Page 44 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

“You belong to me now.”

The arrogance. The fury. The dark, brutal claim of it.

I should hate him for it. God, I do hate him for it.

And yet…I can still feel the weight of his gaze. Still feel the way my body betrayed me—how my breath caught when he leaned in, how my skin came alive under the fire in his voice.

I wrap my arms tighter around myself and stare out at the estate grounds below, perfectly manicured and cold, like a cage disguised in velvet. Just like this life. Just like him.

I hate that he makes me feel like this—humiliated, angry…and worse, aroused.

I shouldn’t want anything from a man like Adrian Rusnak.

But somewhere deep down, underneath all the fear and rage, is a part of me that remembers the way he looked at me. Not like I was his prisoner.

Like I was his obsession. Like I was already his.

And that’s the part that terrifies me the most. I should not be accustomed to this life. It’s so much like the criminal documentaries I used to watch.Used to.That part of my life is gone. Buried.

I grip the edge of the terrace wall tighter, my knuckles white against the porcelain mug. I stare ahead, but my thoughts keep circling back to him—Adrian. His voice. His touch. His eyes burning through me like I’m the only thing in the world he wants to keep.

And that’s the problem.

He wants me. He wants to own me. Chain me to him like a possession, a prize. He doesn’t ask. Hetakes.

But if he just—God—if he just treated me like a person. If he spoke to me like someone with a choice…if he didn’t try to crush my will every time I dared to fight back….

If he didn’t lock me in and strip away every inch of my freedom like it was some punishment—

Maybe I wouldn’t want to run. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so shaken, so desperate to claw my way out.

Doesn’t he see that?

I press the mug to my lips, not to drink, but just to stop the scream in my throat. My heart is still pounding from our fight in the dining room. From the heat in his eyes when he told me I belonged to him.

I know he wants me. I know he thinks he’s keeping me safe in his twisted, terrifying way.

But I’m not safe like this. Not when I feel like I’m losing myself in the middle of it all.

An alert sounds across the estate—a low, mechanical hum followed by the heavy groan of the main gates sliding open. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as I lean forward slightly over the wrought-iron railing of the terrace.

Below, the estate shifts. Guards appear from nowhere, falling into quiet formation. The crisp snap of movement, the distant shuffle of boots, the soft static of radios—all of it blends with the stillness of morning. And then I see them.

Three black cars roll in through the gates. No pause for clearance. No inspection. The guards don’t stop them. They know whoever is inside.

Which means…it’s a friend of Adrian’s.

The cars are glossy, tinted, and dangerous-looking—like everything in Adrian’s world. They move like shadows across the driveway, unbothered, unchallenged. The sun reflects off the windshield of the first car, and I squint, trying to see through the dark glass.

I grip the railing tighter. Something shifts in my stomach.

If Adrian isn’t already downstairs waiting, he will be soon. Whoever this is—they’re important.

The lead car halts at the base of the estate steps, and immediately, Adrian’s guards encircle it. Not in a threatening way—more like instinct, trained movement. Protective. Ready.

The back door opens, and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps out. I recognize him instantly from the wedding.

Kazimir.