Page 23 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
I retained that pesky smirk of mine, reached out, fingers toiling with the strand of hair that framed her face. “And you, Ravyn, now belong to me,” I replied with the same tone.
She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with slow, uneven breaths.
My gaze swept across her body, then settled on her face again. “You’ve had a long day,” I said. “Get some rest. The room’s all yours.” And with that, I walked back to the table, picked up the bottle of brandy and my glass, then headed out.
I felt her eyes on me as I strolled toward the door. She was confused, and the look on her face was priceless. Ravyn had thought that I’d take advantage of her—force myself on her. However, I’d proven her wrong by doing the exact opposite.
It wasn’t rejection. No.
It was a strategic move to keep her confused and uncertain about me. Being unreadable and unpredictable at all times was another layer of control—and that was exactly what I was doing.
Ravyn couldn’t understand what she’d just seen. It was clear she didn’t expect that from me. Even though she was relieved to watch me leave, one thing was certain. She’d sleep with one eye open tonight, unsure if I’d change my mind later.
I left the room and retired to my study across the hallway. The door was left slightly open on purpose so she’d see me working, unaffected by her presence.
Every so often, she’d open the bedroom door and stare in the direction of my study. Just as I knew she would. Such a predictable human being. She was checking to see if I was still in there, if truly she had the room all to herself tonight.
This was only the beginning of her confusion, the beginning of my control over her. She hadn’t seen anything yet. I was just getting started.
Chapter 11 —Ravyn
My eyes fluttered open slowly and easily as the early morning sun streamed through the windows, kissing my face. The pillow and mattress beneath me were soft and comfortable, with white sheets wrapped around my body to keep me warm.
I blinked a few times, memories flooding back to ruin my mood this morning. My heart skipped a beat when I realized where I was and that today marked the first day of being Lev Tarasov’s property.
I rolled over, lying on my back with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. I couldn’t help but wonder how long I could endure this—how long I’d survive in this place. My eyes wandered around, taking in the sight of this carefully arranged room.
The windows were all made of glass, floor-to-ceiling, the kind that gave the room a modern look. Every surface was immaculate, every object perfectly placed, as if nothing here was meant to be touched.
Plush white couches and sofas were arranged around the bed, their sleek curves softening the sharp, modern lines of the white-colored bedroom. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall like a black canvas against the whiteness.
The room had an almost ethereal calm, as if it floated high above the noise of the world. Lev might have been the devil himself, but he still had class—refined taste in elegance and style. The bed itself was built for nothing but comfort, covered with crisp white sheets and soft pillows.
I tossed the sheets to the side and sat on the edge of the mattress, my feet resting on the fluffy rug at the base of the bed. My fingers combed my tangled hair as I stared blankly into space, the sound of a distant siren drifting through the air.
With a few steps, I walked over to the glass window overlooking the cityscape below. Like a beautiful painting,the city spread across the vast land—skyscrapers piercing the clouds, streets glowing with headlights and bustling people, tiny as ants from this height, going about their daily routines.
I heaved a sigh and lowered my head, fingers rubbing my tired eyes. I didn’t get enough sleep last night because every so often, I’d rise and check on that monster in his study.
The way he’d left the room last night was rather suspicious—it wasn’t at all what I expected from him. I was grateful, though, relieved that he didn’t try anything funny. However, the million-dollar question remained: Why?
What was his game? What the hell was he playing at? I wasn’t trying to be ungrateful about how last night turned out in my favor; I was just trying to make sense of his decision. Clearly, it wasn’t because he somehow grew a conscience at the last minute. No. Lev Tarasov had something else up his sleeve.
Or maybe this was just my paranoia making mountains out of molehills. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood last night—too exhausted from the day’s activity. He might come at me when I least expected, and that was exactly what I dreaded.
I was prepared last night—emotionally and mentally—I was ready to get it over and done with. But then he switched tactics, deciding to sleep in his study instead. Except that he didn’t sleep all through the night. The man was busy working—on the night of his so-called wedding.
The fact that he was awake when he was supposed to be asleep was the reason I barely got any sleep myself. I couldn’t let my guard down, even after getting a pardon from the enemy. How could I when he was awake in the room across the hallway, planning God-knows-what?
So, I decided to stay up all night because I was unsure of his motive. He probably caught me peeking from behind the bedroom door more than once. But he didn’t say a word—didn’t even acknowledge my presence.
He just sat there with his study door slightly open, enough for me to see him working at his desk.
It wasn’t until late hours of the morning that I fell asleep on the couch.
That was when it hit me.
Wait a second. If I’d fallen asleep on the couch, how the fuck did I wake up on the bed?
