Page 30 of The Bratva's Prisoner Bride

To my dismay, the plan was so effective in crushing her spirits that I had nothing left to leech off. Where her new fire had been was only ash, and only I could take credit for that.

While I got exactly what I wanted, it didn't take long for me to find less sadistic glee in my antics, and I couldn't find the same interest in tormenting her as I once did.

My gloating eventually came to an end despite myself, and as a result of winning far too easily, given my upper hand from the start, I was left with a restless, annoyed wife.

Before, she used to get riled up by my arrogance and teasing...she would fluster the moment I switched my smooth voice on and crowded her personal space. She would show bravery while talking back to me, and that was what made it fun. Attempting to tame her had become the game, and while it had been exciting at first, it didn't have the desired effect anymore.

In any other case, I would've moved on once the boredom set in, but I couldn't in that set of circumstances. Technically,there were lots of ways I could handle the situation, but for whatever reason, I couldn't stomach the ones that involved hurting her.

I told myself I wouldn't harm her in the first place, which I followed through with. Because of that, it felt impossible to start. Especially when I couldn't see that spark in her anymore.

As a result, I found myself second-guessing my decision to do something so drastic and legally binding.

One night, after watching her glide into the bedroom and settle beneath the sheets, she looked exhausted, but her breathing didn't change the entire time I stayed awake. She lay there, eyes open, and I doubted she slept at all.

The chase had been fun, but when she wasn't fighting back, that desire in me began to ebb.

Even while I entered the kitchen to grab more coffee before heading out to work, I found Daria sitting at the kitchen island while she ate. I looked her over briefly before reaching the coffee machine to pour myself some.

I murmured a 'good morning' to her while the dark liquid poured into my travel mug, and while I at least expected a half-assed response, she said nothing.

Brows raised, I glanced over my shoulder to find her looking down at her plate, not even bothering to meet my gaze.

"Morning," I repeated expectantly, assuming she'd take the hint and at least muster up the courtesy to say it back.

But she didn't.

Instead, Daria stood, leaving her half-eaten toast behind, and exited the kitchen entirely as if I had the plague or something.

I stood there for another moment, brows furrowed, before I put the remaining coffee back and screwed the lid on my mug.

Frustration stirred within me all the while I headed out, unable to get my mind off of how miserable she had been consistently as of late.

Even if I was the one in control, Daria was pulling away from me in the only way she could, and while I wanted to remain indifferent, I couldn't. I didn't understand it, but it bothered me.

Forced to push the irritating thoughts aside, I climbed into my car and left the house, wondering how I'd justify keeping Daria around to myself.

After seeing the dejection on her face, grief as clear as day, a fleeting thought moved through my mind. It would be a mercy to get an annulment and let her go. To let her start over again without me or her brother. Maybe then she'd be able to live as her real self after discovering who that version of herself was.

But that wasn't an option. Regardless of how her lack of a fight was pulling me down, too, I made my decision and had to deal with it.

The sickening crack of my knuckles colliding with an old associate's face was an effective way to get my mind off everything.

Standing on those isolated docks of the marina we owned, I gripped the man's collar while he slumped over, heaving in deep breaths while blood dripped from his shattered nose.

"Please...stop..."

His rasped words were music to my ears, and rather than hear his plea in the way he wanted, it only made me hit him again. And again.

Aleks and Dima stood behind me, arms crossed while they witnessed the beatdown I was gladly handling him. They didn't say anything at first.

Every time my fist connected with his bloody and bruised face, a sense of satisfaction and achievement moved through me. Even if he wasn't fighting back, he deserved the beating, and he was someone I could morally lay a hand on without throwing my ideals out the window.

The man wept pathetically with his swollen face, which made me only want to hit him more. But Aleks put up a silent hand to stop me and took a step forward.

Interrupting my momentum, I reluctantly complied and released his collar, letting the man slump back against the cement retaining wall behind him.

Taking a step back, I clenched my fist through the faint ache, savoring its sting.

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