Page 12 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

My shoulders slumped, knowing I was about to get pissed off. With Darcy, it was inevitable.

Darcy was my stepmom: a tall, beautiful thirty-two-year-old blonde with green eyes, a petite nose, and a flawless complexion that seemed almost unnatural.

However, as gorgeous and attractive as she was, she was trouble—a force to be reckoned with. Darcy was feisty, neurotic, and high-strung. When upset or stressed out about something, she'd transform into a verbal tornado, unleashing sharp words that would leave her victims reeling.

Darcy and I never saw eye to eye, mainly because I couldn't see her as my mom. She tried at some point to act all nice and kind when my father had just recently married her. But as time went by, she lost interest in winning me over, and when she had her own daughter, she stopped trying altogether.

I'd always known that her claims to love and care for me were nothing but claims—fake. I could see right through her, and she hated it. Now, we were like two parallel lines that would never meet.

Every day for the past decade, I blamed the cold hands of death for taking my mom from me at a young age. If she were still alive, Dad would never have married Darcy—if anything, she would've been his mistress. At least that way, I wouldn’t have had to deal with her attitude—her insecurities and anxieties. Thewoman was a piece of work, constantly seeking validation and control.

It was good that her daughter Hannah was nothing like her. It would’ve been catastrophic dealing with two Darcys in the same house. The eighteen-year-old Hannah was more like our dad, calm and calculated.

“Your father's world is crumbling, and you waltz in here like you're doing him a favor.” She folded her arms across her chest as she stood by the staircase, her voice dripping with venom.

I was already used to her attitude, thanks to decades of being around her. I was almost numb to her erratic behavior.

“Hey, Darcy. Missed you, too.” I arched my brows, unfazed by her condescending remark.

She watched me in silence for a moment before a dismissive laugh broke from her lips. “You have no idea what's going on, do you?”

Underneath those emotional landmines, she looked worried. I could see it in her gaze. Her immaculate appearance was disheveled, her blonde hair tied back in a loose bun with dark circles lining her eyes.

Whatever was going on with Dad had really gotten to her, and that amplified my fear and anxiety.

“If you knew what I do, you'd be raising hell right now,” she added, her face reddening.

“What's going on?” I asked, my voice calm and collected.

Darcy had a way of effortlessly making mountains out of molehills. Maybe she was just exaggerating the situation…right?

“Your father never listens to me!” she raised her voice slightly higher than normal, a deep scowl settling on her face. “In fact, no one in this house does!” Her arms flailed as she spoke.

I groaned at this unnecessary drama, pinching the bridge of my nose. She was talking quite alright, but she wasn't answering my question. Classic Darcy.

She continued, demonstrating with her hands, her tone laced with frustration. “If he’d listened to my advice, we wouldn't have been in this situation. But no! He justhadto do it the Oscar Campbell way. Now, look where we are!” Darcy's voice cracked open, unleashing a flood of pent-up emotions. Her words exploded like fireworks, each one fueled by frustration and exasperation.

“You're not answering me, Darcy,” I said, my patience wearing thinner by the second as I rubbed my forehead in a massaging motion. “What's going on exactly?”

“Go ask him yourself,” she answered, her chest rising and falling. Her face contorted into a frown. “He's waiting for you in the living room.”

With that, she spun on her heel and stormed off, leaving me to my controlled anxiety.

Again, I drew in a deep breath and picked up my pace, my heart racing faster than before, thanks to Darcy.

As I stepped into the expansive living room, enveloped by the soft glow of the chandelier and the sweet scent of fine luxurious sofas, I locked eyes with him.

He sat on a couch, clad in an auburn robe, feet stretched out across the sparkling marble floor, one over the other. A bottle of wine and a half-filled crystal glass stood tall on a stool to his left.

I swallowed, letting out a soft exhale as I approached him, my eyes never leaving his face.

“I heard Darcy's voice echoing through the foyer.” He chuckled lightly, his dark hair simmering under the chandelier. “She filled you in yet?” He lifted his hazel brown eyes to meet mine.

“No, she didn't,” I replied, squinting, attempting to study him.

For someone whose world was crumbling to the ground—according to Darcy—Dad sure looked calm, speaking in a smooth tone. Maybe she had been exaggerating; it was possible. But then again, I knew my dad all too well. The man was a master at concealing his emotions when he wanted to.

“Dad, what's going on?” I halted in front of him, my chest heaving slowly. My anticipation was growing stronger by the second.

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