Page 25 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

Two daughters.

Two sacrifices.

Two stories that would end in silence.

I tried to breathe, but my lungs were too constricted, too small. The white dress clung to me like a second skin, as if it had already been my own.

A sob fought its way up into my throat, but I forced it back down.

Don’t cry.

The makeup. The hair. The picture. I needed to look perfect today; that was all I was good for now anyway, at least until Matvey started to demand I push out his babies.

I rubbed my face against the back of my hand. There were no streaks, no tears, only anger suppressed behind eyeliner and powdered cheekbones.

The vanity chair groaned softly as I dropped into it, grasping the lip of the glass table as if it were the only thing keeping me upright.

I could still smell Lillian’s perfume. Lavender. Calm.

It made me sick.

I pressed my nails into the edge of the table. The agony worked. Enough to keep the tears back.

Outside the windows, the sun was setting, painting the estate in liquid gold, as if the world believed this day was lovely.

It wasn’t.

It was a funeral in disguise.

The distant hum of music drifted in from somewhere deeper in the house—the muffled thrum of violins, the far-off scuffle of feet, the buzz of hushed words.

The ceremony was beginning.

They were placing people. Pouring drinks. Pronouncing my name with smiles on their faces as if it were not being ripped away from me.

Zoella Yezhov. That would be my name from today forward.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I stood frozen in my cage of white, wrapped in silk and diamonds, telling myself that cages don’t always have to be made of iron.

They were sometimes hand-stitched and zipped up.

***

The doors groaned open with a deep, sonorous boom.

The music swelled, violins intertwining with cello, slow and dirgelike. Too slow. As if each note was another step along the path to the graveyard.

I stood at the door, surrounded by gold and white flowers, but I was standing at the edge of a cliff.

I was gasping for air.

I stood paralyzed for one heartbeat before someone nudged me gently from behind, the signal to begin.

So I began, one step at a time, and another.

The aisle stretched out like an eternity. The space between me and the man waiting at the altar was gauged in fear.