Page 43 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
Her phone rings again. This time, it’s Violet. The name flashes across the screen like a flare in the dark, and Jennie’s whole face lights up with hope.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, reaching for it. “It’s—”
But I snatch it up before her fingers can touch it.
“Adrian—”
I answer the call.
“She’s safe,” I say, my voice cold and final. “She’s mine. And she’s not coming back.”
Then I end the call without another word.
When I turn back to her, her face is pale. Horrified.
Her lips part. “You had no right—”
“I have every right. The sooner you remember that, the easier this will be.”
She lunges across the table, fingers curling around her phone just as I tighten my grip.
“Give it to me!” she snaps.
I don’t let go.
Her eyes blaze, jaw clenched, fury radiating from her in waves. She pushes at my chest, hard. Then again. Her fists land on me, small and angry, and I feel the hot burn of her frustration rise like a storm—her rage, her fire, her resistance.
God, she’s beautiful when she’s furious.
I don’t move. I don’t flinch.
I feel.
Every strike of her fists is like a jolt to my bloodstream, stoking something deeper, darker inside me.
“You can’t control me like this!” she screams. “You can’t own me. I’m still my own person!”
She tries again to rip the phone from my hand.
I catch her wrist mid-swing, grip firm but careful. Our eyes lock.
“No,kroshka,” I murmur, voice low. “You were your own person…until you became mine.”
“You are a joke!” She spits in my face. “I’m not yours. Not even your ring can change that.”
My jaw clenches, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. “Your past life is over, Jennie. You’re making things very difficult for yourself by trying to fight it.”
She opens her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to scream, but I don’t give her the chance. My eyes darken, colder than steel.
“You belong to me now. Every breath. Every move. Every inch of you.”
I turn, sharp and final, my heavy boots echoing against the polished floor as I stride away without a backward glance, leaving the phone on the table.
Chapter 9 – Jennie
I step out onto the terrace, the morning air crisp against my skin, a sharp contrast to the wildfire still burning in my chest. The mug of coffee in my hands is still full—lukewarm now—but I hold onto it anyway, something to ground me. Something to clutch while I pretend I’m still in control of something…anything.
I feel like I’ve just walked away from a storm, but the storm is still inside me. His words echo in my head.
