Page 81 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

After a quick hot shower, I put on a tube top and denim shorts and moved through the hallway, my fingertips grazing the smooth plaster walls. My wet hair dripped on my bare shoulders as I passed familiar paintings and open doors.

The silence pressed in thicker and felt stranger by the minute. I didn’t hear the maids having conversations or any of Matvey’s men working the grounds.

From the sound of it, it was just me.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a small handful of grapes and a piece of bread, something quick to hold me over.

And while I nibbled on the bread, my thoughts started to wander.

I didn’t want them to, but they did.

My eyes drifted to the untouched coffee machine, to the vacant stool he usually sat on, flipping through his phone or watching me with that stoic, cold gaze.

Where is he?

I didn’t say it aloud but just let the question live quietly in the back of my mind as I made my way to the terrace.

The doors creaked open, and the breeze slipped in, warm and laced with the scent of salt and frangipani flowers.

In the midst of all the evil and darkness that hovered above our heads, the scent of those flowers reminded me that there was hope in the beauty of life.

Outside, the world felt too big for one person.

I stood there, staring out at the view, still chewing absently on the last bite of bread.

That’s when he caught my eye.

Standing by the poolside with a glass in one hand was Matvey. His shoulders were broad, and even from a distance, I saw how tense they looked, as if he was bracing for something that hadn’t yet happened.

He didn’t know I was there, not yet anyway. I could tell by the way he stared out over the water, jaw tight, lost in thought, with his free hand in the pocket of his black dress pants.

Whatever was running through his mind seemed far from peaceful. The air around him appeared charged and dangerous.

Watching him in his brooding element brought back the Poseidon figure from my dream. The stunning god by the seashore, treading the sand.

Of course, it was him.

With a structure and imposing frame like that, it couldn’t have been any other person.

The only difference between that dream and reality was—

Me.

Yes, me.

In that dream, I desired that man. I craved him like addicts need meth. The desire was so intense, it felt like fuel igniting fire. The strong urge to be with him was…overwhelming.

The reality, however, was a painful contrast. On most days, I wanted to hate him, stay as far away as possible. When I looked at him, or even thought about him, all the emotion that burned in my chest was red-hot anger—

Matvey looked over his shoulder, and then up, like a superhuman with spider senses. Almost as if he felt me watching. When his eyes lifted and found mine, the air shifted.

Now, I felt stupid for looking.

And yet, as much as I wanted to turn on my heels and go back to the bedroom, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He had me spellbound and rooted to the spot.

—and an insane attraction.

There was no use denying the combination of my thoughts about this Russian. As much as he made me furious, that fury ignited other sparks that had absolutely nothing to do with hate.