither does he.

We stay like that for a moment longer than necessary, the silence between us stretching in a way that feels heavier than the room itself, until I become painfully aware that I am standing ina space I was never invited into… and somehow don’t want to leave as quickly as I should.

His eyebrow lifts. The gesture is small. Cocky. Infuriating.

Heat rushes straight to my face. Oh God. He knows. He absolutely knows I was standing there staring at him.

Mortified, I turn on my heel and practically flee. I don’t stop until I’ve reached the safety of my room and closed the door behind me. Then I lean against it and groan.

“Idiot.”

My voice sounds far too loud in the empty room. I push away from the door and pace once across the carpet.

So what if he’s attractive?

That doesn’t mean anything.

I’ve seen attractive men before. I’ve met attractive men before. None of them have reduced me to acting like an awkward teenager caught passing love notes in class.

Yet somehow, one raised eyebrow from Lukyan Rusnak has me fleeing down a hallway like a criminal. I hate that. I hate how aware I am of him lately.

His voice. His presence. The way he seems to notice everything without saying much at all. With an irritated sigh, I climb back onto the bed and open my book.

Reading has always helped. Books make sense. People don’t.

For a while, I manage to lose myself in the story. The familiar comfort of words slowly settles my thoughts until I’m finally beginning to relax.

Then there’s a knock at the door. I glance up. One of the maids, probably. They regularly bring tea or fruit during the afternoon.

“Come in.”

The door opens. And Lukyan walks in. My stomach immediately drops. He’s changed since I last saw him.

The sleeveless workout shirt is gone, replaced by dark sweatpants and a fitted black thermal that somehow makes him look even broader than before.

I look away. Unfortunately, my reaction only seems to make me more aware of his presence.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

The question comes out sharper than intended.