Page 16 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

“You give her too much credit, Gordey.” I let out a dismissive laugh at how ridiculous his assumption was. “She’s a little kitten. Not a wild cat.”

He tilted his head, lips sagging ever so slightly. “A little kitten you'll be sharing your bed with.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Gordey had made it his mission tonight to aggravate this situation by any subtle means possible. And he was doing a pretty good job at it.

My blood boiled at the fact that I would indeed share my bed with someone else—of all people, Lorena Campbell. I'd never liked sharing my stuff, my space, with anyone that wasn't a one-night stand. I'd always found peace and comfort in the quietness of my room, alone with my thoughts and demons.

Now, all of that was about to change, and I didn't think I was ready for that just yet.

I heard my phone buzz in my pocket, and shifting the redhead off me, I withdrew it. A notification popped up on my lit screen—a message from an unknown number.

“Hey, it's Lorena Campbell. We need to talk. Coffee tomorrow?” I could almost hear her sassy voice in my head as I read her text.

“Speak of the devil,” I said, meaning every word literally, not figuratively.

“Lorena?” Gordey's brows arched in surprise.

“She wants us to talk over coffee tomorrow,” I replied, scoffing and gently shaking my head, wondering what she was up to.

“Shit just got real a lot quicker than I thought.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What're you gonna do now?”

I was quiet for a moment, intrigued by her message and the urgency it carried. I didn't like her, but she'd managed to pique my curiosity. Now, she had my attention.

What could she possibly want to talk to her future husband about?

My lips curled into a sly smirk as I saw this as an opportunity to be a thorn in her flesh.

Perfect.

Chapter 6 – Lorena

I drew in a deep breath, standing outside the quaint café, my wavy brown hair rustling in the gentle wind as I lowered my head, texting Ravyn.

My manicured fingers rattled across the keyboard displayed on my screen. Typing in the words, I muttered, “I'm at the location. Wish me luck.” I hit thesendicon and clicked the button on the side of my phone, killing the screen.

I raised my head, shoving my phone back into my bag. My eyes caught my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass window in front of me.

The loose coffee-brown knee-length gown Ravyn had helped me pick out from my wardrobe cascaded down my body. The fine silk fabric hugged me in the right places, not revealing too much of my curvature but doing enough to maintain an effortless vibe.

I stood balanced on a pair of rich, dark leather boots, their heels elongating my legs, making me inches taller and adding a touch of edge to the overall look.

Initially, I’d thought the boots were a little too much, but once again, Ravyn's intuition had proven spot on. Not bad at all.

My skin glowed with a warm, sun-kissed radiance, blending seamlessly with the light makeup on my face—courtesy of Ravyn's skillful hands.

My appearance was simple but classy. It didn't matter that I hated the man I was meeting up with; looking good was non-negotiable.

I glanced at my watch. I was already ten minutes late, yet I maintained my cool.

Men like Alexei Tarasov hated sitting and waiting. In most cases, it was always the reverse; people would usually sit and wait for their arrival and not the other way around.

He must be so upset right now, and the idea alone gladdened my heart, filling me with some sort of inner peace and joy.

The plan was to make him see reasons why this marriage wouldn't work, so why not start by getting on his nerves? He was a principled man who expected things to be done in a certain way.

For men like that, going against these principles or set of rules was always a red flag—which, by the way, was the plan: to orchestrate those red flags. Alexei's time was precious to him; therefore, wasting more than a couple of minutes should be enough to get me into his black book.

I sincerely hoped the day would go as I’d planned.

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