Page 120 of His Forced Bride
Now I didn't know what to think.
Yuri was so angry, his eyes filled with fury and rage.
Was he just protecting himself, or was he genuinely that concerned about me?
The realization creeps through my thoughts slowly, unwillingly.
I want to push it away, to cling to the fantasy of a mother who spent eleven years searching for her lost daughter.
But the inconsistencies multiply the more I examine them.
Her clothes were expensive.
Not just well-made, but designer pieces that I know are the kind only high-society women wear.
Her jewelry was tasteful but clearly costly—a watch that gleamed with real gold, earrings set with genuine diamonds.
Her hair had been professionally styled, her nails manicured, her skin bearing the telltale signs of expensive skincare and regular spa treatments.
For a woman who'd supposedly spent over a decade in exile, cast out from her family and fortune, she'd appeared remarkably well-maintained.
I rise and pace the length of the room, but the movement doesn’t help me settle.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the idea that Yuri could be right, but it takes root and spreads.
Why would Yuri's men treat my mother as a threat?
She'd been alone, unarmed, presenting herself as nothing more than a concerned parent.
But they resisted my bringing her here.
And Yuri himself had gone pale the moment he saw her.
I've never seen him like that, and I've never been at the explosive end of that anger, either, not like today.
What could make a man like Yuri Gravitch afraid of my mother?
I settle at the small desk and rest my chin on my folded hands.
The questions in my head multiply, each one more troubling than the last.
Where had she been?
Was she ever truly looking for me?
Or was she lying in wait, hoping I would bring her into my life?
And why did she wait until Batya was gone?
Afternoon fades to evening, and I remain motionless, trapped in a web of doubt that grows tighter by the minute.
I press my hands against my temples, fighting against the understanding that threatens to shatter what remains of my childhood illusions.
The mother I'd mourned for eleven years, the woman I'd imagined searching for me with tears in her eyes and regret in her heart—that woman never existed.
When footsteps echo in the hall outside, I don't move.
The lock turns, and Yuri steps inside.
