Page 37 of The Bratva's Prisoner Bride

I didn't like second-guessing anything. It was counter-productive and did nothing to further the goals and ambitions of the family. In every way that I could, I tried to not regret anything I did.

And yet, Daria seemed to put a wrench right in the middle of that philosophy.

I was annoyed with her and myself, wondering if I got myself in too deep...if I made a mistake by seeking revenge on Daria.

Even if getting under her skin was exactly what I wanted, there was something about the way she argued with me so freely that turned my satisfaction into fury. That fire in her both intrigued and frustrated me, and while it came with the nature of my plan, something about it felt less...fun.

It was easier to handle when I was in the mood for it, but with the usual work and taking on a new business venture, I didn't have the same time or capacity to deal with her tantrum-like fits.

If anything, those moments made me consider if I had done the wrong thing. If I should've just left her in Mexico and have been done with it.

Maybe then I'd have one less thing to contend with.

While that seemed like the easier scenario involving much fewer headaches, the mere thought of leaving her behind made me feel sick to my stomach.

I didn't understand why. After everything with her and Rurik, that should've been the most straightforward decision I could reach.

My inability to keep myself in check didn't help my doubt either. I should've known it wouldn't have been easy to keep myself away from her, given how attracted I had been from the start. In a way, that aspect was a losing battle.

But things had changed. Surely, the fact that she was my wife had something to do with my weakened resolve.

There was something about knowing she was legally mine that made her even more tempting. As much as I wanted to keep my hands off her, the prospect of having her next to me every night and not being able to feel her felt like an injustice.

Plus, something in me just wanted her. Craved her.

I knew it wasn't in my best interest, but I couldn't help it.

Despite myself, she managed to find a way to sneak in and muddle up my feelings to the point of making me second-guess myself, which made her dangerous.

It meant I had to keep my walls up and focus on my revenge, not fickle emotions.

After taking the time to cool off, the remnants of annoyance remained to a lesser degree, and I went back to the kitchen. A part of me was hoping to find her back there again, while the other was somewhat relieved since I was able to grab more coffee in peace.

After pouring another mug full, I turned to face the windows and leaned back against the countertop behind me.

Through the glass, I could just barely see where Daria was sitting out in the sun with her arms crossed. From what I could tell, she still looked pissed off.

It made me scoff quietly to myself, but as I took a sip from my coffee, I noticed the notepad Veronica normally carried around sitting on the island.

A dark, harsh line etched onto the top page caught my attention, making me drift closer until the entire picture came into focus.

It was a cartoonish picture of me with a scowl...there was no questioning it. And, of course, it was crossed out, too—a clear indicator of just how angry Daria had been with me.

At first, it spiked my anger all over again to think she would do something so childish in the heat of the moment.

Yet, the longer I looked at it, taking in the strangely precise and accurate lines, the more I found myself intrigued by it. Regardless of the subject matter, it was half decent for a scribble.

More so, I couldn't ignore the faint pull in the chest...a strange twist of regret. Potentially even empathy, if I had it in me.

Glancing back at her through the window, I knew there were two paths in front of me. One that involved me sticking to my guns, being an asshole to her, and likely only making things worse. The other consisted of meeting her halfway and putting a shred of effort into being better to her—being an actual husband to her.

It was a strange concept, but given how my attempts to make her miserable were having the same effect on me, the latter seemed more appealing.

With a resigned sigh, I scrubbed a hand over my mouth and knew what I had to do.

Hearing her out would make my life easier if nothing else.

As much as that felt like admitting some kind of defeat, I didn't know how much longer I could stand that constant ebb and flow of hating each other.

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