Page 92 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

Others were. With blood blooming across her shirt like a dark, red flower. Her eyes wide. Her mouth moving, but no sound. And always…always Rurik standing behind her, knife in hand, face twisted in ugly scorn.

Like tonight, I would jolt awake, hand on my stomach, heart slamming like a warning alert. The first time I’d had thenightmare, I screamed and thrashed around in bed until Matvey pulled me into him and buried my head on his chest.

Some nights, I lay still for hours, trying to feel the baby kick. Trying to remember how to breathe without shattering.

I pressed a hand to my belly, trying to calm us both, but my heart was pounding like a thousand drums beating in an irregular synchrony.

I pushed myself off the bed and moved to the window, needing some air and clarity.

Outside, the trees bent like they were being punished, their limbs clawing at the wind. Shadows stretched long across the courtyard, writhing as lightning repetitively split the sky in violent bursts. The wild and turbulent storm mirrored everything inside me.

It hurt deeply knowing that a person could decide to take another’s life, just to fulfil their own desires.

Hearing of murders wasn’t anything new, especially in our present world, where people take matters into their own hands. But it was different when your loved one was a victim of someone’s selfishness.

I still couldn’t believe that Yulia had died at the hands of her husband. The same man who vowed to take care of her.

My fingers dug into the windowsill.

I wanted to scream, to break something, to tear through the confusion and pain that dragged me under a tumultuous wave. But I just stood there, breathing like I was drowning, watching the world express rage with me.

This storm had no mercy, and neither did Rurik.

The thought made my mind drift off to Matvey. That night, he’d let Rurik be, but to date, he still hadn’t said what fate he had decided for him.

Without any warning, the door creaked open, and I didn’t realize I was shaking until my husband stepped inside.

The familiar scent of soap and cologne was a dead giveaway.

I turned my back to the storm to stare at him. He looked clean in a fresh T-shirt and snug sweatpants that hugged his frame perfectly.

As usual, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there for a moment, and looked at me like he was trying to decipher encrypted codes.

“Another nightmare?” he asked.

I nodded.

It was raining cats and dogs, and yet, Matvey’s calm unsettled me more than the chaos outside. When he crossed the room and stopped in front of me, I flinched.

Stupid, but I did.

His fingers brushed my arm, light as a breath and smooth as a feather. “It’s just a storm,” he said, and looked at me almost gently.

I let out a breath I hadn’t meant to hold. “It’s not the storm,” I whispered. My throat tightened. “It’s everything that happened. Even this moment. It all feels…too fragile.”

His hand slid down to mine. “Then we hold it together,” he said. “Even if it breaks.”

“How do you do it?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Matvey’s brows arched. “How do I do what?”

“Act like nothing gets to you? You’re just always unfazed. Doesn’t any of this bother you?”

“A lot more than you know or understand.”

His answer was unexpected, too quick and brutally honest.

“But you don’t act like it.”