Page 29 of Forced Bratva Hostage

“You're going to be my wife, Wren,” he declared, his words cutting deeper than a knife. “And you're gonna do as I say.”

My shoulders slumped in dismay, tears streaming down my cheeks in an uncontrollable flow. My heart was broken, shattered, and battered at the realization of how messed up my life had become.

This ring on my finger signified that I was his, and even though I could've tried to reject it, it wouldn't have been a good idea.

I blamed my father for this. Everything happening to me was his fault. And to make matters worse, he fled the country like a coward, leaving me in the mess he’d gotten me into.

Now, I was forced to accept an engagement with the man who delighted in seeing me suffer.

Afanasy was handsome, powerful, and wealthy—most likely every girl's dream man. But this was against my will, meaning that I was just a glorified prisoner.

“Do I have a say in this decision?” I summoned the courage to ask, my gaze still lingering on him and my tone barely audible.

He placed a palm on my face, wiping my tears with his thumb. “No, sweetheart. You don't,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. Afanasy looked into my eyes and added, words striking me like an arrow to the heart, “You're mine now, Wren.” He edged closer and whispered into my ear, “I own you.”

His tone was soft and smooth, but his words were heavy—each syllable weighing me down. There was no remorse in his eyes, nothing whatsoever except for delight dancing in their depths.

“Stop ruining your makeup,” he said, cupping my face in his palms as his thumbs wiped my tears.

Ruining my makeup was the least of my problems right now. He and my father had just ruined my life.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his arm tightening around my waist and his breath brushing against my skin.

Gently, he placed my head on his chest, our bodies swaying to the slow rhythm of the classical music playing in the background.

It was official. This jam had climbed up the list of my least favorite songs. I despised it for one reason and one reason only: It would always remind me of this moment, the moment my fate was sealed.

I shut my eyes, and more tears rolled down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric of his suit.

Chapter 11 – Afanasy

The chandelier lights above cast a warm glow over the guests seated in the pews underneath the church's golden domes and intricate frescoes.

Impeccably dressed men and women, the majority of whom were close friends and family members, sat poised—some with serious faces, others with soft expressions.

The air was thick with the scent of incense, candles, and old wood as soft, ethereal chants filled the space, performed by a male choir dressed in black robes. Their melodious voices—angelic—echoed throughout the church building, adding to the ambiance of the event.

“I still can't believe this is happening, Boss,” Yakov said, his tone hushed under the choir's harmony. “But congratulations, sir.”

He looked his best today, suited up like a proper gentleman with a tie.

I squinted, my lips spreading into a small grin as I patted his shoulder and excused myself after spotting my cousin, Alexei, at a distance.

“So, you're finally off the market.” He chuckled lightly as I approached, his arms spread wide.

I slipped into his embrace with a faint smile. “Thanks for coming, cousin. I appreciate it.”

“I wasn't gonna miss it for the world.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“When I said that you needed to settle down and find a wife…” a familiar voice spoke from behind me.

I turned, and there he was: my older brother, Roman, clad in a white tux, his buzz cut shimmering in the light.

“I honestly didn't think you were going to listen to me, at least not this soon, anyway.” He halted in front of me with a hand in his pocket, pride flickering in his gaze.

“You came,” I said, a brief boyish grin flashing across my face.

“Of course, I did.” His face relaxed, nose crinkling. “I wasn't going to miss my little brother's big day.” He hugged me, gently tapping my back. “Congratulations, Afan.”

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