Lahat ng Kabanata ng Accidentally Kidnapped the Warlord and Became His Wife: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

My head whipped toward him so fast it almost gave me whiplash. “Misha,” I choked, voice strangled somewhere between outrage and complete mortification.He didn’t even slow down. Just kept walking, hands in his pockets, that maddeningly smug glint in his eye.I hurried after him, practically tripping over my own feet, face burning so hot I was sure I’d combust. “You can’t just say things like that!”He glanced over his shoulder, completely unfazed. “Why not? It’s true. I’ve been good all week.”My jaw dropped. “We are in Vincent Vescari’s house. There are probably microphones in the walls!”He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Then let them listen. Might give them something interesting for once.”“Misha!” I swatted his arm, scandalized, but he only laughed.God, my face was on fire. I could feel my cheeks flaming, ears glowing, pulse thudding in places I didn’t want to think about. I turned away, trying to coll

‘What? Excuse me??? Lorraine. What. The. Actual. Hell.’And a second later, ‘Why are you drying that fucking manipulative lying bastard’s hair in a mafia boss’s lair?!’Of course, before I could reply, Sadie also texted, ‘Are you fucking nuts from all the fucking fucks?!!!’I had never known her to curse that much in a single sentence. Both verbally and in a text. So, yeah, I knew I screwed badly.I stared at Sadie’s triple-exclamation tirade until the screen dimmed, the faint sound of Misha’s slow breathing anchoring me in the absurdity of it all.‘Deep breaths,’ I typed. ‘This is not the worst decision I’ve ever made.’Three dots appeared.‘You married Misha without talking about it first!’‘Okay, fair. But aren't you the one who made me kidnap him in the first place? You were so proud of me, remember?’‘Technically, yes. But that is so not the point!’I sighed, tugging the rob

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

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.

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