Page 102 of His Forced Bride
Somewhere between hatred and fear, between forced vows and chosen touches, my feelings for him have shifted into dangerous territory.
Alina would be horrified if she knew where my thoughts have gone.
My best friend, with her fierce loyalty and protective instincts, would tell me I'm losing myself to Stockholm syndrome.
She'd remind me that healthy relationships aren't built on forced marriage and murder.
But Alina hasn't lived in my world.
She hasn't watched everything she built nearly crumble because she was too weak to protect it herself.
She hasn't felt the relief of knowing someone will spill blood to keep her safe.
He holds me as sleep takes the edges off my guilt and fear.
At some point, he lies down, taking me with him, and his breathing evens out beneath my cheek.
I realize he's fallen asleep too, still holding me.
Still protecting me, even in unconsciousness.
Tomorrow, I'll wrestle with the morality of my feelings.
Tonight, I just need to feel safe.
18
YURI
Standing behind my office window, I watch Viktoria Mirova walk across the courtyard as though she owns the ground beneath her feet, honey-blonde hair tied up, coat flowing behind her.
Even from this distance, I recognize the cold determination in her posture—the same ruthless ambition that destroyed her marriage and drove her from her family years ago.
If she were the head of a family like mine she would destroy it in a matter of months.
She has no clue what she's doing.
Oleg intercepts her at the main gate, blocking her path to the compound.
She gestures wildly, her voice carrying across the courtyard even though I can't make out individual words.
Her hands wave around theatrically, every motion designed to convey her righteous indignation, but it's put on.
Semyon warned me of how vicious Viktoria is, and while I'm putting out fires with the Kozlovs, I have no time to deal with her, but it looks like I don’t get a choice.
I pour myself vodka and settle into the leather chair facing the window.
This confrontation was inevitable from the moment she returned to St. Petersburg.
Viktoria never approaches lacking strategy, never makes demands lacking leverage.
The question isn't whether she wants access to her daughter—it’s what price she intends to extract for that privilege.
She won't back down from this fight no matter how many times I give her the cold shoulder.
I sip my drink while I watch as she produces documents from her purse, waving them at Oleg aggressively.
He remains unmoved, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
