Page 18 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
She paused, chewing gently, fingers tightening around her fork and knife. Ravyn glanced up at me, her blue eyes burning with anger and resentment.
My words had triggered her. Good. I loved that.
“I’ve had better,” she finally answered, her tone dry and flat.
My lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “Hate me all you want; it won’t change anything. You belong to me now.”
She locked her jaw, eyes squinting with furrowed brows as her face contorted into a gorgeous frown. Her expression darkened, her nose flared, and she glared at me. “On paper, yes,” she replied, her voice low and venomous. “But in here…you have no strings on me.” The slight pause came when she tapped her finger on her temple.
I let out a soft scoff. “Your father is alive and well. Your family business is out of the gutter. You should be thanking me.”
“A ‘thank you’ won’t be enough; it won’t cut it,” she began, holding my gaze. “Would you like me to also grovel at your feet, kiss your shoes, and bow my head in reverence?” The sarcasm in her tone couldn’t be any more glaring.
Her words and the disdainful manner in which she spoke them struck me like a knife to the chest. My eyes squinted ever so slightly; however, I wouldn’t let her see how much her response got to me.
She didn’t stop there. No. Ravyn continued with the same low, sarcastic tone. “But by all means, thank you, Lev Tarasov, for saving my family name. Thank you for being such ageneroushuman being.” She stressed the word ‘generous.’ “Happy now?”
I should be pissed; I should react. But no. I knew better. Ravyn Jensen was messing with me—she was trying to get under my skin, and I refused to play her game.
A self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, and I poured myself some more wine. I raised the glass and replied, as calm as I always was, “You’re welcome.”
After my equally sarcastic reply, I sipped from my glass and watched her return to her meal.
As irritating as she was, I couldn’t help but be drawn to her intelligence, fearlessness, and stubbornness. Ravyn was confident even in danger; she was a fire with no filter. However, beneath her bravado, there was a tender vulnerability, one she concealed with wit and sarcasm.
When the dinner ended, the press was already waiting outside. The moment we stepped into the open, a wall of cameras and voices rose, questions flying in the air. I squinted at the camera flashes in my face, my hand finding Ravyn’s waist—firm and unyielding as I pulled her to my side.
She didn’t resist; instead, she played the role of a happy fiancée—smiling and waving. To the watching world, we were such a great couple, and a lot of gullible people would look up to us as role models.
Idiots.
The photograph would show nothing but elegance and charm, especially with Ravyn’s outstanding performance as a happy fiancée. Her mask of composure, her smile, and the fitted dress that accentuated her figure were enough to fool anyone.
Hand in hand, we walked toward the car waiting across the building. I opened the backseat for her, and she got inside.After closing the door behind her, I murmured some polite answers to the press and then walked over to the side and got in.
“Drive,” I ordered the driver.
He started the engine and drove away immediately.
In the backseat of the vehicle, we took off the masks—the smiley faces and the politeness. She sat by the window with her arms crossed, keeping a reasonable distance from me.
“That was a good show you put on out there,” I said without looking at her. “And you will continue like that regardless of how you feel about me. Understood?” I glanced at her.
She looked at me, brows furrowing, clearly displeased by my tone. “And if I don’t?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Test me and you’ll find out.” The lack of emotion in my tone unsettled her more than she’d ever admit.
Ravyn swallowed hard but said nothing; instead, she looked away, a hint of fear flickering in her gaze.
Every step of the upcoming wedding preparations would run on my schedule. Not hers. She’d have no say in it whatsoever. It wasmyplan, and it would play outmyway. I didn’t give two shits about flowers or colors; all I cared about was control, and this would be my stage.
Her resistance was still intact for now, although I could already see the cracks forming. I didn’t need her submission yet. I just needed the stubborn little devil to understand that every move she made from now on would be inside the cage I built.
Chapter 9 —Ravyn
The white silk lace was everything I ever imagined—fitted, gorgeous, expensive—yet it felt like a costume. It felt wrong, forced, heavy with the weight of the choice I never had.
My heart was pounding in my chest, a heatwave coursing through my body as I stood in front of the full-length mirror. The woman staring back at me was a beautiful bride—light makeup that blended with her skin tone, honey-blonde hair styled to perfection, and lips painted a shade of red.
