All Chapters of Arranged To The Bravta King: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

MikhailThe spacious bedroom has a king-sized bed, an impressive walk-in closet, and a lavish ensuite bathroom. The locked windows offer a breathtaking view of the city. A beautiful cage for beautiful women. I won’t deny Maria’s beauty, but I also know the dangers hidden behind her beauty: it’s a distraction that will kill a lesser man.She stumbles and unexpectedly, I reach out to catch her. A current rushes through us when my fingers close around her wrist. Her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t pull away. She blinks, and the ferocity that had been erased earlier returns to the surface.“Let me go,” she hisses.I oblige, but only because I know she has nowhere to run. Maria rubs her wrist where my fingers were and throws a baleful look my way.“I don’t know what you think I’ve done,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. “Or what you want from me, but I swear I didn’t do anything.”“Your phone.” I ignore her and extend my hand.“I don’t have one,” she insists. “I told

MariaOutside, the steady points of light from skyscrapers appear impossibly distant. I stick my head out the window, and fear laces into my stomach when I see nothing below me. But there's a ledge that extends a bit further to a perpendicular wall with a metal ladder.I have no idea where the ladder goes, but I know that it's away from here.Deep breaths. I'm just sneaking out of the house. This is no different than climbing down the trellis in Holtsville. It's just a matter of scale.Except if you fall, it's a long way down."What choices do you have, Maria?" I whisper. "You wanna stay here and marry this maniac?"With that, I push the window wide open, turn around, and wiggle through the small opening. My toe touches a narrow ledge. Crap. It's not only narrow, it's slippery. Even if I want to, I can't go back now, not from this bent position. Sliding down, I kick off my shoes as I cling to the side of the building, and the wind whips my hair into my face.Don't look down. Don't loo

MikhailShe's like no one I've ever met.I sit beside Maria's bed and watch her sleep, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. A soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminates her sleeping form, creating an almost ethereal aura around her face. Her expression, contorted with pain earlier, now displays a tranquil expression.In this light, she has the look of a princess. I can almost forget the glimpse of the fierce hellcat underneath.Almost.I admire her courage. Foolish but definitely brave.Her long, curly, auburn hair fans out like a halo on the silk pillowcase. A dark bruise mars her soft cheek, and a bandage is wrapped tightly around her wrist. All because of me. It takes every fiber of my being to not reach out and caress the wound. But something tells me that if I so much as feel her skin against mine, then all semblance of control will burn away like mist on the morning sun.I force myself to look away. Guilt, desire, anger, and other emotions that I cannot—or dare

MariaI'm allowed to wander the penthouse after my ordeal. Mikhail doesn't realize how desperate I am to leave the confinement of my room. The freedom I'm afforded tells me that he knows I won't dare try it again. My previous dress was shredded. What's left of it lies on the floor by my bed. A reminder of how close I came to my death.I don't want breakfast, but I don't want to stay in this room. The view is breathtaking, yes, but there's no art in this room. And despite everything going to hell impressively, I want to see what other artwork this madman owns.How dare he laugh at me?The walk-in closet in my bedroom is empty. I guess a designer wardrobe materializing out of nowhere only exists in fairy tales. I yank the flat sheet off my bed and wrap it around me, twisting the ends together to make a rudimentary dress. My reflection looks passable, if a little trashy.Briefly, I wonder if he'll demand that I change into something more acceptable. But then I remind myself that I'm his

Mikhail"Thank you, Dominika."She nods toward me before leaving the room. But her stony gaze stays on the three brigadiers.I look toward the spiral staircase; then I hear a door click shut. Maria is back in her room. Good, it's safer that we have the rest of this conversation in private. Without a word, I walk toward my office, and the brigadiers follow.The room is less of an office and more of a lounge. A small chrome bar with select vintages, several low sofas and side tables in chocolate and beige, and a space for art. Many of my treasured pieces are here for me to view alone. Works by Picasso and Pollock not seen in public since the day they were created. I resent having the brigadiers invade my private abode, but it's obvious that Maria likes to listen.And there are things she cannot be allowed to hear."There is no doubt, Mikhail Ivanov," Ippolit speaks, calm and calculating, before I can. "She is Budanov's daughter.""How can you be certain?" I ask him as I get a grip on my