All Chapters of Arranged To The Bravta King: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

MariaSomething about Mikhail has changed.There's something different in the way he looks—no, glares—at me. He seems to go out of his way not to be around, like I'm chasing him out of his own home. Ironic since I'm not allowed to leave. I feel him drifting away from me, and I don't know why. His reluctance to share what's happening in his head is frustrating, and it scares me.Mikhail sits across from me in the living room, and his eyes focus on something outside the window. It's late afternoon, and he hasn't been out. He looks good in just a button-down shirt with no tie and gray pants. I stare at him until he looks, and then I quickly look away."Hey." My voice squeaks with doubt. "Is everything okay?"Mikhail hesitates for a moment before turning to face me. His icy stare sends a nasty shock through my system, and I lean back hard against the couch. "Yes," he replies coolly."Are you sure?" I ask impatiently."Maria, it's fine," he insists, though I see blankness in his eyes.One

MariaWe ride the elevator to the penthouse like strangers who haven't been introduced. Mikhail stands in one corner while I lean into the other. I don't dare look at him, but I can sense him glaring at me periodically.I could've introduced Mikhail to Mercy. But I sat there like a terrified lump and said nothing. The last time I saw Mercy, I told her I was in trouble. Now she finally saw why.Mercy is always fearless, with a sassy mouth. But not tonight.She looked scared out of her mind. But behind the fear, there was unmistakable hate. She kept glancing over at Mikhail the rest of the evening, but he ignored her.Like a coward without a spine, I kept the peace by staying silent. Why? I should've said something. I should've stood up for her. Why didn't I?I keep my eyes on the floor as the elevator continues moving.The truth is, I know if I had done anything other than staying quiet, Mikhail would've shot the bar to pieces to get me back. Mercy knew who Mikhail was. I remember her

MariaMy father stands beside a young Mikhail, and another man is beside him. From the looks of the photograph, they're out in the country somewhere. But unlike the familiar dour face I grew up with, my father is smiling here, practically laughing. His arm is slung around the other man like they're old friends."What the fuck?" I whisper. "Is this a sick joke?"It has to be a joke. A fake created with AI. It has to be! I turn it over, and the only word written on it is Poconos. What does that even mean? My father doesn't go to the Poconos. He doesn't camp. He despises sleeping outdoors. When I asked to go camping in the sixth grade, he set up a tent in the living room instead of letting me sleep outside in the backyard.And just who else is in the picture with him? Could it be Mikhail's dad? But how? How does my father know them? There has to be a logical explanation. I look at the photo one last time, ignore my pounding heart, and shove it away with the rest.The simplest explanation

Mikhail"Don't turn this on me." Her tears are no longer from fear but anger. "You don't trust me. You never have, and you never will. I want to prove it to you. But you won't let me. You refuse to believe anything else—right or wrong." Maria's gaze locks on mine. "Don't push me away because you're afraid to be wrong, Mikhail."I freeze in place, staring at her. Afraid. The word stings, then ignites a fire that rips through me. I'm not afraid, am I? Yet I balance precariously between my desire for her and the fear of getting too close. Instead, I challenge her."Why should I trust you, Maria?" I whisper. "Because you're the innocent one?"Our gazes lock, and I see something in hers—a longing that reflects mine. That energy pulls us closer, and it takes every ounce of my control not to reach out and touch her.Her anger lessens as she leans against the door. "I'm not trying to trick you, Mikhail. I don't know how."My gaze consumes every detail of her face, the curve of her lips as she

MikhailRurik, Anton, and I stand in the center of a secure warehouse in Port Newark. Anton's jumpy gaze scans the vast, cavernous space where a shipment recently left for Rotterdam. Rows of empty metal shelves line the concrete walls, stretching up to the high ceiling while the floor is covered with grimy dirt. The smell of damp concrete hangs in the stale air with a faint hint of oil. Trusted workers hose down the floor and aim the soapy gray water toward the drains.The security cameras' red lights blink rhythmically, but my gaze is on the man zip-tied to the metal folding chair. Rurik cracks his knuckles as he eyes the man hunched over in the chair while Anton stands at attention with his eyes on me. This isolated place is perfect for what we have planned.I took it easy on Maria. I let her beauty and innocence interfere with my head. I've allowed her to play me and given her too much freedom. I want to punish her for keeping secrets, but she's not here.This man will pay the pric