Page 50 of Forced Bratva Hostage

For a mother, Julia was still so damn gorgeous—a stunner who turned heads, perfect in every way, as revealed by the elegant gown that hugged her frame like a second skin.

Seeing her so happy melted my heart, my lips retaining an unwavering smile as I watched, appreciating the gladness she exuded.

“You okay?” Julia asked, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, concern flickering there. “Something on your mind?”

“Not really,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She squinted, examining me with suspicious eyes and tilting her head. “‘Not really’ is somewhere in between yes and no,” she said, watching me closely, her tone dropping lower. “You're confused, aren't you?”

I lifted my eyes, taken aback by the preciseness of her assumption.

She drew closer, standing by my side. Both of us were beside a champagne tower, and my eyes roamed the expansive space.

“I've been where you are, Wren.” She looked at me, her gaze etched with solemnity. “Confused, with conflicting feelings. I know what you're going through, and trust me when I say that it'll all turn out fine in the end.” She gently squeezed my fingers.

“How can you be so sure?” I questioned, my tone dripping with skepticism.

Deep down, all I needed was reassurance. I needed to know that my life wasn't so bad, after all.

“You sound like me two years ago when someone told me the same thing,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “Guess what? They were right.” She exhaled softly. “Sometimes, Wren, we find happiness even in the most unlikely of situations.” Julia shrugged her shoulders. “It's just life.”

I drew a deep breath, my anxiety dissipating as a fresh wind of calmness blew across my face. This was the clarity that I needed, and without question, I believed Julia's words. She was living proof that happiness could sometimes emerge from the most unexpected places.

I hadn't met her husband, but from the little I'd gathered from the maids, Roman was colder than Arctic water, a lot worsethan my husband, Afanasy. Yet, in spite of this, Julia still found bliss in the midst of adversity.

If marrying a ruthless Bratva boss could turn out fine for her, maybe there was hope that I'd have the same luck.

Afanasy wasn't as bad as Roman, although I knew he could be the devil if need be. Ever since he married me, he'd been kind, sweet, and simply amazing. His sudden change was part of the reason for my fear and skepticism about the whole situation.

We hadn't said those three magic words yet, but deep within me, I knew what I felt. It seemed too soon to harbor such feelings for him, and I wrestled with my guilt every day for falling so quickly.

It couldn't be helped, though, I wasn't in control of my emotions, and a part of me strongly believed that Afanasy felt something for me, too.

Whenever he looked at me, his eyes betrayed his buried feelings. He hadn't admitted them—not to me, anyway—but I could see a glimmer of emotion in his eyes each time he stared at me.

And the sex? Thinking about it now made my mound tingle. The intensity of his touch, the way he made love to me, and his tender kisses were beyond just a physical act. These were all a profound declaration of his love—I hoped.

“Wren, sweetheart,” Julia's voice brought me back to the present, my gaze returning to her, “give it some time…. Everything will fall into place. I can assure you that.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners, a bright smile spreading across her face.

My lips curled into a matching grin, my head nodding in affirmation. “Thanks, Julia. This means a lot. I needed to hear that.”

Her phone rang in her diamond purse. She withdrew it and answered, “Hello?” She went silent for a second. “Okay,I'll be right there.” Julia hung up the phone. “Wren, I'm so sorry, but I have to go,” she said, her voice low and apologetic. “Something's come up, and I'm needed urgently.” Her words tumbled out in a hurry, accompanied by a swift kiss on my cheek. “I have your number. I'll call you later.”

“Sure. Take care.” I kissed her cheek, and she rushed out of the hall, her elegance unaffected by her quick paces.

I exhaled sharply, standing alone, eyes scanning the hall for my husband. I'd seen him leave, heading toward the balcony on the east wing, so he should still be there.

He'd refused to compliment me earlier, and that hurt me—broke my heart. That was because I was really looking forward to hearing his remark about my appearance, hence my disappointment when he didn't. His eyes betrayed him, though. I could see the admiration in their depths, but he still remained adamant about not voicing it.

However, despite how bad he'd made me feel, I was willing to let go and at least enjoy the evening with him. We came here to party, to have a good time—it was only logical that we did just that.

I glided through the crowd, and while in motion, I could feel the stares. It was awkward at first, especially since I was alone, but bit by bit, I grew accustomed to it.

The Tarasov family members weren’t shy or timid; one of the major characteristics of that family was confidence. I was a Tarasov now, and it was high time I started acting like one.

Discreetly, I drew a deep breath, straightening as I slowed my pace, my movements fluid and gracious. Poised, I continued, gliding through the elegant guests, my demeanor exuding confidence.

As I drew closer, I heard the indistinct voice of a woman but didn't think much of it until I rounded a corner and immediately stopped in my tracks.

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