Page 28 of Forced & Knocked-Up Bratva Bride

Long, brunette hair that seemed to simmer in the sunlight fell in loose waves over her shoulders. Her lips, painted a bold shade of red, parted to reveal her whites as she stared affectionately at Nik. She leaned in, elbows on the table’s surface as she spoke, her light brown eyes crinkling at the corners. Her posture was relaxed, comfortable, with an air of confidence like she knew she belonged here.

My gaze shifted to Nik, where he sat across from her, a small smile playing on his lips. This wasn’t his signature cold, razor-sharp smirk—the one he always shot at me. No. This seemed more…real. Authentic, maybe.

As much as it pained me to admit, the smile did look good on him. I’d never seen such a gentle side of Nik before—hadn’t thought he had it in him. Well, except for that wonderful night we spent together.

Wait. If this beautiful woman were his fiancée, then that meant that he’d touched her the same way he touched me. No wonder she was all smiley and happy. She’d tasted him, and now she was glued. I didn’t realize it, but my forehead had wrinkled, and my fingers had clenched into fists.

I’d been away for seven months. Was that how long this woman had been with him? Or was she here before me? Somehow, she managed to bring out a soft side of him that I never could, and that only made my blood boil. They looked happy, like a family, the family that would raise my son.

No, no, no.

My face contorted into a frown, and gradually, I felt jealousy sneaking into my heart. It sank its claws deep, curling inside my chest like a living thing. It burned—hot and ugly—and I hated it.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that he looked at her in a sweet way. But why couldn’t I get rid of this stupid jealousy? Why did I hate the woman, even though I knew nothing abouther? Maybe it was because she was the one to raise my child. Maybe. Or maybe I hated her because of the chemistry she had with Nik. Perhaps my hatred for her was a combination of both.

It was clear to me now that no matter how hard I tried to hide it, to deny it, the fact remained: I still wanted him. Still longed for the man who shattered me.

And that?

That was, so far, the cruelest betrayal of all.

Chapter 22 – Nik

She didn’t know this, but I saw her peeking out the window, eavesdropping on my conversation with Helen. I could sense her presence that day in the garden, could feel her gaze lingering long enough to almost expose her thoughts.

I knew at that moment that it was only a matter of time before she came looking for me, seeking an audience. Her displeasure and jealousy that day wafted through the air like an intoxicating scent. Alessia felt threatened by Helen, not just because she had a pretty face, but also because she was the one to raise my child.

A mother would do anything to protect her own. I knew this, and that was why I would never underestimate Alessia. Never. She was not comfortable with the plan to separate her from the child she’d been carrying in her womb for months. No real mother would be.

However, making her believe she would have no place in the boy’s life was the best way to hurt her. It was the best idea I could think of at the time, and so far, it was working out well. The maids told me that Alessia barely ate and that she spent most of her time within the confines of her room. This was a tough phase in her life, and a lot was happening at the same time.

The poor girl was a strong one—that was a fact. Emotionally and psychologically, her father had trained her too well. Of course, I’d never admit this to her or anyone, but it was the truth. She was a resilient one, and that was how I knew that there was no way in hell that she was going to let me have my way with the baby. She’d try some sort of way to appeal to my conscience. Fighting back would be a terrible idea; she was smart enough to know that.

But would she give up so easily? No. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature, and that was one of the many things that I admired about her. I wasn’t entirely sure how much of my conversation with Helen she heard, but I was certain that something snapped inside her that day.

I’d been waiting for a confrontation, another discussion on the issue at hand. And even though she still hadn’t said anything yet, I knew it wouldn’t take long until she came looking for me. She was probably still organizing her words, summoning the courage she needed to face me.

Alessia was no fool. She knew that there was no way she could win against me, especially when trapped in my house. Therefore, as angry as she was, she wouldn’t let her fury jeopardize her plan to be in the boy’s life.

She’d be smart in her speech whenever she was brave enough to confront me. And deep down, I couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say. Toiling with her was something that brought me some sense of satisfaction. I loved watching her squirm, loved to see the fear flickering deep inside her eyes.

I’d stepped out of the bathroom with a white towel around my waist, my body still damp from the hot shower. Faint steam rose from my skin, swirling around my form as I stood by the doorway, listening to the quiet movement outside the hallway.

I recognized those soft, delicate, slow footsteps. It was her. My lips curled into a mischievous grin, eyes fixed on the entrance. I heard her stop behind the door, and for the next few seconds, it was silent outside. There was no movement, no sound, nothing. She was obviously contemplating her next move, gathering the courage she needed.

Knock, knock.

I hesitated, pretending I had no idea who had knocked on my door. “Who’s there?”

“It’s…it’s me…Alessia,” came her stuttered response, her voice weak and faint.

I was quiet, making her feel that her presence wasn’t welcome. “It’s open.”

Slowly, she pushed the door, and as it creaked open, it revealed her standing at the entrance, the hallway lights casting a warm glow over her features. Her expression was soft, although beneath the calm exterior, I could see the fury and pain she tried to mask.

Alessia strolled into the room, her movements slow and strained, her swollen belly magnificent before her. Pregnancy looked great on her, considering how she glowed under the chandelier’s soft light. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded down her back in effortless waves, a few loose strands framing her face. Her skin, smooth and porcelain, glistened in the warm light, her brown eyes sparkling.

Since her return, I hadn’t taken the time to really look at her and appreciate what a beautiful woman she was. Even with a protruding stomach, she still radiated like a goddess, graceful and elegant in every way.

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