Page 8 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

I laughed, navigating through the pages of the website. Their UI was impressive, but their UX…not so much.

After filling in my card details, I clickedPay Nowand waited for confirmation. A few seconds later, an error message popped up:Transaction failed.

Deep creases formed between my brows as I squinted, confused. “That's weird.”

“What happened?” She looked in my direction for a fleeting moment before returning to face the road.

“The transaction failed,” I replied, inputting my details a second time.

“Yeah, it happens—could be a glitch. Try again,” she suggested, taking a gentle turn down another street.

“I'm on it,” I said, punching in the requirements.

Again, the same message appeared.

My face contorted into a frown, and I felt a pang of irritation and embarrassment. “You gotta be kidding me,” I whispered, going for the third attempt.

Same thing.

This had never happened to me before, and the fact that it was happening now, of all times, infuriated me.

“My stupid card keeps declining.” I tossed the phone onto the dashboard, my head bowing in frustration, and rubbed my temple.

“Okay, relax, feisty pants,” she said, her voice sharp and alarming, spooked by my reaction. “Checked your bank balance yet?” She looked at me.

“Why?” I pushed my head back, shocked by the question.

I'd never had any reason to—Dad always sent my pocket money by this time of the month. Always.

“Maybe you don't have enough funds,” she suggested, returning her eyes to the road.

Her assumption was harmless, but it didn't stop me from feeling a little insulted. My eyes narrowed, hating that she'd even insinuate something like that.

“That's impossible.” I massaged my forehead. “I should have more than enough.” I grabbed the phone from the dashboard and logged into my mobile banking app.

My breath hitched in my throat, eyes widening in disbelief as I stared at my balance: $30.54. “Are you kidding me?!” I exclaimed, my voice shaking with outrage.

Frantically, I refreshed the page. Maybe it was some sort of glitch in the system or something. But it didn't matter how many times I refreshed; the numbers remained the same, taunting me.

Thirty dollars and fifty-four cents. This was the amount in my bank account the last time I went shopping three days ago. This only meant that my monthly allowance hadn't come in yet.

“I'm calling my dad,” I whispered to myself, dialing his number.

I felt like an entitled brat waiting for her father to pick up the phone so she'd lash out at him for forgetting to send in her monthly allowance. I could hear it ringing on the other end, my heart racing with anticipation and annoyance.Pick up, pick up, pick up.

Finally, he did. But there was something glaringly off about his voice—something cold. “Hey, kiddo.”

I could sense the unease in his tone, and my anger melted immediately, my heart skipping a beat. “Hi, Dad.” I lowered my voice, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You're calling regarding your monthly allowance, aren't you?” He paused for a moment, his sigh amplifying my concern. “I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you're not gonna be getting your usual pocket money.”

My heart sank into my chest.

This was new—new and scary.

My father was Oscar Campbell, one the most successful businessmen in the city of Chicago, a man revered and respectedby many. Why wouldn't I receive my usual pocket money anymore? What exactly was going on?

My breath lodged in my throat as I thought of a possibility. A few weeks ago, I’d overheard Dad discussing with his wife—my stepmom, Darcy—about how the company was facing some corruption challenges.

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