Page 27 of The Russian's Forced Bride
But I could never completely see it all, and part of me just wished it was all a dream—a dream my subconscious created to explain my mother’s death, since I had always sought some kind of answers.
And for the first time in my life, I slept peacefully after seeing so much more gore in my dreams.
I could still feel his warmth as I lay on the pink sheets of my bed, my hands spread out, reaching for the spot where he had been beside me. He had been here, cradling me like a baby until I fell asleep.
This was the same man I could’ve sworn was no better than the devil himself. It was hard reading him. I thought I was good at unraveling people at a glance, but in some ways, I was wrong about Rafael.
I wasn’t so sure who he was anymore or why he made me feel things. But at the same time, I figured that his comforting me could be another tactic of his to get me to obey him.
Whatever it was he was doing, he was confusing me—and I hated myself for being so vulnerable to him.
Morning sunlight seeped in through the dark blinds of my room, reminding me that it was very much morning.
I had woken up a few hours after Rafael had supposedly left my room, and when I went in search of him, I realized he wasn’t home, which I found hypocritical of him, considering he said we were on a honeymoon lockdown for at least two weeks.
A daring part of me thought about leaving for a while, since Eleanor was still very much in Chicago, shown by the many pictures she sent of herself exploring the city with her boyfriend. But then an uneasy feeling made my insides tremble.
If Joaquin Saavedra was truly responsible for Father’s murder, then I wasn’t safe at all. The two of them were like the closest thing to friends in a world full of rivals. I could even swear they were closer than Dad said he was with the Bratva. But everything changed when Rafael revealed he had masterminded the explosion.
It made me scared and paranoid—and that was enough to make me obey.
The room—once a gilded cage of luxury, with a sparkling chandelier hanging above me, modern artworks, and Chinese antiques carefully arranged on my dressing table—now looked beautiful, especially after last night’s events.
I carefully swung my legs off the bed, pulling the velvety blinds of my room aside to let the sun’s warmth caress my body.
For the first time in a while, I felt comfortable in a home, even though that home was akin to a prison. It was still much better than living under my father’s roof.
I sighed.
I didn’t have much planned for the day, but ever since Dad’s death, I had been working from home as the branch manager for Chicago.
I knew it was only a matter of time before I got calls from the board of directors about who would step in as the new director and CEO of Father’s business.
But then again, I wondered why I still hadn’t received any calls.
Though a tiny voice in my head knew it had something to do with the Bratva.
They didn’t just marry me into their family for loyalty and protection—there was something in it for them, and I had come to accept that the chances of inheriting Father’s company might no longer be mine.
The day went smoothly, as I spent most of it working on my laptop and constantly drinking myself to a stupor with coffee.
By evening, still dressed only in my robe, I decided I could at least cook dinner for Rafael since we didn’t have any cooks yet.
My phone buzzed on the marbled kitchen island while I prepared my recipes for a light meal.
Lara.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. We were once the best of friends, and I could’ve sworn we still were, but after her whole relationship with Matvey, things between us became a bit stifled.
We naturally grew apart—not physically, but mentally and emotionally.
But still, my face lit up as her caller ID flashed across my screen.
“Hey, Lara. What’s up?” I feigned a breezy laugh, my hands gripping the pan in my hands. I was nervous, and I didn’teven know why. This was my friend. She was at Dad’s funeral and even my wedding.
But why did it feel like I was talking to some stranger?
“I’m good, Ari. How’s the honeymoon coming along?” A pause followed, and then she said, “I know it must be hard for you—you know, with your dad’s death and getting married into this whole Bratva bullshit.”
