Page 70 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

Because deep down, I know he’s right again. And that only makes my fury burn hotter.

Someone inside is playing a very dangerous game.

And I’m going to burn them alive for it.

Chapter 15 – Jennie

I wake up with a gasp, heart pounding before my eyes even open fully. The room is still and quiet—too quiet. I sit up fast, scanning the space.

Adrian is gone.

I’m alone in the panic room, the last few hours rushing back to me in fragments. The explosion. The blood on my lip. Adrian holding me. Kissing me. Whispering promises.

And now…nothing.

My skin is bare. I yank the blanket up, covering myself as the air chills my shoulders. My heart stutters as I look around for something—anything—to wear. That’s when I spot it: Adrian’s black T-shirt, tossed carelessly on the floor near the foot of the bed.

I grab it, slipping it over my head. It smells like him—clean linen, leather, and something darker. Familiar now.

The shirt swallows me whole, hanging past my thighs. I gather my breath, push my hair out of my face, and stand up.

The panic room is luxurious. Too luxurious for what it’s meant to be. Sleek floors, paneled walls, a minimalist bed with expensive linens, a stocked bookshelf I never noticed until now, and warm lighting that doesn’t flicker even once.

But none of it comforts me. I feel trapped again.

Where the hell is he?

I start moving slowly around the room, checking corners, scanning the walls. I walk toward the desk at the far end of the room. It’s the only part of the panic room that looks even slightly used—everything else feels untouched, clinical. The chair is slightly askew, like someone sat here recently.

A notebook catches my eye. Plain, black cover. No label, no title. But something about it pulls me in.

I pick it up and flip it open—and my breath catches the second I recognize the handwriting.

Adrian’s.

Slanted, sharp, and neat. Too neat. I turn the pages slowly. Most of them are filled with strange notes. Symbols. Names I don’t recognize. Coded language, maybe. Some entries are just single lines. Dates. Coordinates. Phrases like:

“Transfer complete—neutralized at 03:10.”

“Payment confirmed. Silent.”

“Avoid Moscow until it’s clear.”

I keep flipping.

And then I get to the back.

My hands go cold.

It’s a list.

A long one.

Names. Locations. Some are crossed out. Some have tiny Xs beside them. Some have circles. Others…nothing at all.

My eyes scan downward. My mouth goes dry. A few names have notes beside them. “Confirmed dead.” “No loose ends.” “Executed—personal.”

My heart starts pounding.