Page 28 of Forced Innocent Bride By the Bratva

Last night only presented an opportunity for both of us to act upon our desires, and we did. Scarlett gave in to the temptation because she had already thought about it in her head, maybe multiple times.

She hadn’t been able to look me in the eyes ever since, and even when she did, she’d flash a glare at me. I wasn’t at all moved by her guilt; it was nothing but a pesky little emotion that would, in time, fade away. She’d get used to it, especially when she realized that she’d been mine since the day she stepped foot into this house.

It would take a while for her to adjust, and luckily for both of us, patience was something that I had in abundance. I’d wait because one thing was certain: In the end, she’d want me again. Scarlett would come back for more.

She stood at the edge of the balcony, the morning sun casting a warm glow across her features as her gaze swept across the cityscape. Her slender fingers wrapped around the polished handrails, her grip relaxed yet possessive. The gentle breeze seemed to whisper secrets in her ears, and her dress, a flowing silk gown, billowed behind her like a cloud. The hem fluttered, dancing to the rhythm of the wind, the delicate fabric rippling like the surface of a serene lake.

Scarlett stood there, lost in thought, her gaze fixed across the horizon. As distracted as she was, she looked breathtaking, divine, and elegant in every way. Her hair swirled around her face, tousled by the gentle breeze, and her skin simmered in the sunlight.

I joined her at the balcony’s edge, my arms wrapping around her waist from behind. She flinched at the sudden embrace, her body tensing as she lifted her head, her slender neck turning in my direction. I expected some sort of resistance, but she just stared at me blankly.

“I thought we talked about your fear,” I whispered, referring to her startled reaction, my breath against her ear.

“And I thought we talked about your sneakiness,” she replied, her tone laced with a glint of displeasure as her eyebrows knit together.

My hand caressed hips, palms sliding down the fabric of her dress. She smelled really good, and I sniffed her skin, taking in the sweet scent of her feminine perfume. “Still thinking about last night, I guess,” I teased, murmuring in her ear.

She scoffed, squirming out of my hold, and turned to face me squarely, her eyes burning with a mix of longing and disdain. “I hate you,” she blurted out, her face twisting into a scowl. “I hate you, Daniel Tarasov.”

Unfazed by her words, my lips curled into a mischievous grin, and I stroked my jaw, my gaze locked on hers. “Are you sure about that?” My eyes darted up and down her body. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

Her eyes squinted at my statement, a hint of embarrassment flashing across her features. Her jaw tightened, and her brows furrowed, forming deep creases between them. “Asshole,” she murmured, shoving me aside. Her footsteps were hasty as she walked away.

I chuckled as I watched her leave, cursing me under her breath, her bare feet making no sound against the marble floor. I buried a hand in my pocket, satisfied that I’d once again won another round. It was interesting watching her fight something she had no power over. Scarlett was only delaying the inevitable. She was mine already, and the sooner she understood that as a well-established fact, the better.

However, in the meantime, I’d wait because I knew for sure that she’d definitely come around. Scarlett couldn’t fight this for so long. She was bound to give in and accept her fate, one way or another.

***

Later that evening, at sunset, I was in my study, ensconced in a worn leather armchair, surrounded by towering bookshelves that stretched toward the ceiling. The opulent space, enveloped by the soft glow of a chandelier, was a sanctuary of masculinity, adorned with dark wood paneling and a fireplace that crackled on cool evenings.

My laptop sat open on the mahogany table before me, the lit screen flickering as my fingers rattled across the keyboard. The air was filled with the faint scent of aged paper and whiskey, a heady combination that seemed to seep from the very walls themselves. A half-empty glass of amber liquid sat on the mahogany table beside a towering bottle of whiskey.

The soft knock on the door shifted my gaze toward the entrance, and there she was, my wife, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

My lips twitched at the corners, and I reclined in my armchair, watching her step inside without my permission. “Have you come to apologize for your rude behavior earlier?” I teased, knowing that was the last thing she’d ever do.

Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowing as she halted before my desk. “Apologize?” She scoffed, a disbelieving look flashing across her face. “I thought by now you’d know better than to assume something like that.”

There it is,I thought, referring to the fire I saw burning in her eyes.

“I’m here to address the elephant in the room,” she said, her voice stern, her gaze pinned on me. “I think it’s high time we had a conversation about why I’m here and why you’re doing this to my family.” She drew closer, her eyes narrowing on me. “I demand to know what the fuck is going on, Daniel,” she concluded, leaving no room for compromise.

My brows arched, intrigued by her spunk and confidence.

“What is your problem with my family? What is your problem with me? Because prior to the day you kidnapped me, I had no idea you even existed.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, her eyes shining with determination to know the truth. “This is some sort of revenge strategy, right? I believe I’m entitled to knowing what this is all about, considering I’m the one paying the fucking price.” Her voice rose a little higher on the last statement, a frown settling on her face.

“You might wanna take a seat,” I said, staying calm and composed.

“I’ll stand,” she insisted.

“Suit yourself,” came my reply, fingers drumming on the surface of my table. “You’re right. Thisisa revenge strategy,” I began, my tone low and even, my words spoken with a deliberate slowness. “Your ex-fiancé tricked, exploited, used, and dumped my younger cousin, Alina.”

Her brows shot up, arms folded across her chest. “Liam? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“So, you’re unaware of what he did to that poor girl?” I asked, my expression darkening for a moment, waiting for her response.

Her breath hitched, her mouth shaped like an “O” as she groped for the right words to say. Scarlett’s shoulders shrugged casually, her tone dropping ever so slightly. “Well…I…I did…I did hear of such allegations, but that’s not true…. That’s not who Liam is. He’d never do that,” she stuttered, a hint of skepticism creeping into her tone.

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