Page 27 of The Bratva's Prisoner Bride

Hell, if I were her, I certainly wouldn't trust me either.

But regardless of my goal to make her suffer slowly but surely, she was still legally my wife, and we'd be sharing the place for the foreseeable future. Because of that, I'd rather know more about the woman living in my house. It would give me an advantage of sorts...plus, I hoped being more genuine would make it feel less like I was sharing a bed with a stranger.

As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was curious about her. The real Daria.

Not Zoey, the woman I once had my sights set on. Even if a part of me almost mourned what had been and could've been, I knew it was pointless to stay hung up on that persona she sold to me.

Even if my motives were rooted in getting back at her, I needed to better understand the ins and outs of her. Both for the plan and to sate my curiosities.

While Daria sat there, looking at the food in front of us, she looked completely out of place, almost like she didn't know how to do something as simple as having dinner with someone else.

It was certainly a first for us, but to my delight, I couldn't get enough of how she seemed to squirm at the idea of being forced to sit with me.

The longer it went on before I told her to dig in, the more I was satisfied with my decision to arrange that little moment for us.

Whether she knew it or not, she was eating right from the palm of my hand.

Chapter 12 - Daria

I hated how easily he put me on edge just from existing...just from his domineering presence.

I didn't trust him, and I didn't trust the seemingly random dinner either. While it could've been innocent and well-intended, I couldn't shake how it seemed too...nice for him.

He made it all too clear before that he meant to make me hurt for everything, but between the nice clothes he bought me and now the strangely intimate dinner for just the two of us, I didn't know what to think.

It was working if his intentions were to be as confusing as possible.

Even after he told me to get started, I sat there in my chair and watched while he portioned some of the meal onto his plate.

I wanted to know what he was up to. What he was planning.

A small part of me wondered if he really did just want to be civil and coexist as any married couple would, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. It was too convenient after everything—after all of his threats.

As much as I wanted to continue resisting and causing a scene, I was getting tired of it all. Between feeling a semblance of warmth from him to getting nothing but cold, barely-contained anger right after the fact, staying alert for any change in his demeanor, and being aware of how much he despised me, my nerves were completely frayed.

It wasn't how I wanted to live, and I knew staying in that constant state of fight or flight wasn't good for me. Yet, it was far too reminiscent of how life had been with my brother.

Ivan glanced over at me with an expectant look. "Well? Eat."

Letting go of a discreet breath, steeling myself against it all, I did as Ivan said, and slowly added food to my own plate.

The meal was awkward at first with just the two of us sitting there, eating in silence. I could feel his eyes on me every once in a while, and it didn't do anything to soothe my fear and paranoia.

I tried to fight the instinct to believe he was planning something, not wanting to completely lose my cool. While I was tired of walking on eggshells, I also still had to protect myself in one way or another.

The quiet of the room was punctuated by the sound of our utensils against the expensive plates, and while the meal tasted great like it always seemed to, it was difficult for me to stomach it under his studying eye.

Even if it was something as simple as having dinner together, just sitting there was enough to make me wish I could just shrink into my seat until I was so small he couldn't perceive me anymore.

"You said before that you were a teacher," Ivan murmured, seemingly testing the waters. "...but you went to Mexico to write a book. Was any of that true?"

My brows furrowed slightly at the question, and I kept my voice quiet despite its accusatory air. "Is this an interrogation or something?"

Ivan physically bristled, allowing his stoic expression to shift to genuine irritation and interest. He scoffed, tone clipped. "Orsomething...I'm seriously asking."

Even if his annoyance triggered my own, I reigned it back in. His sincerity caught me off-guard, and while I was stillunsure about sharing too much with him, I found myself giving in.

"Fine...and no, it wasn't true. Just something Rurik told me to say," I admitted, feeling the scrutiny in his gaze.

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