Page 18 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

"New requirements from the Hendersons. Revise it before lunch."

I opened the first page. My temple throbbed. The entire wedding's floral design, seating chart, and reception flow had to be redone.

"Did this just come in this morning?" I asked.

"Client demands are orders." He glanced at me. "Work hours aren't for socializing. Whether you get a bonus this month depends on whether you can learn to shut up and work."

Lily's suppressed laughter reached my ears. The supervisor heard it but didn't even turn his head.

"Understood," I said.

He paused, seemingly unsatisfied with my attitude, but eventually left with his files.

Once his office door closed, Winnie messaged me.

"Lily can ramble on all morning and he won't hear a thing. But the second we exchange a few words, he can suddenly hear a pin drop."

"He's not deaf. He just knows who he can bully without consequences."

We exchanged eye rolls and put our phones away.

I actually loved this job. Wedding planner—it sounded romantic, bringing happiness to people. If circumstances allowed, I'd even thought about opening my own planning studio someday, sending blessings to couples about to marry.

But right now, I still had to deal with clients' unique requests. Like making a bouquet look like a head of cauliflower.

Keyboard clicks filled the office again. I buried myself in work.

At some point—my neck aching—I saw the supervisor rush out of his office.

He straightened his tie while his assistant switched out the meeting room's bottled water for premium brands. Our usually absent boss emerged from another office, heading for the elevator with the legal team in tow.

The printer spat out pages no one collected. Lily excitedly pulled out a compact and touched up her lipstick.

"Anyone who makes the boss personally greet them can decide whether we still have jobs tomorrow." Winnie's gaze stayed fixed on the hallway.

Before I could respond, the group reappeared outside the glass wall.

The boss walked slightly ahead, smile more cautious than when courting our biggest clients. The supervisor trailed half a step behind, nodding obsequiously. But the man they surrounded needed no introduction. I recognized Varlam instantly.

His height—well over six feet—made him tower above everyone else. When others spoke, he only nodded occasionally, yet the entire hallway's rhythm bent to his pace.

A dark suit wrapped his broad shoulders and solid chest, fabric pulling taut with each step. I knew what lay beneath—the muscles, the chest and back covered in scars and ink. Last night, my hands had traced those intersecting tattoos and marks all the way down.

But why was he here? My brain stalled.

The boss was showing off the design area. Varlam followed his gesture toward the glass wall, gaze sweeping across the rows of desks. Then it stopped on me. No searching. No hesitation. Like he'd known exactly where I sat all along.

My spine straightened reflexively. Every inch of skin he'd touched last night sprang back to life.

Those eyes pinned me down, landing first on my face, then sliding excruciatingly slowly over my lips. Just one second, but I heard my breathing stumble off-beat. I remembered this morning's resolution to get everything back on track.

Apparently, no one left without his permission.

Varlam looked away, as if that silent touch had never happened. They moved toward the conference room and disappeared around the corner.

But my chest still felt compressed, aching.

Winnie's mouth fell open, then snapped shut.