Page 17 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

“It's not?” I squinted, swiveling around to face him, my head slightly tilted to the side.

He shook his head, his gaze locked to mine. “I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you.”

Wait, what?

My brows arched at his words, his confession melting my heart. I wasn't expecting that at all, and now I was dumbfounded.

“You're just as good as I am in more ways than one, just as important,” he continued, his voice dripping with sincerity. “And Dad may not tell you this, but he knows it to be true.”

I blinked rapidly, resisting the urge to shed tears. His words had touched my very soul, and I stared into his eyes as if searching for any sign of insincerity. However, to my surprise, I didn't find any.

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, my throat wobbling as I swallowed.

“Because it's the truth and because I know how much you hate this,” he replied.

“You're right, Liam. I do hate it. I hate it so much,” I answered, my voice cracking, struggling against indignation. “For the sake of the family, I have to give up my own dreams. My future will suffer because I'm trying to do the right—is this even the right thing?” The words tumbled out of me in a rush.

“I know it's hard,” he said calmly, taking a step forward. “But I also know that you're stronger than you think.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, his smile broadening. “You've got this, Tess. I believe in you.”

This was surprisingly comforting and quite encouraging, unlike Mom's half-empty words.

My lips pursed as I tried to suppress the smile threatening to break out.

He beamed at me and withdrew, his finger pointing at the dress. “Can't wait to see you in that.”

I watched him dematerialize, and my chest heaved, a heavy sigh coming forth.

*****

The venue, a grand estate garden—chosen as a neutral ground for the ceremony—was alive with the soft of conversations. The sweet scent of blooming flowers wafted through the air, blending with the aroma of champagne.

Perfectly manicured lawns and towering trees provided a picturesque backdrop for the serene occasion. Our guests, powerful figures from both families, all dressed to impress, sat in their seats, their expensive fabrics rustling in the cool breeze.

The iconic “Wedding March” played in the background as I walked down the aisle, my elbow locked with my father's. My heels clicked on the stone path, each step heavier than the lastas we approached the altar. I felt like I was pulled toward a fate I couldn't escape from, and that alone quickened my pulse.

I could feel the gazes lingering on me and could hear the murmured admiration rising from the crowd. But that was the least of my concerns. They weren't the ones being offered to the devil himself.

My wedding dress flowed out at my feet, hugging me in the right places and accentuating my curves. My hair was styled into a perfect bun on top of my head, and my light makeup, together with my skin, glistened in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

At the altar, Erik stood tall, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. The delicate fabrics highlighted his imposing frame and masculine form. His dark eyes met with mine, and in a fleeting moment, he held my gaze. The intensity of his stare stole my breath, and my heart resumed pounding in my chest.

His expression was blank and unreadable, accentuating my concern. Yet, he had me glued to him, unable to look away.

Dad led me to the altar, where he left me to my fate, giving me away like a lamb to be slaughtered. I stood beside Erik, the priest's voice droning on as he commenced the ceremony.

Oh, my God, this is really happening,I thought to myself, my heart pounding and my chest heaving slowly. This was it. This was the moment I got bound to Erik Tarasov for life…or two years, in our case.

No one else knew of our plan, though, and at this moment, all I could do was hope that it would all play out well in the end. And in my favor.

Everything happened so fast, and the ceremony was a whirlwind of formalities. Our vows were exchanged quickly and efficiently. While speaking my lines, my voice trembled subtly under the weight of the situation.

However, when it was his turn, his voice was stern, firm, and resolute. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he slid the ring onto my finger, his lips curling into a self–satisfied smirk.

Then came the moment of truth.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest said, his voice piercing through my thoughts.

I steeled myself, my breath hitched in my throat as I watched Erik's eyes drop to my lips. He leaned closer, my heart racing with anticipation. My palms were sweaty, and my pulse was going haywire, making it almost impossible to breathe.

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