Page 15 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

This man isn’t bluffing.

This is real.

And I’ve just stepped into a nightmare I can’t escape. No. Logan has pushed me into a nightmare I can’t escape.

The tears come fast.

I don’t even try to stop them.

One second, I’m frozen in shock, and the next, I’m sobbing—gut-wrenching, full-body crying like I haven’t done in years. The kind of crying that steals air and leaves your throat raw.

I crumple onto the couch like my legs have given out, burying my face in my hands.

This can’t be real.

This cannot be real.

But it is.

Because Logan is somewhere bleeding.

And the man who has him is standing in my living room, calm as a Sunday morning, talking about marriage like it’s a business deal.

My hands shake. My chest aches. I feel like I’m unraveling.

And he just stands there.

Adrian doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch me.

But I feel him.

His presence fills the room like a second heartbeat. He’s watching me with those sharp, unreadable eyes. I can feel theheat of him on my skin, the tension curling in the air between us like static.

I hate that I notice it.

Hate that some part of me registers how close he is. How aware I am of him.

God, what is wrong with me?

“Why…” I choke out, lifting my head, my voice small and broken. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He doesn’t even flinch.

There’s no hesitation in him at all. Just steady, brutal truth.

“Because I’ve wanted you for a very long time,” he says.

My stomach flips.

He keeps going.

“I watched you. Protected you. Waited. I could never justify taking you before—not when you were so far from my world. Not when you were so soft. So untouched.”

His voice lowers, dark and intimate, like a secret slicing through the quiet.

“But now I have a claim. One I didn’t have before.”

He takes a step closer—not touching, just nearer. Just enough to make the space between us feel electric.