Page 42 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

My gaze flew to the rearview mirror, where I looked at my reflection. My shoulders slumped in mental exhaustion. My dark glasses concealed my eyes, which were swollen and red with bags under them from lack of sleep.

I was draped in an all-black ensemble—a black scarf over my head and knotted loosely around my neck and a pair of fitted black pants under a black top.

The idea was to be hidden, unnoticed, hence the reason I chose this terrible disguise to mask my identity.

I stared in the mirror, barely recognizing my own face, shrouded by the fabrics of my scarf and the dark shades that concealed my eyes. My hand reached out, fingers adjusting the rearview mirror for a better look at myself.

The car's cabin was silent like the graveyard, with only the sound of my labored breaths filling the air. I was overwhelmed by my own nervousness, and it was like the harder I tried to calm the bloody hell down, the more anxious I became.

I drew a deep breath—in through my nose, out through my mouth. For the next few seconds, I repeated the gesture over and over again until I started to feel a small sense of calm. My anxiety dissipated as I let it flow out with the air I exhaled.

Once I felt a little better, I glanced at my watch; the doctor must be waiting, considering I was already running late for my appointment.

I released a heavy sigh, bracing myself for whatever the outcome of this might be. “Here goes nothing,” I murmured, snatching the black jacket lying on the front passenger seat.

I took a fleeting moment to summon the courage I needed and opened the car door.

Stepping out onto the hospital's parking lot, my black outfit seemed to absorb the sunlight around me, and my shades shielded me from its rays. I slammed the car door shut, sweeping my gaze across the surrounding area as if to make sure I wasn't being followed.

With an effortless move, I slid into the tailored black jacket that added a touch of sophistication to my outfit. My black pumps clicked softly on the pavement as I headed toward the entrance.

I pushed the door and walked into the waiting room—a hive of quiet activities, filled with the soft hum of murmured conversations. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby machine wafted through the air, teasing my senses.

The cream-colored walls and plush beige furniture created a soothing atmosphere as a few people sat scattered around the room, their faces etched with anxiety and worry.

My heart skipped a beat when I set eyes on a young woman, no older than I was, trying to corral her rambunctious toddler. The idea that this could be me in the next few months if it turned out that I was pregnant scared the living daylight out of me.

To my left, an elderly man flipped through the pages of a worn copy of Time magazine. He was seated with his legs crossed, exuding an air of calmness, a stark contrast to everyone else in the room.

Suddenly, as I navigated through the waiting room, a warm voice called out, “Tessa?”

First things first, how the bloody hell did someone recognize me in this disguise? I guess I did a terrible job of masking my identity. But hold on, that voice sounded rather familiar.

I stopped in my tracks and raised my head, and there she was, her full lips curling into a bright smile as she held my gaze. Her light brown doe eyes sparkled with mirth, and her hazelnut brown hair framed her heart-shaped face.

My fingers reflexively plucked off my dark shades, and my brows arched in belief. “Clarice?”

“Oh, my goodness, itisyou!” she replied, beaming with a radiant smile, her heels clicking against the floor as she approached me.

Clarice Evelyn was an old friend of mine from school, and I hadn't seen her in ages.

She hugged me, her arms around me and mine around her. We took a moment to bask in each other's warm embrace, the blend of our perfumes filling the air.

We let go and, with uncontrollable smiles, watched each other in awe and amusement.

“My God! How long has it been?” She laughed lightly, her eyes shining with excitement.

“Long enough.” I chuckled, struggling to maintain the genuineness in my smile as I felt it starting to wear off. “Howareyou, Clarice?” I asked immediately, masking my distraction.

“I'm doing great, thanks!” she answered, her voice laced with a kind of happiness that I wished I had.

Clarice was still as vibrant as I remembered, still as pretty, and obviously still as perceptive, considering that she recognized me at one glance.

“What about you? How've you been?” she asked, her smile broadening, a hint of curiosity flickering in her eyes.

I retained my grin, though, on the inside, I was anything but calm. I couldn’t exactly sayI've been fine, except for the fact that I've never been good enough for my dad, no matter how hard I tried. And then, when the family business hit rock bottom, he sold me out to the devil himself. The arranged marriage benefitted the family and saved the empire but ruined my life.

Oh! It also turns out that the devil I married is a manipulative bastard who snaked his way into my heart and eventually into my pants. He took my virginity, and while I was thinking that maybe he wasn't such a bad guy, he went around flirting with some other woman.

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