Page 65 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

I never complained about the hardness of it. Survival was supposed to be hard. But Varlam let me taste something else. Romance like bubbles. Passion. Safety. Then he personally proved none of it belonged to me.

I don't know how long I cried. Not until the wall clock reminded me Rory would be home soon did I drag myself off the floor. My legs had gone numb. I leaned against the shoe cabinet until feeling returned, then stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

The woman in the mirror had swollen eyes, a red nose, lips that still showed traces of being kissed. I scrubbed hard. My skin turned pink, but the mark felt burned into memory.

"Fuck." I glared at my reflection.

Crude words made everything pressing down on me feel slightly lighter.

Before Rory got home, I changed clothes, picked up the tissues, and boiled pasta. He burst through the door, sharing stories about gym class. I ruffled his hair like always and told him to wash his hands.

"Were you crying?" He stared at me for two seconds.

"Onions."

"You didn't use onions." He glanced at the pot.

I didn't know what to say.

Rory didn't push. Just walked over and hugged me, then ran to wash his hands like the hug never happened.

My throat tightened again. This was why I couldn't quit.

Not because of Varlam. Not because of that ridiculous infatuation. Because of this hug. The bills on the table. The activity fee notice in Rory's backpack for next month.

I didn't have the luxury of being selfish.

The next morning, I carried my things back to the Wedding Planning Department.

The office was louder than I remembered.

Maybe because I'd just come from the top floor, where everyone automatically lowered their voices around Varlam. I'd almost forgotten what a normal office sounded like.

Keyboards, phones, the printer jamming—all mixed together. Someone passed by with coffee, slowing when they saw me.

Within minutes, the whole department knew I was back.

The whispers didn't bother staying quiet. Some said I'd failed Varlam's probation. Others said his girlfriend sent me packing.

I kept my head down, organizing. Files on the left, sticky notes in the drawer. If my hands stayed busy, I could pretend those words weren't burrowing under my skin.

Lily naturally couldn't resist, but before she got too far, Winnie stepped in front of me.

"This is the Wedding Planning Department, not a tabloid office." Her smile was sweet, her tone razor-sharp. "Anyone with time to kill can address six hundred guest name cards for me."

The chatter died to keyboard clicks.

I didn't explain. Didn't show anything. Just sat at my old desk, opened my computer, and forced myself to deal with the wedding project I'd just been assigned. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to think.

I confirmed ceremony timing and checked with the florist about the bride's last-minute table arrangement change. Vendors called. The seating chart still had issues.

But no matter how busy I stayed, my mind drifted back to yesterday.

At noon, Winnie finally had enough. She closed my laptop.

"Come on. Lunch first."

She dragged me to our usual place—an affordable restaurant.