Page 5 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

"I mean, my white T-shirt and denim skirt are in the dressing room."

It was true. The wedding was almost over. No point changing into another dress.

"You sure?" He lowered his voice, refusing to back down.

He leaned closer, his tall frame swallowing me completely. The overwhelming pressure forced my attention entirely on him.

His bone structure was wild, proud. Those slightly arched brows declared he wouldn't be questioned. He hadn't given me the option to say no!

"Fine. I accept." I nodded, nearly breathless.

He finally released me, his body pulling away, muscles rippling under his white shirt.

I should've felt relieved, but my chest felt hollow instead, my breathing light and stifled.

Sudden knocking interrupted my thoughts.

After getting permission, a man built like a bear walked in. He looked like a thug. Not as tall as Varlam, but with thick arms—developed muscles keeping them bent away from his body.

He carried a delicate white shopping bag completely incongruous with his frame.

"Pakhan." He spoke, voice rough with a heavy Russian accent. "What you asked for is ready."

Varlam took the bag, exchanged a few words in Russian, and the man left efficiently.

"This is for you." Varlam turned and pressed the bag into my hands. "I think you'll like it."

The bag looked tiny in his hands, but I nearly dropped it when it reached mine.

What was inside shocked me even more. An Elie Saab custom dress. Top-tier couture money couldn't buy.

A custom Elie Saab dress cost enough to keep me working for at least five years without eating. Plus, they operated by appointment—even the richest had to wait their turn. Varlam had somehow secured one in a few hours.

"This is too expensive. I can't accept it." I immediately shoved the bag back at him. "And I definitely won't fit in it."

That shop catered to socialites and wives. No way they'd have anything I could squeeze into.

This thing was like a ticking time bomb in my hands, ready to blow my dignity to pieces.

"Trust me, you'll fit. It's custom-made for you." He pulled the dress from the bag and placed it back in my hands. "Don't underestimate your appeal. You're beautiful."

He stared into my eyes as he said it.

"I... am?" I could barely believe these words came from this man's mouth.

"Absolutely. You have no idea how stunning your body is."

His eyes held genuine sincerity. The comforting words sent warmth flooding through me.

"Do you talk to every woman you just met like this?" I met his gaze as he casually rotated his wrist.

God! His pinky stuck out stiffly, an old scar at the base of the joint shockingly vivid. What kind of injury left a scar like that? I almost thought his finger had been severed.

But with our relationship, I clearly didn't have the right to ask yet.

"Depends on who the woman is." He answered unhurriedly.

"I look forward to seeing you in this dress. Though I don't know if I'll be able to keep my composure." With that, he turned toward the door. "I'll wait outside."