Page 49 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

The color drained from his cheeks at my words, and his lips twitched at the corners as though my statement had hurt him.

Good.

I stepped closer to him, looking him dead in the eyes with the meanest expression I could muster. “That ‘punk,’ that ‘rich asshole,’ is twice the man you will ever be, Bryce,” I hissed the words, my tone biting and contemptuous as I hurled the verbal dagger at him.

His eyes misted, and his throat wobbled, a testament to how hard he swallowed.

I leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I'd rather spend the rest of my life with him than spend another minute standing here with you.”

His body trembled, and he blinked rapidly like he was struggling to fight the tears that filled his eyes. His nose flared, lips quivered, and face paled even further, now drained fully of color.

“Let me make one thing clear, Bryce Foster: If you ever pull a stunt like this again,” I warned, my voice cold as ice, “you will live to regret it.” I eyed him, disdain etched in my gaze.

His eyes dropped, unable to meet my glare as a flush of shame crept up his next.

He stumbled backward as I shoved past him, my shoulder deliberately jamming into his chest.

“Please, don't go,” he begged, his voice weak and faint, filled with pain and regret.

“Have a nice life, Bryce.” I stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind me.

His pleas meant nothing to me. I had a bigger problem on my hands: Alexei.

How would I explain sneaking out of the house and returning at this time of night?

Chapter 17 – Alexei

I was furious, eyes blazing red as I clenched my jaw and balled my fists. My chest was heaving slowly, and my face contorted into a frown as I paced back and forth. I gritted my teeth, trying to curtail my rage, a hand ruffling through my hair.

She stood there in front of me, silent, with her head bowed and eyes dropping to the floor. Her shoulders were slumped, and she chewed on her nails, a glint of remorse mixed with fear flashing across her face.

She'd stepped into the house about two minutes ago and met me standing in the living room, seething silently. I was too angry to speak, my hands shaking as I felt the spark of rage jolting through my body.

She hadn't said a word, either, and I could sense her anxiety—could smell her terror even though she tried to mask it with a straight face.

I hated that she’d made me worry so much about her safety and the baby's. However, I couldn't help but wonder who she was out with.

“Where were you?” I questioned, my voice low but filled with rage.

She was quiet, still avoiding my gaze. Her eyes roamed the room, lips pursed into a fine line.

Was she ignoring me?

I knew she wasn't. She was probably afraid to respond; nevertheless, her silence only infuriated me even more.

“Where were you, Lorena?” I demanded, repeating myself a second time. My blood just boiled hotter and hotter.

Again, no response.

“Answer me!” I thundered, invading her space. My scowl deepened, my voice trembling with fury.

She flinched at my reaction, her body stiffening instinctively as she managed to meet my gaze. Her eyes misted, tears simmering in their depths.

I stepped forward, holding her gaze, my movement closing the distance between us. My breathing became ragged—heavier—as a silly thought crossed my mind. She wouldn’t do what I was thinking, yet I couldn't stop myself from thinking it.

The mere thought of another man's hands on her, another's lips on hers, turned my stomach, sending waves of possessive rage surging through me.

A torrent of jealousy and anger swelled within me, darkening my face. I felt a vein bulging in my forehead, pulsating with my racing heart. My whole body shuddered with tension, muscles coiled as my fingers twitched.

---