Page 45 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

I take a deep breath, feeling an unfamiliar vulnerability creeping into my chest. “You know,” I begin hesitantly, “I’ve always sought my father’s approval and attention. But it seems like no matter what I do, I can never quite earn it. Growing up, I paid attention to everything he did. I tried to listen in on his conversations, to learn what I could. I worked hard and studied harder. I got a scholarship for business school. Graduated. I thought he’d bring me into the business, but he shut his doors to me.”

“Genevieve,” Damien gasps, leaning forward, listening to every word I say. I see a pain in his eyes, a pain for me. Surprisingly, there’s a sense of security that comes with it—something I haven’t felt in a long time; this person is on my team.

“You know,” I say as a tear comes to my eyes. “The thing is, I was such a fool. I thought he was shutting me out because I didn’t have enough experience. I worked three internships after that. From event management to finance to operations. The companies wanted to hire me, but I turned them all down, thinking Papa would give me a chance now.”

“And did he?” Damien asks softly.

I wipe away my tears, but they continue to fall. I shake my head. “Never,” I say, with anger. “He never wanted me to share that world. Everything was for Gael. Father never paid me any attention until I got married to you. And that’s when I realized I was always a daughter he planned to give away. I was just for him to safeguard, to be handed over to a husband someday.”

Damien’s hand reaches out, gently wiping away the tears from my cheeks. His eyes hold a mix of sadness and anger. His fingers trail gently down my face, then cup my jaw. “Can you imagine how difficult it must be for your father to see you in this situation with me and know that he’s lost you?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh. “He’ll never see me, Damien,” I almost scream. “Growing up, I used to think that if I worked hard enough, if I was successful enough, then maybe my father would finally be proud of me,” I confess, my voice trembling. “But now… now I’m starting to realize that he’ll never care what I gain or lose.”

Damien stands and comes over to where I sit. He gets on his knees and takes my hands into his, peering into his own. “But I see you, Genevieve. I care if you win or lose. I care if you’re happy or sad. I see you, and I’m here to tell you that all I want is for you to fulfill your heart’s desire. I’ll open every door I can for you, I’ll hold you when you fall, stand by when you rise. Perhaps now, you can finally be the phoenix to rise from the ashes of her past.”

His words envelop me like a warm blanket, wrapping me in safety and assurance. There’s a sadness in his voice, and as he lifts my chin to meet his gaze, I can see a new emotion emerging—determination.

“Damien,” I whisper, my voice barely above a whisper. “I... I don’t know what to say. I never had someone like you in my life. My father... he never... honeyed my words, never made me feel cherished. He would never understand the depth of your kindness, your strength.”

“And I don’t want him to,” he replies, his eyes never leaving mine. “I want you, Genevieve. I want you and only your happiness. We’ll show him, you and I, just what you’re capable of.”

My tears now turn to tears of joy. I cry through my tears, having never felt this loved before. Damien smiles as he rises to his haunches and brings my lips to his own. He tastes them, salty from my tears and sour from the wine, and he feels soft, cozy, and comfortable.

And at the same time, fiery.

I realize, at this moment, that I want to give myself to this man completely and wholly. I’ve wanted to before, too, but he stopped me each time. But now, I’m going to set out to get what I want, exactly how Damien says I should. And he’s not going to be able to put up a fight.

Chapter 17 - Damien

I break away from our heated kiss when a foreign sensation creeps through me—vulnerability. I never thought a woman could affect me like this. Not even my own siblings have managed to crack the tough exterior that has served me well for years. But here I am, feeling an overwhelming sense of fear at the realization of how deeply I care for Genevieve and how capable she is of influencing me to uncover the layers of myself I’ve never shown the world, hidden even from myself.

“Damien,” she whispers softly through our kiss, her voice filled with desire and a fiery determination for more that stirs yet terrifies me.

If we take this any further, I’m afraid of how deep I could fall for her. If that were to happen, I’d lose the toughness I’ve built over the years. I’d be weakened, vulnerable, and afraid of harm coming her way and mine, for I’d never wish her to suffer should something happen to me.

I try to regain control over my emotions, but it’s like trying to tame a wild storm. The air around us charges with electricity, transforming every touch into a spark.

I’m afraid that if we carry on a second longer, I’ll lose all control. Slowly, I caress her cheek and pull away.

She looks at me, all confused, her lips parted for more.

“It’s been a long few days,” I say, standing to my feet. I extend my hand out for her to take it. “Come, let’s head inside and call it a night.”

She looks at my hand and ignores it. Instead, she reaches across the table for more wine. “I think I’m going to have another glass.”

I pull back my hand and she gives me a daring look, urging me to try and stop her.

Genevieve’s silent protest sparks amusement in my eyes as I watch her pour herself another glass of wine. She meets my gaze with determination, challenging me in a way that reignites the fire between us. With a smirk playing on my lips, I take a seat and observe her with a newfound appreciation for her spirit.

But I won’t succumb.

She takes a sip of the wine. The rich red matches the natural flush in her cheeks. “Is everything a challenge to you?” I remark, unable to resist teasing her.

There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sets the glass down. “Only when it’s worth it,” she replies, her voice laced with playful defiance.

She stands and walks over to the edge of the balcony, sipping her wine. I can’t help but let my eyes drink her in one more time. Then, slowly, she takes off her coat, and her soft, smooth skin shines in the light. She looks so beautiful standing there on the balcony, bathed in the moonlight. My eyes take in the picture of her in that short, tight black skirt with a nude pink satin sleeveless blouse tucked into it. Standing on my balcony in that outfit, she would make the perfect photo. Her innocence and natural sensuality blend together in a way that is so refreshing, I could drink it in all night.

She turns back, walking closer to me, her body swaying with a sultry confidence that leaves no doubt about her intentions. I’ve never seen her walk this way. I can tell she’s putting on a show, all for me.

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