Page 13 of The Russian's Forced Bride
And worse, the room seemed to suffocate and restrict me, with its obsidian black walls trapping me in a cage. I was sitting on a lounge sofa, my back straight despite the overwhelming pain. Father never allowed me to slouch. Not only was it unladylike, but it also showed a lack of confidence.
“You have to let your enemy know you’re not afraid,” he would tell me while grabbing my chin tightly and staring me straight in the eye.
As an heiress, I had inherited enemies I wasn’t even aware of, and so I had to act accordingly.
Before me was a glass of champagne, its bluish hue turning purple thanks to the red LED lighting of the room.It wasn’t my first time at this lounge, but suddenly this room looked like something ripped out of a horror movie, as its brick walls seemed to darken with each passing second.
The rhythm of the music in the background was dark and bruised, bleeding red like a murder theme.
Time seemed to tick ever so slowly, and I couldn’t wait for that evil man to come in here and get this all over with. The sooner he came to relish his prize, the better it was for both of us.
Luckily for me, the lounge doors suddenly swung open, making my heart race as I sensed Rafael’s presence before I saw him.
Rafael Kamarov.
He exuded a quiet authority, not the fierce kind I once felt with Matvey. Matvey was crimson—dangerous the moment you saw him. But Rafael was different. He reminded me of the color purple—that of velvet nightshade. Handsome, dark, and mysterious in a way that made my skin crawl.
If anything, I could swear he was an even greater evil than Matvey.
I didn’t hear him walk in. His footsteps were almost ghost-like. One minute, the door clanked open, and the next, I could see him from my peripheral vision before he appeared in front of me, taking a seat and man-spreading across the couch that dipped under his weight, his sculpted physique and toned muscles almost bulging out from his shirt.
And even though I didn’t quite like him, I had to admit that he was dangerously attractive.
The room’s lighting sharpened his already striking features. His skin was unnaturally pale, and his curly dark hair was messily strewn over his face as if he hadn’t cared about his appearance. His thick, carved eyebrows rose silently in scrutiny of me, while his dark brown eyes bore into mine, causing me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.
This man made me feel uneasy. Everything about him made me uncomfortable. It felt like his eyes were undressing me, and it made me feel…naked. My heart started pounding.
The sooner I left his sight… the better.
So I got straight to the point.
“You’re late,” I stated, my voice steady and clipped.
“Nice to meet you, too,kroshka,” Rafael mused, as he took off his suit jacket and draped it over the couch.
I bit my bottom lip, holding back the snarky comments I had in store for him. I had to be calm. I had to be ladylike and pretend like I didn’t want to punch him in the face.
“Arlette,” I corrected him. “My name is Arlette, notkroshka.”
He smirked, slow and unsettling. “I know that, princess, but I prefer to call you that. After all, we’re going to get married.”
Then he took out a pack of cigarettes, pulled out one, and lit it, filling the room with a musty cloud.
“I don’t want to get married to you,” I said, making sure I stared right at him.
“You will,” he replied with an air of finality that made my eye twitch.
I scoffed, glaring holes into him as he looked back at me with cold, condescending indifference that made my insides churn.
“I would rather die than marry you,” I spat. I was fed up with being treated like a puppet. Yes, I had agreed to marry this man, but just being in his presence disgusted me.
A low, dark chuckle escaped Rafael’s lips at my words as the lit cigarette remained clenched between his lips. A sadistic glint flickered in his eyes as he said, “Be careful what you wish for, princess.”
It was hard to read him, but I knew for sure that he was truly sick in the head, and it was all his fault—and the Bratva’s fault—that Father had died.
I pushed myself off the sofa, locking eyes with him to show he couldn’t intimidate me.
“You disgust me. You and your filthy cult of men who think they have power. I don’t know what Father was thinking, getting lumped up with people like you, but I want none of it!” I yelled, my cheeks heating in anger.
