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79. You're Not My Problem
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2025-07-09 09:01:35I felt Misha’s fingers tap twice against his knee. I was beginning to recognize it as a rhythm. A warning. Not to me or anyone else, but to himself. Then he leaned back just slightly and spoke in a casual, lazy tone. “What are you looking at, dipshit?”
The word landed like a blade between steak and wine. Forks froze. Breaths hitched. A single muscle ticked in Wade Brent’s jaw.Royce ‘Knuckles’ Dalton tilted his head. “Excuse me?”“You’ve been staring,” Misha said, still not looking away. “If you’ve got a problem, say it.”I closed my eyes. Misha, no. No no no—“You know what I see?” Knuckles let out a low chuckle, but there wasn’t anything funny in it. “A man who walked into this house, marked the boss’s daughter like a dog, and thinks that makes him untouchable.”Heat rose to my cheeks, panic prickling along my spine. This wasn’t going to end with a witty quip and another glass of wine, I knew for sure.“I see a woman
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Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 80. A Fight to Finish
“No!” I gasped. My chair scraped loudly behind me as I pushed half to my feet, heart slamming against my ribs like a fist. I didn’t even realize I’d shouted until every head jerked toward me.For one awful second, I thought I’d see blood. That Knuckles would land a hit on him. That Misha would retaliate. That it would all happen right here, in front of me. My legs locked in place, frozen between trying to stop it and knowing I couldn’t. “Enough.” Vincent’s voice cracked like a gunshot.Everyone froze.Even Knuckles.“I said not at my table,” he repeated, icily calm. “Or should I assume you’ve forgotten what that means, Royce?”Knuckles’ jaw worked like he was chewing glass. His fists curled and uncurled. But after a beat, he stepped back with a sharp exhale, tossing a glare at Misha that promised this wasn’t over.“Sit,” Vincent said, and Knuckles obeyed like a whipped dog. Bitter but beaten.
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 79. You're Not My Problem
I felt Misha’s fingers tap twice against his knee. I was beginning to recognize it as a rhythm. A warning. Not to me or anyone else, but to himself. Then he leaned back just slightly and spoke in a casual, lazy tone. “What are you looking at, dipshit?”The word landed like a blade between steak and wine. Forks froze. Breaths hitched. A single muscle ticked in Wade Brent’s jaw.Royce ‘Knuckles’ Dalton tilted his head. “Excuse me?”“You’ve been staring,” Misha said, still not looking away. “If you’ve got a problem, say it.”I closed my eyes. Misha, no. No no no—“You know what I see?” Knuckles let out a low chuckle, but there wasn’t anything funny in it. “A man who walked into this house, marked the boss’s daughter like a dog, and thinks that makes him untouchable.”Heat rose to my cheeks, panic prickling along my spine. This wasn’t going to end with a witty quip and another glass of wine, I knew for sure. “I see a woman
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 78. The Long Lost Mafia Boss's Daughter
“Gentlemen, this is my long lost daughter, Lorraine. She’ll be staying here with me, as it always should have been.”Vincent let it sit in the air like a brand.“And this is her husband… Misha Ashford.”The pause between those introductions said more than any threat ever could. But Misha gave a small, respectful nod but made no effort to hide the smile playing at the corner of his lips.Vincent didn’t look at him again, smoothing the moment over like it had never happened.But it had.Oh, it had.Instead of dwelling on that, Vincent’s palm pressed gently against the small of my back, a guiding pressure that brooked no argument. Instead of steering me straight to the candle-lit seats, he angled toward the balustrade that edged the mezzanine with my cheeks still burning and heart still thudding, I realized I wasn’t ashamed of the marks.Not really.They were mine.And so was he.The rail
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 77. Love Bites, Obviously
Misha’s arm subtly brushed against mine, grounding me. He didn’t glance left or right, ignoring the whispers and stares that followed us as we climbed the grand staircase.At the top, the hallway narrowed into a mezzanine level, elegantly carved out as a private overlook above the raucous dining below. Here, the wealth finally showed.Polished floorboards gleamed under the soft amber lighting. A single long table stretched like a throne room centerpiece. Gold-rimmed glasses sparkled under the glow. Embroidered runners trailed like banners of old bloodlines. The chairs were tall-backed, carved, and intimidating, looking like they came with titles and obligations. Thirteen seats, but only nine were set.Five men already sat along the left flank of the table, impeccably dressed, eyes sharp and unreadable. Their suits were dark, their presence heavier than the crystal glassware before them. One watched us openly, like he was cataloging threat levels.
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 76. Dining Hall’s Hot Gossips
“Misha! Go shower now!”However, when I stepped back into the bedroom, he merely stared at me with those starless dark eyes of his.“You’re dressed?”He met my reflection, mouth tipping into an infuriating crooked smile. “We’re down to three minutes. Shower’s a luxury I don’t have.”“Liar.” I planted both hands on my hips. “I’ve seen you wash, shave, and suit-up in three minutes flat.”He shrugged, sliding his watch into place. “Thought I’d stay in the moment. Besides, I like carrying proof of you.”Heat crawled up my cheeks. “That proof smells like sweat.”“Your sweat,” he corrected, as though that were diamonds.I groaned, snatching the spare cologne from the dresser and spritzing him, then me, then the room for good measure. “At least pretend we’re civilized.”He chuckled, came up behind me, and, because he couldn’t help himself, grazed a fingertip over the biggest hickey blooming at my pulse. “Civil
Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife 75. A Husband’s Duty
When Misha finally pulled back, breathing hard, lips swollen, and hair sticking to his forehead, I had no idea what year it was.Or my name.Or how long I’d been underneath him, reduced to breathless whimpers and desperate hands.He flopped down beside me on the bed with a satisfied groan, robe hanging completely open, chest slick with sweat. “Well. That was a very productive… thirty minutes.”“Thirty—what?” I bolted upright so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.The bedside clock blinked at 6:46 PM.Dinner was at seven. I had fourteen minutes. Fourteen minutes to scrub myself, fix my hair, and somehow resurrect a version of myself that didn’t look like she’d been dragged through a hurricane of sex.“Oh my God,” I choked, pushing off the bed and stumbling to my feet. “Oh my God, Misha. You said ten minutes! Ten!”“You denied me for a week, so I was being generous, really,” he said cheerfully, still sprawled acro
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