Page 33 of Forced Bratva Hostage

There was a knock on the door that stole our attention. It creaked open, and from the entrance, Mary, clad in a lovely blue dress like Martha's, stuck her head out. “They're ready for the bride.” Her smile was as soft as a whisper, barely audible but deeply felt.

Martha returned her gaze to me, a melancholic grin touching her lips. “It's time.”

I heaved a heavy sigh, preparing myself for the lifetime promise I was about to make.

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Standing at the altar before Afanasy and the priest, my initial confidence was overshadowed by nervousness. At the last minute, my legs turned to jelly, lips quivering as the tremor sprinting through me vibrated my core.

My heart was threatening to explode from my chest, my eyes immediately misting at the myriad of thoughts and emotions that overwhelmed me.

It wasn't like I was harboring second thoughts. No. I was just nervous, especially at how long “forever” was. Saying “I do” would mean sealing my fate for all eternity; my heart, my life,and my body would all belong to Afanasy. He'd be my husband, my Lord, and the head over me. Of course, I was bound to be nervous—any woman in my shoes would be.

In his eyes was a flicker of uncertainty—as though he was unsure of what my response would be. It looked like my hesitation to answer had seized his breath for a fleeting moment.

The way his shoulders subtly relaxed after I said, “I do,” was a testament to how much he was banking on me saying those words.

There was something beautiful about the way he was looking at me, and it caused my cheeks to flush, creating butterflies in my stomach. He looked so handsome in that impeccably tailored suit and perfect hair.

My tension was starting to ease, a faint smile finding its way to my lips, when I heard that familiar voice that stole my breath away immediately.

“Dad?” My brows arched in a mix of shock and surprise.

“I have your money. Now let my daughter go!” he declared, rushing down the aisle with hasty footsteps.

He was holding up a briefcase, his voice commanding attention.

Afanasy's face contorted into a deadly sneer, his eyes blazing with fury. His fingers clenched into fists as he growled at Harrison. “How dare you?” His scowl deepened, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

“I'm saving my daughter from you!” Dad declared, his voice firm and courageous. “Take your money and leave her the fuck alone.” He tossed the case on the fine marble floor and kicked it toward Afanasy.

Murmurs rose from the crowd as our guests exchanged glances. Afanasy's men revealed their weapons, three of them heading toward Harrison with mean expressions on their faces.

They seized him by the arms as he struggled against their strength. “Let go of me! Wren!” he shouted.

I flicked my hand in the air, and for some reason, Afanasy's men let him go. Later, I'd take some time to think about how good it felt to command their respect with a single gesture. But right now, there was no time to be surprised. I had to put an end to this once and for all.

Afanasy's gaze lingered, probably wondering what I was up to or maybe even curious to find out.

I turned to face my dad, who was looking around, a little shocked by the stunt I'd just pulled. “Sweetheart, come on. Let's get outta here,” he said, his tone dripping with affection as he beckoned me.

I looked him dead in the eye and said, my voice cold and stern, “No.”

His eyes widened, shock dancing their depths. “Wh…what…what?” The disbelief in his tone couldn't be any more glaring.

“Did I stutter?” I asked, my expression blank. “I said no.”

Dad stumbled backward as though my words of rejection had struck him like a powerful blow. He blinked rapidly, his eyes misting as he stared at me, breath lodged in his throat.

“You don't get to show up out of the blue after abandoning me for more than a month and dictate what I should or should not do,” I spat those venomous words that seeped into his very core. “You no longer have that right…Dad.” That last word was laced with sarcasm.

His breathing became jagged, hard to catch, as his blinking eyes roamed the church as if to quantify the number of people I'd denied him in front of.

“Sweetheart…it's me…it's Dad,” he said, taking gentle steps forward, his soft tone dripping with pain and hurt.

Whatever agony my words must have inflicted on him was nothing compared to what he'd made me feel in times past. It was high time I stood up for myself and put an end to his reign of abandonment.

“It's too late to play the role of a caring father, Harrison. You had so many chances to do that, but you blew them all.” I paused, letting my words sink into his bones.

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