Page 14 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

I didn’t respond. He didn’t deserve words.

This wasn’t cooperation. This was obedience. This was loyalty. This was ensuring no one else dared to test my control. Not even allies.

Especially not allies.

Yet, for all the coercion, for all the pawns moving perfectly into place, I couldn’t help but think of her—Zoella. I reminded myself it was all about business. The wedding. The timing. The appearances.

But that wasn’t true anymore. It hadn’t been true since I proposed the marriage and we met for the engagement dinner.

My desire for her only burned brighter since that night she stood in front of that restaurant, fire blazing in her eyes, voice shaking with rage and betrayal, calling me a monster to my face.

She didn’t flinch once, not even when I was standing so dangerously close to her that I could hear the pounding of her chest, and I could see the way fear bled into her eyes.

Even when her parents trembled in my presence. Even when she realized there was no escape.

She didn’t back down.

Fuck, this wasn’t just an obsession. I was becoming intoxicated thinking of her and the way her lips curled when she spoke to me. The way her breasts heaved and deflated like she was holding back every scream. The way her fingers bunched up like she was made to tear through the world I built.

She was all cutting edges and fire, and I yearned to burn.

I reminded myself it was control I wanted, over her, over the Carters, over every word that fell from her lips. But it was something deeper and harder to reach that I needed.

The harder she defied me, the more of her I wanted.

This was no longer politics; it was personal.

Even prior to Yulia’s death. Even prior to the commencement of this game, she’d been that single piece I could never quite control, never touch, never possess.

Now I could.

And soon I would.

***

Evening came with the distant rumble of LA traffic beyond my window and the muted clinking of crystal from the parlor two floors below.

I’d just signed off on a restructuring proposal. It was a quiet acquisition Blake Carter would discover next week, and I’d just shut down my computer when a knock came on the door.

Two short raps. My men knew better than to interrupt my evening unless it was something important.

I didn’t look up. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Kiril stepped in. He was usually composed. But there was a stiffness in his posture that set me on edge.

I leaned back in my seat and corked my brow. “What is it?”

“It’s the girl.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “She’s gone.”

I blinked once. Slowly. “Gone?”

“She left the Carter estate two hours ago. Snuck past staff through the back kitchen door. We got it late, as the cameras were disabled.”

I stood up.

Something in me snapped tight, like a wire pulled too tight. “How?”

There were men stationed right outside the estate. How the hell did they let one girl slip through them? Whatever excuse they had, it had better be worth it.