Page 44 of Forced Pregnant Bride

I didn’t even bother correcting him on my last name. My brother was more important.

“Jay!” I ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck and holding him tightly. He stiffened, but I didn’t let go.

“What happened?” I demanded, pulling back just enough to look at him. My hands cupped his face, my thumb brushing against the edge of the Band-Aid on his forehead. “Why are you hurt? Who did this to you?”

“Serena,” he said, his voice rough, like it had been scraped against sandpaper. He didn’t smile. That alone sent a pang through my chest. His eyes darted to Matteo, who stood a few feet away, watching us with a guarded expression.

“Talk to me,” I said, my voice breaking. “I was worried about you. I—”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but his eyes betrayed him. They darted away, scanning the parking lot like he expected someone to appear out of nowhere.

“Fine? Don’t be ridiculous.” My throat tightened, and I shook my head, refusing to cry. “You’re hurt, Jay. I saw you, and I couldn’t just…I couldn’t stay away.”

He sighed, his hands gripping my arms gently as he stepped back, putting a small but unbearable distance between us. Then I saw him lift his hand to his head, fingers grazing the edge of the Band-Aid stuck over his temple. It had drawn my attention the moment I spotted him earlier, stirring an ache of worry that refused to leave. But now, as his fingers peeled it away, the realization hit me like a punch to the chest. There was no wound. No cut. No bruise. Just smooth, unmarked skin.

This was my brother, my little brother, the same one I’d practically raised as though I was his mother. Shocked, I dropped my hands from his arms, stepping further away from this young man I no longer recognized.

Standing by the lamppost, the Band-Aid, driving away as soon as he knewI’d recognized him….

“Jay?” My voice wavered, trembling under the weight of confusion and growing dread. “You were…faking?”

I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. Timur had made sure my eyes remained tear-free for weeks. But now, how ironic it was that seeing my brother would spring painful tears to my eyes.

His eyes softened with something I couldn’t quite place—perhaps regret or something darker. He stepped closer, his movements measured, as if I might bolt.

“Serena,” he said, voice low and calm. Too calm. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. You won’t understand now, but I promise…I’m going to make everything alright.”

“What are you talking about?” I stumbled back, panic rising in my throat like bile. My hands went to the door handle behind me, but he lunged forward before I could grasp it.

Something cold and sharp pricked my arm. I looked down to see the syringe in his hand, the needle already buried in my skin.

“No!” I gasped, yanking my arm away too late. I slapped at his hand, but he held firm, his grip unrelenting.

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling the needle away and pocketing it in one smooth motion. “Don’t fight it, Serena. Just trust me, okay? It’s always been you and me against the world. It still is. I’m here for you. I always will be.”

The world tilted. My vision blurred, swimming with distorted colors and shapes. “Jay,” I choked, my legs bucklingbeneath me. He caught me before I could hit the ground, his arms wrapping around me like a lifeline I didn’t want.

Timur….

I wanted to scream my husband’s name, to have him catch me in his arms instead, to hold me and promise me that everything would be okay.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Jay whispered instead, his voice echoing in my mind as darkness consumed me.

Then, there was nothing.

Chapter 18 – Timur

“What we need is stability and steady projection. Expansion can come later. We are already big enough as it is, and we’re doing fine. We don’t need to impress anyone.”

Petrov Ludovico slid his briefcase across the desk, a smug look plastered on his chubby face, and with his vintage slicked-back silver hair, navy blue suit, and heirloom rings lined on his fingers, he was the pictorial representation of a bloody arrogant ass.

I didn’t like him, and he didn’t like me, but he did good business. That was why, despite the urge to whack his face with the back of that leather briefcase, I opened the lid and frowned at the neatly arranged rows of mint green bills.

“You think you can fucking buy me, Ludovico?”

“Buy you?” He laughed, and the sound of his hoarse cackle grated my nerves. “Anyone who thinks they can buy the great and mighty Timur Yezhov surely takes delight in wasting his or her time. I’m not an idiot, Timur. Take that as an increase in my investment.”

Shutting the lid, I pushed the briefcase back to him. “We’re good. I don’t need any more of your fucking money.”

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