Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Briony
The lounge was so quiet I barely dared breathe. I sat on the couch, still wrapped in that oversized suit jacket—big enough to pass for a dress.
The man sat across from me, phone in his broad hand, his predatory gaze never leaving me.
I didn't dare move too obviously—his stare burned with an intensity I couldn't meet head-on. It swept from my lips, lingered on my chest, then slid down to my hips, making me feel stripped bare.
I tensed my heating stomach without thinking. I had to say something to break this suffocating atmosphere. Otherwise, someone in here was going to run out of oxygen.
And it wasn't going to be the silver fox in front of me.
"Why did you say you'd make up to me for Makar?" I watched him tap his phone screen, leaning forward slightly, trying to close the distance between us.
He looked up. His steel-gray eyes flickered as they caught my neckline.
Shit. I realized my movement had left it completely open. My cleavage was on full display, the edge of my black lace bra barely visible. Blood rushed to my head.
Just as I started to straighten up awkwardly, he finally spoke.
"Makar's my younger brother." Clean and simple.
I froze.
"What, you're Makar's brother?" My voice shot up as I sucked in a breath. "Varlam Petrov!"
The legendary bratva Pakhan?
Makar always said his brother was brutal, remorseless—dangerous and violent as hell. I should've been terrified. Should've panicked and run. Not sitting here staring at him, doing nothing.
But the man in front of me wore a tailored suit, moved with elegance, and treated me like a gentleman. As if the only dangerous thing about him was that face—heartbreaking enough to drown in.
Honestly, I had a hard time connecting him to the cold-blooded tyrant Makar described.
"I think you should return the favor and tell me your name." He leaned forward too, closing the gap to just inches—close enough I could see the texture of his skin.
I licked my lips, nervous.
"Briony. Briony Cox."
"Briony Cox." He repeated my name, and I had the strangest feeling he'd been rolling those syllables on his tongue a thousand times already. "Beautiful name, Briony."
The corner of his mouth lifted in the sexiest smile I'd ever seen. My shoulders relaxed slightly. He wasn't the type to enjoy humiliating people.
"You're nothing like him," I said quietly. "He's arrogant and rude, mocking me in front of everyone at the wedding. But you're gentle, a gentleman. You helped me."
I couldn't understand how Makar and Varlam could be brothers and yet so different.
"Gentle? A gentleman?" He laughed softly, his voice brushing my ear. "You'll find out that's a misjudgment."
Heat flooded my face.
"Still, my idiot brother and his woman did cause you considerable trouble. I'll have a word with them when I get back." He said. "And your dress—let me compensate you for a new one."
"I hope they realize how awful they were." I sighed. "But forget the compensation. You didn't do anything wrong."
The humiliation from the wedding had mostly faded. I could face what happened relatively calmly now, though I still wanted to punch those two assholes.
But none of that was Varlam's fault. He'd rescued me, made them apologize. I was already grateful.
"You have to accept." He stood, trapping me against the couch. "Or do you want something else?"
He emphasized "something else," loading the simple question with danger and innuendo. Like that "something else" could only mean him.
My heart slammed twice.
"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."
"You don't have to!" I blurted out.
The words left my mouth, and my organs started rioting inside my body. What was I saying? Briony, tell me, what the hell does "you don't have to" mean?
"What did you say?" He turned back, somewhat surprised.
"I mean, I don't mind." I waved my hands randomly to cover my embarrassment and nerves. "At the wedding earlier, I was already... honestly, that was basically naked anyway. And look, you saved me. I can't make you stand outside waiting. There's no couch out there..."
My words came out jumbled, but he seemed to piece together useful information from the gibberish.
"Do you know what you're saying, Briony?"
"I know I don't want you to leave." Saying that, I nearly bit through my tongue.
"Alright." He loosened his tie, then leaned against the door. "I'll watch. Don't change your mind."
Just standing there, he filled the entire room. His presence felt almost physical.
I clutched the dress and walked awkwardly to the other end of the room. I could feel a burning gaze following me, my back on fire. I considered stripping everything off right in front of him, revealing the black lace bra and the red thong he'd already met.
But that absolutely wouldn't work. I knew my extra weight didn't support displaying myself that way. And my mismatched underwear would just make me look weird, not sexy.
I removed his jacket, then shed the torn dress, standing there in just my bra and panties, keeping a few steps away from the mirror.
The burning sensation intensified. I instinctively straightened, sucking in my slightly protruding stomach. I hated seeing that soft, somewhat round version of myself in the mirror.
The girl in the mirror always had a ring of soft flesh around her belly. Wide, full hips and thighs that completely failed current beauty standards. Breasts that sagged slightly from gravity, only looking somewhat flat with restrictive underwear.
I opened the dress. The lustrous fabric and sharp, exquisite tailoring filled me with wonder and fear. Clothes always played cruel jokes on me—either the waist hung loose like a sack while the hips fit perfectly, or the whole thing wouldn't pull past my thighs.
I didn't dare look back. Carefully, I slipped into the dress.
It slid smoothly from my shoulders, enveloping my body. Only then did I realize this wasn't really a formal gown. It was simple, lightweight, elegant enough for any occasion.
I reached behind for the zipper, pulling up gently. The waist cinched, and I straightened instinctively. But then my chest protested, the tight fabric forcing me to suck in air, but the zipper refused to budge.
Dammit, why did it have to stop here?
"I think you need me." Varlam's magnetic voice sounded behind me.
Then his fingers climbed my back. Even through the fabric, I felt his skin's heat.
He pressed the zipper with his fingertip, and it moved obediently upward until it stopped. But his hand kept rising, brushing my bare skin. His fingers were rough, the places he touched tingling with slight pain, pulling at something inside me.
"Look at you. Breathtaking." He met my somewhat dazed eyes in the mirror.
"Is this me?" I couldn't quite believe it.
This dress perfectly sculpted my overly round figure into an hourglass. My chest and hip curves harmonized for the first time.
I'd never imagined I could look this beautiful, fit a dress this well. I didn't have to hide my overly full flesh anymore, didn't have to shrink myself.