Page 45 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

“Jennifer,” I say, more sharply this time. “This is happening whether you like it or not. You’re my wife now. You and Tyler will live with me. End of story.”

Her gaze finally shifts to me, her eyes full of emotions I can’t quite read. “Why bother telling me? It’ll happen either way.” she murmurs, her voice low.

I don’t answer immediately, because she’s right. She didn’t have a choice. It’s not about that anymore. This is the life she has now, and she needs to accept it. I’m not going to let her wallow in pity or regret.

“We’re a family now,” I say simply, my voice firm. “That’s all that matters.”

Jennifer turns back to the window, but I catch the way her hands grip the fabric of her dress, the way her jaw tightens. She’s holding something back, something she wants to say but doesn’t. I know she hates this situation, hates me for what I’ve forced her into. Deep down, there’s a part of her that doesn’t completely hate it.

The attraction between us is still there, simmering beneath the surface. I can’t deny that I enjoy knowing she’s mine, even if she resents it. She belongs to me now, and I’ll make damn sure she remembers that every single day.

The car pulls up to the mansion, and I glance at her once more before stepping out. “Welcome home,” I say, holding the door open for her.

Jennifer hesitates for a moment, then steps out, her eyes taking in the sprawling estate before us. I can see the apprehension in her expression, the uncertainty. She’s nervous, and she should be. Life with me isn’t going to be easy, but it’s the only life she has now.

As we walk toward the entrance, I glance back at her. “Tyler will be here tomorrow. You’ll see him soon enough.”

We climb the wide, spiraling staircase, the quiet between us punctuated by the sound of our footsteps against the polished wood. The mansion looms around us, grand and imposing, but Jennifer’s tension is palpable. I can sense her unease as she glances around, taking in the grandeur that is now her home.

“Your things will be delivered from Italy soon,” I say as we walk down the long hallway toward the master bedroom. “For now, you’ve got your essentials… and that red dress.” My lips twitch into a smirk. That dress is imprinted in my mind—sexy, lacy, and leaving very little to the imagination.

Jennifer casts me a sidelong glance, but she doesn’t respond. I know what she’s thinking—what I’m about to make her do—but she’s smart enough not to argue. Instead, she nods, her eyes darting away, and the silence returns between us.

We reach the bedroom, and I push open the door. The sheets are perfectly pressed and inviting, lush curtains drawn.

“You’ll shower in there,” I say, motioning to the en suite bathroom connected to the bedroom. “Put on the dress.”

Jennifer’s fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, but she nods again, obediently walking toward the bathroom. I watch her disappear behind the door, the tension clinging to her like a second skin. The game we’re playing isn’t lost on me, and I can’t deny the thrill it brings, seeing her submit to my will.

I walk out of the bedroom and head across the hall to the second bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I step inside, peeling off the jacket of my wedding suit. The black suit clings to my frame, perfectly tailored to fit every line of my body. The crisp white shirt beneath is unbuttoned at the collar now, the tie hanging loose around my neck. The jacket had been a symbol of power during the ceremony, but now I discard it with ease, letting it fall over a chair.

My reflection stares back at me, cold and composed. Sharp jawline, dark hair swept back, and piercing blue eyes that betray none of the chaos inside. I splash some water on my face, letting it cool my skin. The gold wedding band on my hand feels heavier than I expected, a constant reminder of the commitment I’ve just made, whether Jennifer likes it or not.

I run a hand through my hair, straightening myself before slipping off the shirt. The muscles of my chest and arms flex beneath the light, the result of years of rigorous training, both physical and mental. In this world, appearance is everything,and weakness—whether physical or emotional—is never an option.

I pull on a clean pair of black pants, leaving my chest bare for the moment. There’s no need for formality anymore, not in the privacy of my bedroom. Not when Jennifer’s about to walk out in that red dress.

I dry my hands and head back into the hallway, my mind already focused on the woman waiting in the en suite. She’s probably trying to stall for time, nervous about what comes next. She should be.

I push open the bedroom door again, stepping inside and making my way toward the bed. The soft fabric of the sheets crinkles beneath me as I sit down and then stretch out, lying on my back with my arms crossed behind my head. I’ve never been one for patience, but tonight, I’m willing to wait.

This moment is inevitable, and soon enough, Jennifer will understand that fighting me is useless.

I glance toward the bathroom door, the faint sound of water running behind it. My pulse quickens slightly, anticipation building as I imagine the moment she steps out in that dress, the way it’ll cling to her body, the way she’ll look at me with a mixture of defiance and submission.

It’s been a long day, and the night ahead promises to be even longer. I’m ready for it. For her.

Chapter Twenty-One - Jennifer

I step out of the bathroom, the lace of the red dress clinging to my skin. It’s revealing, too much for me to feel comfortable. My fingers hover near the hem, tugging slightly, as if pulling it down will somehow make me feel less exposed. The soft click of the door shutting behind me sends a jolt of awareness through my body.

Timur is already in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, his sharp blue eyes tracking my every move. His expression shifts the moment he sees me, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me, his gaze dark and intense, like a hunter assessing his prey.

I take a step forward, hesitantly. “I feel ridiculous,” I mutter, barely able to meet his eyes.

His grin only widens as he stands up, moving toward me with a deliberate slowness that makes my heart race. “Let go of the dress,” he orders quietly, his voice deep, dangerous.

For a moment, I hesitate, clutching the lace tighter in my fingers. Something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at me like he owns me, makes me drop my hands to my sides, exposing myself fully. The air feels too thick, the tension between us almost unbearable.

---