Page 39 of His Forced Bride
"She's part of the arrangement."
Dimitri laughs.
"Part of the arrangement… Of course."
He stands, smoothing his jacket.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Brother. Any sign of weakness, any hint that you're making decisions with your cock instead of your brain, and they'll tear you apart."
His warning comes with a sinister laugh as he steps back out of my office.
I return to the reports, but the words blur on the page.
All I can see is Inessa's gray-green eyes, defiant and frightened.
The intercom crackles.
Rosa's voice carries worry I rarely hear from her.
She's normally as steady as the rising sun.
"Mr. Gravitch? I need to speak with you about Miss Mirova."
"Of course, Rosa. Come in." My shoulders straighten as the door opens again.
She enters, silver hair slightly mussed, kind brown eyes tight with concern.
Rosa has managed this house for fifteen years, has seen bodies carried out in the dead of night and never asked questions.
What could rattle her now?
"She won't eat," Rosa says.
"She threw the breakfast tray at the door. The hair stylist came and went—Miss Mirova screamed at her until she left. Now she's locked herself in the bathroom and won't respond. I fear she's going to harm herself."
It makes sense.
The only thing that would upset me more than my brother trying to ruin my plans would be if someone harmed Inessa and made it impossible to go through with them, even if it was she who did it to herself.
I'm already moving, storming across the house to the guest wing kept under lock and key.
The room sits at the end of the hall, with heavy drapes drawn against the morning light.
Water runs behind the bathroom door, but underneath it I hear scraping—metal against metal, rhythmic and determined.
"Inessa."
Normally, the authority in my voice makes grown men weep and wet the bed, but this woman is determined and hardened against me.
There's no response from the other side of the door and the scraping continues.
I try the handle but it's locked.
A new sound joins the scraping—the squeak of hinges under pressure, the groan of metal being pried loose, and I know what she's done.
I slam my shoulder against the door, splintering the wood around the lock.
The second impact sends it flying open inward and startling her.
