Page 17 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
He paused, his brows knitting together, a stark contrast to the blank expression on his face. “Yes.”
Lev didn’t even finish his response when I stood up and walked out of his office. With my head down, I hurried out of the warehouse, shoes squeaking quickly against the floor.
The moment I reached my car, I yanked the door open, got inside, and slammed it shut. My head fell onto the steering wheel as I let the tears flow, a hand resting on my chest. I cried like a child, my body shuddering, heart breaking.
I hated myself for shedding those tears, but then again, it was the only way that I could feel better.
About two minutes later, I wiped my tears, lifted my head, and drew a deep breath. I buried my face in my palms for about a second, trying to get a grip on myself. A soft exhale escaped my lips, and I combed my fingers through my hair.
Feeling a bit better, I started the engine, its low hum filling the car’s cabin. Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I set the vehicle in motion and drove out of the compound.
The world outside felt different—sharper, more dangerous—like stepping into a storm I couldn’t see. I could feel it, though, pressing in on all sides. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles ached, promising myself that I wouldn’t break, no matter how hard Lev pulled the chain.
He would never truly own me. Never.
At home later that night, after taking a warm shower, I stood in front of my full-length mirror, a white towel wrappedaround me. My hair was damp, my skin dotted with water droplets. The lady staring back at me wasn’t the same girl from six months ago.
That girl had evolved—grown into a woman—stronger, sharper, and more experienced. I survived the hardest storm the Jensen family had ever faced. And now I was walking right into another.
But this time, I knew what I signed up for and what to expect. If I could, I’d make Lev Tarasov regret ever underestimating me.
Chapter 8 —Lev
The engagement was public knowledge in no time. The press release was out, and her name was tied to mine in every major business and society column. It was all over the internet, all over the news—making the headlines and drawing unnecessary attention to myself.
Our engagement was what everyone talked about, especially inmyworld. Everyone had an opinion on the matter; to some, it was a good thing, a strategic union between two powerful families.
However, to others—Robert’s creditors—it was bad for business. His affiliation with the Tarasovs had now made him untouchable. They’d have to tread with caution, knowing that the man was in my fold now, under my covering.
Fighting him would be fighting me, and that would be a very terrible move on their part. At the right time, they’d find a way to settle this without violence. But for now, with this engagement, the Jensen family was off limits.
This wasn’t because I gave a shit about them; it was all part of my plan to keep Robert in line. And his daughter, too. The man was already indebted to me in more ways than one. Phase one complete.
Tonight was our official meeting since the engagement, and I paid for the whole restaurant just to have dinner with her. Undisturbed.
The table between us was polished to a shine that reflected the warm glow of the chandelier overhead. White linens, a bottle of red wine, crystal glasses, and two plates of high-quality meals decorated the table.
I sat across from her, watching her eat in silence, her mouth moving gracefully. Her eyes—those fiery blue eyes—werefixed on her plate as her manicured fingers wrapped tightly around her cutlery.
She had barely said anything since we arrived, and I was okay with that. At least she knew who she belonged to now. She knew her place.
Despite all her attempts at masking her fury and disdain, I could see right through her—could read her like an open book. If she had the chance, she’d jab that fork in her hand straight into my neck and watch me bleed to death.
With that much hatred oozing from her, I could only imagine the number of times she’d killed me in her head just tonight already.
It was satisfying to watch her struggle to stay composed, even though all she wanted was to scream at me. My lips curled into a faint grin as I chewed softly, savoring the delicious flavor that had erupted on my tongue.
It wasn’t just her pain and struggle that I was satisfied with. No. I’d be damned if I didn’t acknowledge how gorgeous she looked tonight. For a woman who clearly loathed me with every fiber of her being, she sure took her time to look good for me.
Her spaghetti-strapped black dress, dark as the night itself, hugged her in all the right places. The skin above her cleavage was so enticing that it kept drawing my eyes every now and then.
She wore light makeup that blended seamlessly with her skin tone. And her honey-blonde hair fell in effortless waves over her shoulders. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, mingling with the aroma of the food on our table.
The atmosphere was peaceful, just as I had imagined when I reserved the whole restaurant to dine with her. The faint clinking of cutlery broke the silence that stretched between us.It was calm, yes. But something else was missing. I wasn’t sure what.
I dabbed my mouth with a napkin, then reached for the half-empty glass of red wine in front of me. I drained it and reclined in my chair, eyes fixed on her.
To shake the table a little, I decided to break the silence. “How’s the food?” I asked, not because I cared about her response, but because I wanted to get under her skin.
