Page 82 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
I scoff. “No. You’re doing this for yourself. You like having control over me. That’s all this is.”
“I love you!” he snaps suddenly, loud and raw, like the words rip out of him before he can stop them. “Do you hear me, Jennie? I love you—and everything I’ve done, I’ve done to keep you safe.”
Silence.
It crashes into the room like a storm. But I don’t move. I don’t flinch. I just stare at him as my heart races in my chest.
But instead of softening, something inside me curls tighter.
“No,” I say, voice low, trembling. “You don’t love me, Adrian. You own me. You see me as something you can cage and control. That’s not love. And I’m not going to tolerate it.”
Adrian’s face darkens, like a shadow has passed over him. His jaw clenches, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.
“If this is what you wish to believe,” he says, his voice low and hard, “then so be it.”
He turns and starts to walk away.
“I have to see my brother,” I call after him, my voice shaking with rage and panic. “And I don’t care about you, Adrian.”
He doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t slow. Just reaches the door and steps through it, as if I didn’t say a word.
Then—click.
My stomach drops.
I rush to the door and twist the knob, but it’s too late. He’s locked it.
He’s locked me in.
I slam my palm against the door, the sound loud in the silence of the room. “Adrian!” I yell. “Adrian, open this damn door!”
Nothing.
Only the echo of my own voice.
Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I stare at the door, chest heaving, heart thudding like a war drum in my chest. I turn away from the door, fuming, ready to scream into a pillow or throw something across the room. But then…I see it.
The gift bag Adrian was holding earlier, when he came into the room. I blink. He must’ve dropped it on his way out—either by mistake or…maybe not.
Heart pounding, I crouch down and pick it up. My fingers are trembling as I pull out the soft white tissue paper and see a small velvet box tucked inside. Jewelry.
I open it slowly—and my breath catches.
It’s a dainty chain, delicate and golden, holding a heart-shaped pendant. Simple. Stunning. I turn it over and see the tiny engraved word on the back:
Mine.
There’s a folded note tucked beneath the box. My chest tightens the moment I recognize the handwriting—his:
You’re super beautiful, and I’m glad you’re all mine. I’ll do anything for you.
A sob breaks free from my throat.
It comes fast and hot, unstoppable, as I sink onto the edge of the bed with the note clutched in my hand and tears blurring my vision. He was going to give me this. Probably just before everything went to hell. Probably right before I told him I didn’t care.
And then it hits me like a freight train—the words he shouted during the fight, words I hadn’t processed in the heat of my rage:
“I love you.”
