Page 28 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
Silence.
She shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. “This is all your fault, Val. And this marriage proposal is nothing but failed damage control.”
For the first time in a really long time, I felt an emotion I’d buried years ago. Guilt.
She straightened and wiped her tears so quickly, like she didn’t want me to see her cry. “Thank you, Valarian Tarasov. Thank you for ruining my life.” With that, she walked away, a hand over her eyes, faint sobs spilling from her lips.
“Fuck,” I murmured, slamming a fist on the table. I ran a hand through my hair, a million thoughts tugging at my mind, threatening to rip it apart.
Things just got more complicated than I imagined, and I couldn’t help but sense a storm coming. One that I might not be ready for.
Chapter 11 – Wren
This wasn’t a wedding.
No.
It was more like a funeral.
We were gathered here—the domestic staff and a few of Val’s men—not to witness a union, but to mourn the death of a life once filled with love and promise.Mylife.
I was dressed in a black silk lace, elegant but suffocating—literally and figuratively. The fabric clung to my skin in a way that revealed my curves and contours, my black heels lifting me inches above the ground.
No decorations, no flowers, no music. Nothing. Just an abandoned drawing room, swept clean for the occasion. Our guests were a handful of Val’s workers with flat expressions and a priest whose eyes were too hollow to meet mine.
The room was dimly lit by the rays from the sun peeking through the broken glass window. The walls were damp, covered with crawling vines and algae. The air was stale, carrying the stench of mildew that clung to the walls.
I was suffocating, and it felt as though oxygen itself had abandoned this place. Dust floated lazily in the shafts, swirling like smoke over a grave. The room was empty and hollow, and the silence was so loud it made my skin crawl.
My heart sank into my stomach, and I struggled to breathe. My eyes were empty, and my face was as blank as a sheet of paper. What was meant to be a celebration turned out to be the burial of everything I once dreamed of—a career, love, and a good home.
Thanks to Val, they were all nothing but ash now.
Everything happened so fast, and it hurt so badly that I’d come this far, only to end up like this—the bride of a ruthlessmonster who couldn’t even afford to be on time for his own “wedding.”
I stood at the makeshift altar, alone, too numb to feel anything. I’d cried my eyes out the whole night, wondering why I was so unfortunate. I felt so abandoned, so unlucky, and so useless.
The groom was running late, and the guests—however few—were starting to murmur amongst themselves. I should be ashamed to be marrying a man who couldn’t make it on time to his wedding in his own house.
At this point, nothing was going to surprise me anymore; these people had shown me the worst of the worst already. A part of me didn’t even want him to show up. I wished he’d just abandon me here and later send me out of his house. Or better still, put a bullet in my skull.
At least, ending my life would put me out of this misery.
The doors parted open, and he walked in, dressed in a black tux over a black undershirt. His outfit was as all black, as though he, too, were mourning. He wore his signature unreadable expression, his polished shoes scuffing against the floor as he approached me.
Val stood before me, his steel gray eyes boring into mine as the priest began the ceremony. I wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t bring myself to do so with all the million thoughts tugging at my mind.
My tear glands were strained, my heart shattered into pieces, but I wouldn’t let these people see me cry. No. They didn’t deserve to see my tears; none of them did. It took everything in me to hold back my emotions, and the more I fought, the more painful it became.
Just like that, my life was over.
Funny how the one thing I loved the most turned out to be the exact thing that ruined me. Photojournalism. Ironic, isn’t it?
Maybe if I hadn’t taken that damn photo, my life wouldn’t have been so messed up. If someone had told me months ago that a single photograph could alter the course of my life and land me in so much trouble, I never would’ve believed them.
But here I was, standing before a monster, ready to sign my life away. He claimed he was marrying me so that he could save my life, so he could save me from the wolves that wanted me dead.
However, the million-dollar question still remained: Who would save me from him?
