Page 3 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

“Hey, handsome,” Ravyn said, winking at the gorgeous bartender behind the counter.

He jerked his head and shifted his gaze across the two of us, eyes squinting ever so slightly.

“Two glasses of your finest champagne, please,” she said to him, her lips curling into a smile.

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of shock lurking in his eyes, but he served us regardless, without a word.

“Thank you,” she said before he shifted, attending to other guests.

Ravyn handed me a flute, retaining her smile. “To new experiences!”

I let out a heavy sigh, clinking her glass. “Here goes nothing,” I whispered to myself, taking a sip.

Ravyn did the same and watched me, waiting for my reaction. “And?” Her brows arched in anticipation.

I looked at her, the champagne bubbling and fizzing on my tongue, surprisingly sweet. “Not bad.” My lips twitched as I tried to suppress my smile.

“Told you, didn't I?” She chuckled, taking another sip from her glass.

This was my first time drinking, and maybe it was the champagne kicking in, but I felt as free as a bird, light as a feather. And as the evening unfolded, I began to loosen up, relaxing a bit.

However, after a few more glasses—as requested by me—my head started to spin. Voices began to echo, and it seemed like the world around me was swirling.

“Ravyn…” I called softly, fingers rubbing my eyes. “I don't feel too good.”

“Yeah, me, neither,” she whispered, massaging her temple. “Just hang in there. I'll be back.” She rose to her feet, clearly in better shape and condition than I was. “I need to use the ladies' room.”

I heard her footsteps receding as I struggled to keep my eyes open, hands smoothing my wavy brown hair backward.

“What's a pretty girl doing, sitting all by herself at a party?” a masculine voice said, accompanied by the sound of shoes clicking against the fine floor.

His perfume enveloped the space around me, and I turned to face him, leaning with his hand on the countertop. He was looking at me flirtatiously, his tongue licking his lips.

Oh, God, no,I thought to myself. The man seemed to be in his mid-twenties—tall, lanky, and clad in a black suit that complemented the color of his hair. He was handsome but clearly a womanizer who just wanted to get between my legs.

I ignored him, alarmed by his friendly smile, which I found a little too cliché, but he was persistent, drawing closer.

“The name's Geoffrey,” he introduced himself, extending a hand.

I looked at him with a blank expression, trying not to seem rude even though I didn't want him around me. “Lorena,” I said without taking his hand.

He pursed his lips into a fine line, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand, a little embarrassed. His eyes scanned the room for a moment as if to check if anyone saw that.

“Okay, Lorena, that was uncalled for, but I'll let it slide,” he said, beaming, his gaze locked on me. “You still haven't told me what you're doing sitting all by yourself.”

“I'm minding my own business,” I replied, shooting a quick glance at him. “You should try it sometime.”

His cheeks reddened immediately, his eyes blazing with fury, and his face contorted into a frown.

Usually, I'd never respond with this much sarcasm and rudeness, so maybe it was the champagne taking a toll on me.

“I see what you're doing,” he said, his face softening, that pesky little smirk returning to his lips. “You're trying to get rid of me.” He chuckled, leaning closer. “Hate to break it to you, honey, but I don't scare so easily.”

I didn't want him around, but I couldn't shake him off from the looks of things. Where was Ravyn when I needed her?

“What would it take for you to leave me alone?” I asked, all thanks to the alcohol in my system for this momentary boldness.

He flashed a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “How about your number?”

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