Page 18 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

I wasn’t ready to speak with him; I just wanted to be left alone. The damage from yesterday still hurt like hell. I was in no hurry to experience today’s pain.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I said, my tone cold and dismissive.

The maid didn’t move a muscle; she just stood there, sentinel.

“Did you hear what I said?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, my eyes squinting slightly.

“I did, miss. But he said not to come down without you,” she explained, her eyes on the floor.

That asshole! Always bossing everyone around forcing them to do things at his own pace and time. What an arrogant bastard. Refusing to go with her might land the maid in trouble, so I was left with no choice but to comply.

I took the first few steps forward, and her expression softened as she opened the door and led the way.

The soft hum of classical music filled the air, its soothing, melodic strains creating a serene atmosphere. I walked down the double curved staircase, my pulse quickening as the maid led me to the dining table. She stopped by the entrance, gesturing toward the space as though this was where her journey ended.

I heaved a deep breath and stepped inside, my feet making no sound against the polished marble floor. The dining area was bathed in warm, golden lights, the table set with fine china crystals and crisp linens.

My eyes fell on him, Daniel Tarasov, seated poised at the head of the table, resplendent in an impeccably tailored white suit. Our eyes met, and he held my gaze, fingers cradling his cutlery with deliberate precision.

“Good morning,” he greeted me, his jaw moving with a slow, measured cadence as he chewed.

I stood in front of the table, hunger pangs biting at my intestines, and my mouth watered from the sweet aroma wafting from the table.

“Take a seat,” he said, touching a crisp white napkin to his lips with a refined gesture.

My hand reflexively flew to my stomach, and after a moment of hesitation, I pulled back a chair, sinking into it.

“So, tell me, how did you sleep?” he asked, reaching for a mug of freshly brewed coffee, the scent of which invaded my senses.

My eyes narrowed, brows knitting together and forming faint creases on my forehead. His audacity—the effrontery to ask me how I had slept—was rather amusing, especially after what he’d done. His composure and the way he dominated the space were so unsettling that it made my skin crawl.

His words were calm, smooth, and gentle, as though things were all rosy between us. That unusual composure of his was one of the many reasons why I hated him so much. Daniel loved watching me suffer. Tormenting me was fun to him; it was clear to me now.

“You don’t wanna talk, that’s fine,” he said, sipping his coffee. “But you should eat.” He put down the mug and met my eyes. “Starving yourself will not change anything.”

I still didn’t say a word. I just sat there, resenting his casual tone and personality even more. Without trying, this man had effortless control over me, and that only accentuated my hatred for him.

“I can’t have you growing skinny under my roof,” he said, his voice dripping with a silent warning. “Eat.”

I held his gaze, my eyes blazing with fury at the command that laced his tone.

Daniel cleared his throat. “I don’t like wasting things,printsessa,” he added, his voice huskier with a darker expression. “And that includes my patience. Don’t make me say it again…eat.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine, and my breath hitched in my throat at the sound of the threat underneath his words. I hated Daniel Tarasov, yes. But testing his patience was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

Reluctantly, I grabbed a fork and took one last glare at him before forcing myself to eat.

Chapter 11 – Daniel

I stood by the window in my office, my fingers cradling a glass of vodka as I watched my wife—my prisoner—wandering around the garden. Her flowered green dress complemented the color of her eyes, blending seamlessly with the manicured lawns like a fucking chameleon.

She was silent, moving around with stealth and caution, her gaze darting across the vast expanse of land. Her red hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face, and her skin seemed to simmer in the sunlight.

That pretty little devil was scheming her escape. She was searching for possible exits and loopholes that she could take advantage of. Her watchful eyes were roaming the compound, observing, searching for weaknesses, and studying every detail that her eyes could catch.

I lifted the glass to my lips and took a sip, staring at her in awe, impressed by her determination. However, the truth was that there was no way she would ever escape. This place was a fortress, and my men were stationed at every entrance and exit. Escaping this building was nearly impossible, at least for her. Nonetheless, she wasn’t someone I could easily underestimate; she had proven to be more than capable of surprising me.

Deep down, I was eager to know what she’d do about her situation, how she’d handle it. A part of me anticipated her escape plan and how she’d pull it off. That would be rather remarkable.

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