Page 17 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

I smacked my lips, which were painted a subtle nude shade, before walking toward the entrance.

The tiny bells jingled as I pushed the door open and stepped inside, enveloped by the warm glow of the chandelier lights above. Soft jazz music floated in the background, blending with the gentle hum of conversations.

Inside was bustling with patrons: couples, families, and groups of friends chattering and laughing over steaming cups and plates of delicious-looking meals.

Baristas dressed in their uniforms—red polo shirts and black pants—glided through tables, warm and courteous smiles etched their faces as they took and served orders.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked foods wafted through the air, invading my senses as I stood at the entrance. I scanned the interior until I spotted him sitting alone by the window, gazing outside.

Intermittently, he'd check his watch before returning his eyes outside. The man seemed like he was running out of patience—the faint scowl on his face hinted at his frustration.

Good. Maybe this would go smoother than I thought.

His tailored charcoal gray suit fitted his muscular build perfectly, highlighting his imposing figure that seemed to command attention.

His broad shoulders and chiseled physique bulged from underneath his crisp white undershirt, a silver tie completing his ensemble. Alexei Tarasov exuded an aura of sophistication and style.

A group of girls at a nearby table couldn't help but stare at him, their faces aglow with excitement as they shared hushed comments and stifled giggles.

I rolled my eyes at how captivated they were by him. Those naive girls had no idea they were crushing on the devil himself. But I didn't blame them; hedidlook charming and handsome, enough to deceive anyone with a gullible mind.

Luckily for me, I knew exactly the type of man he was. His good looks couldn't fool me. I knew too much.

With graceful steps, I approached his table, my heels clicking against the fine wooden floor. The closer I drew, the more his expensive cologne filled my senses—rich and manly.

“Hi,” I greeted, wearing a plastic smile as I stood before him.

He shifted his gaze toward me, and for a moment there, my breath lodged in my throat as I caught his eyes—those piercing blue eyes.

I stood still, arrested by his features: sharp jawline, glittering dark hair styled to perfection, and captivating ruggedness.

Holy shit!I panicked.

This wasn't part of the plan. I never anticipated his good looks catching me off guard. A flutter of nervousness swelled up within me, but I wouldn't let it show. No way.

In less than two seconds, I was back in control, perfectly masking this fleeting moment of weakness with a straight face.

However, I noticed I wasn't the only one affected by the other's looks and appearance. Three years was a long time, and I, for one, had changed so much that he took some time to examine the woman standing in front of him.

His brows arched ever so slightly, eyes roaming my body with a glint of surprise dancing in their depths. Alexei seemed like he was caught off guard, like I wasn't the woman he’d expected to meet.

Did he think I'd still be the same teenage girl from three years ago? The one with the premature breasts and flat behind?

The shock on his face was amusing, and that boosted my ego.

“Lorena?” he asked, his deep voice dripping with surprise.

“Oh, it's that hard to recognize me without the ‘rich brat’ label attached to my forehead, isn't it?” My tone was sarcastic, laced with sass, daring him to deny it.

He squinted, disbelief coloring those blue eyes of his as he scoffed, shaking his head with a subtle motion. “Still as arrogant as ever, I see.”

I slid into the seat across from him, my gaze locked on his. “And you're still a hypocrite,” I said, keeping a straight face, my voice firm and confident.

He was just as guilty of the same arrogance he was accusing me of, hence the reason I called him a hypocrite. But somehow, that didn't seem to affect him at all. He just reclined into his chair with a pesky little smirk on his face, unfazed by my words.

That was weird. He was supposed to be upset. I was already ten minutes late, to begin with. So, why hadn't he turned red? My attempt to get under his skin was intentional. However, I either sucked at it, or he'd built a thick wall against my arrogance. Either way, I didn't like his calmness one bit.

Just then, a barista approached our table, interrupting our staring contest with her smooth voice and courteous smile. “Hi, welcome to Café Bliss. What can I get you?”

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