Page 21 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

She’d set up the meeting just to try and convince me that she wasn't the perfect woman for me. No arguments there. She most definitely wasn't. But unlike her, I understood the concept of loyalty to a cause.

I hated this plan just as much as she did, but I wasn't going to turn my back on the organization that had taught me nearly everything that I knew. The Bratva's interest would come before mine—that was one of the key differences between me and her.

She was a selfish little brat who cared only about herself. Her father's company was at stake, but the concept of sacrifice was clearly alien to her. This was a rare chance to help save her family name—her father's legacy—and instead of her embracing it hook, line, and sinker, she was busy searching for ways to opt out.

If I had such a self-centered daughter, I'd be disappointed.

I had a million and one reasons why I shouldn't be with her, but I was willing to shove all of those under the rug just to see the progress of the Bratva.

I swiped a palm over my face as images of her face flashed in my head. It was weird, but somehow, I could still smell her rich perfume like she was here in this room.

PakhanArtem was right. Shewaseasy on the eyes—a lot more mature than the last time I’d seen her. Lorena was a woman—a curvaceous one, at that. She'd added up in the right places, and her cleavage had almost distracted me at some points during our conversation.

The gentle swell of her breasts peeking from underneath the fabric of her dress kept drawing my eyes like a moth to a flame. However, I didn't let her notice my distraction, so I masked it with a higher level of arrogance than hers.

She was beautiful and attractive—no arguments there.

I'd seen her the moment she walked into the café, but I was quick to take my eyes off her, thinking she was just another one of the random patrons around. This was because in my head, she was still the same girl from three years ago. I'd refused to upgrade the way I imagined her; maybe if I had, I wouldn't have been caught off guard by her transformation.

When she’d halted in front me and greeted me, I lost my breath for a moment there. I assessed her head to toe within seconds, and the woman standing before me was an epitome of beauty.

Her long, wavy, brown hair had fallen loosely over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with mirth as she looked at me. The coffee brown knee-length gown she had on hugged her in the right places—simple yet stunning.

Her light makeup had blended seamlessly with her toned skin, and her alluring legs inched longer thanks to the heels of her red leather boots.

She was gorgeous!

But she was also Lorena Campbell, the woman I despised the most in the world.

When she’d settled into the seat across from me, I took some time to study her body language, breathing patterns, and even the slightest switch in her expression. She was an enemy, and I observed her as I would any enemy.

While she’d rambled on and on about why this marriage was a bad idea, I finally learned her reason for meeting with me. She wanted to get under my skin so I'd hate her more than I already did. She had thought in her puny mind that pissing me off would make me call the wedding off.

When that hadn’t worked, she switched to giving flimsy excuses why she wouldn't make a great wife.

I realized then that this meeting might not have been such a bad idea after all. My insistence on marrying her only got her more and more upset. She tried to hide it, but I could see right through her.

The fact that she loathed this union more than I did was the perfect window to make her suffer. This was my chance to mess with her and do to her what she had planned on doing to me.

My calmness had gotten to her more than she would care to admit, and I enjoyed watching her struggle to stay composed. It was a beautiful sight to behold.

In her mind, she’d done a good job at masking her frustration, but within those few minutes, I read and studied her like an open book.

The faint creases on her forehead, the subtle scowl on her face, the narrowing eyes and furrowing brows—they all betrayed her attempts at staying calm.

She'd claimed to have had plastic surgery, but that was just another one of the lies she told me that day. I could bet my life that Lorena Campbell had never even conceived the thought of having plastic surgery.

She was a simple girl who wasn't interested in drawing too much attention to herself; at least I knew that much about her. And despite the conviction in her voice when she’d said it, her face betrayed her words.

Lorena would say one thing, but her countenance would reveal an entirely different thing altogether. Maybe if she’d mastered the art of deception, she would’ve stood a chance at selling her claims.

The funniest lie she’d told was about her having multiple sex partners. It was so funny that I’d tried not to laugh. A slut wouldn't call herself that. She wouldn't tell it; she'd show it.

I’d done my homework on her, and as I had expected, she was only exaggerating to make a point. She'd had a couple of exes, but that was it. Nothing serious. In fact, there was nothing promiscuous about her past. She was clean—too clean, maybe.

Lorena Campbell was all grown up now, but she was naive and inexperienced, and sadly, she was going to be my wife.

That fact that this marriage was hurting her was enough consolation for me. Seeing her in pain and misery would help ease my dissatisfaction with this situation. I could live that.

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