Page 10

I wished I didn’t wake up this morning. I wished I’d just remained asleep; at least that way, I’d escape the harshness of my new reality.

My face contorted into a frown the moment my eyes fluttered open, and the ceiling came into my view. I felt my heart shatter in my chest, and my tear glands charged up at the realization that I was living my worst nightmare.

The scent of Daniel’s cologne wafted through the very air I breathed, a constant reminder that even in his absence, his presence would still linger. I grabbed a pillow and slammed it over my face in frustration, but even that smelled like the man who held me prisoner. With a swift move, I tossed it away, my blood boiling with disdain.

This couldn’t be my life now, and deep down, I hoped this was all some elaborate nightmare—one that I’d soon wake up from. But it wasn’t. This was as real as the white sheets beneath me, as real as the lingerie draped over my body. It was my new reality, the one that devil Daniel Tarasov forced me into.

Honestly, I’d yet to understand this whole drama and how I managed to be caught in the crossfire. My father, Sean O’Sullivan, was a very powerful man, and that kind of position in society came with a lot of equally powerful enemies. From the little I’d gathered from the incident yesterday, I came to the conclusion that the Irish Mafia and the Tarasov Bratva must have had some sort of falling out, and this was the Bratva’s twisted way of punishing my father.

The two organizations had been at loggerheads for as long as I could remember—they were like two parallel lines that would never meet. However, a few years ago, a peace treaty was signed between these organizations, and the two parties have been on their best behavior ever since. Something must have gone wrong—terribly wrong—and maybe I was the only one in the dark about the incident.

But what must have transpired to make the Russians so mad that they went as far as stealing a bride on the altar? Daniel could have thought of other ways to exert his fury, but he chose to take me instead. Why? It didn’t make any sense to me whatsoever, and to make things worse, I couldn’t contact my dad to ask for an explanation—to know if he was doing alright. Daniel had confiscated my phone, so I couldn’t reach out to anyone, and that was the least of what he could do so easily without question. Even if he hadn’t, he’d revealed my dad was in prison. How would I reach him there?

Daniel clearly had friends in high places. He was more powerful and influential than my dad, and that was the reason why he was able to get him arrested. This man raided my wedding, held our guests at gunpoint, and forced the priest to join us in holy matrimony. Daniel Tarasov did that in front of all those witnesses, and no one could stop him. He kidnapped me in broad daylight, beat up my fiancé, and set my dad up. Daniel did all of this, and no one was doing a goddamn thing about it. What level of power he’d attained!

No one was coming to rescue me. No one. Dad would be busy trying to clear his name and get himself out of whatever trouble Daniel had put him in. Liam was hospitalized, fighting to stay alive. I was alone, completely on my own. The realization sent shivers down my spine, and a lone tear trickled down my cheek.

But despite all of this, was I going to give up? Hell no. If Daniel thought that I’d break so easily, then he had something else coming. I’d find a way out of this prison. It didn’t matter how long it would take; I would definitely escape.

I heaved a sigh and got up, sitting on the edge of the bed, the floor cool beneath my feet. I lowered my head, cupping my face in my palms. True to his word, Daniel didn’t make any advances at me last night, but his restraint didn’t mean anything to me. Throughout the night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning, refusing to accept my situation. I didn’t trust him enough to have a decent sleep while around him. How could I?

The most annoying part of this was that Daniel slept like a baby, unconcerned about the actions that I might take. He must really underestimate me to believe that I wouldn’t attempt to slit his throat while he slept. The thought did cross my mind more than a few times to kill the bastard. But I wasn’t a killer, and any attempt would result in failure, and that could cost me my life. He was the devil, and there was no way that I stood a chance against him even while he was asleep. Trying anything funny would be suicidal.

I smoothed my hair backward and rose to my feet, heading toward the bathroom to freshen up. There was a tray of delicious-smelling breakfast foods arranged on a table by the window. The sight of it made my stomach growl, a harsh reminder that I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday. Eating felt like surrender, and I wasn’t about to give my captor the impression that I was the kind to give in so easily.

Although the sweet aroma of roasted vegetables wafting from the tray was tempting— really tempting—food was the least of my problems at the moment. So, I ignored the tray and the delicacies spread across it, choosing to starve myself instead. I knew deep down that this was childish, considering that eventually, I would still have to eat whether I wanted to or not. Of what good would I be to anyone if I died of hunger?

Maybe I’d eat later, but for now, I just wanted to freshen up first. The walls of this mansion were suffocating me, a stark reminder of my captivity. A warm bath might help—it did last night, so it should this morning.

I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes and padded into the bathroom for a proper wash. I spent a longer time in there than expected, thinking of a way out of this hellhole. Once done, I stepped out and got dressed in a simple flowered knee-length gown I found in the wardrobe.

The knock on the door got my attention, and my eyes darted toward the entrance. A fleeting frown perched upon my face, but then I realized Daniel wouldn’t knock on the door to his own room. It had to be one of the maids. They knocked again.

“It’s open,” I said, my voice soft but audible.

The door creaked open, and there she was, the young maid from last night, standing by the entrance. “Good morning, miss.” Her head bowed slightly, her eyes darting toward the untouched food on the table behind me. “Your husband is waiting downstairs.”

My jaw tightened, and it took everything in me not to snap at the innocent young lady for calling him that. It was the truth—sort of—but I’d never get used to that, and it would always make my blood boil.

“Why’s he waiting for me?” I asked, more curious than interested.

“I’m not sure,” she replied.

I wasn’t ready to speak with him; I just wanted to be left alone. The damage from yesterday still hurt like hell. I was in no hurry to experience today’s pain.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I said, my tone cold and dismissive.

The maid didn’t move a muscle; she just stood there, sentinel.

“Did you hear what I said?” I asked, cocking my head to the side, my eyes squinting slightly.

“I did, miss. But he said not to come down without you,” she explained, her eyes on the floor.

That asshole! Always bossing everyone around forcing them to do things at his own pace and time. What an arrogant bastard. Refusing to go with her might land the maid in trouble, so I was left with no choice but to comply.

I took the first few steps forward, and her expression softened as she opened the door and led the way.

The soft hum of classical music filled the air, its soothing, melodic strains creating a serene atmosphere. I walked down the double curved staircase, my pulse quickening as the maid led me to the dining table. She stopped by the entrance, gesturing toward the space as though this was where her journey ended.

I heaved a deep breath and stepped inside, my feet making no sound against the polished marble floor. The dining area was bathed in warm, golden lights, the table set with fine china crystals and crisp linens.

My eyes fell on him, Daniel Tarasov, seated poised at the head of the table, resplendent in an impeccably tailored white suit. Our eyes met, and he held my gaze, fingers cradling his cutlery with deliberate precision.

“Good morning,” he greeted me, his jaw moving with a slow, measured cadence as he chewed.

I stood in front of the table, hunger pangs biting at my intestines, and my mouth watered from the sweet aroma wafting from the table.

“Take a seat,” he said, touching a crisp white napkin to his lips with a refined gesture.

My hand reflexively flew to my stomach, and after a moment of hesitation, I pulled back a chair, sinking into it.

“So, tell me, how did you sleep?” he asked, reaching for a mug of freshly brewed coffee, the scent of which invaded my senses.

My eyes narrowed, brows knitting together and forming faint creases on my forehead. His audacity—the effrontery to ask me how I had slept—was rather amusing, especially after what he’d done. His composure and the way he dominated the space were so unsettling that it made my skin crawl.

His words were calm, smooth, and gentle, as though things were all rosy between us. That unusual composure of his was one of the many reasons why I hated him so much. Daniel loved watching me suffer. Tormenting me was fun to him; it was clear to me now.

“You don’t wanna talk, that’s fine,” he said, sipping his coffee. “But you should eat.” He put down the mug and met my eyes. “Starving yourself will not change anything.”

I still didn’t say a word. I just sat there, resenting his casual tone and personality even more. Without trying, this man had effortless control over me, and that only accentuated my hatred for him.

“I can’t have you growing skinny under my roof,” he said, his voice dripping with a silent warning. “Eat.”

I held his gaze, my eyes blazing with fury at the command that laced his tone.

Daniel cleared his throat. “I don’t like wasting things, printsessa ,” he added, his voice huskier with a darker expression. “And that includes my patience. Don’t make me say it again…eat.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine, and my breath hitched in my throat at the sound of the threat underneath his words. I hated Daniel Tarasov, yes. But testing his patience was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

Reluctantly, I grabbed a fork and took one last glare at him before forcing myself to eat.