Page 21 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

That part’s true. The rest? It’ll unravel however it needs to.

She finally rises, hands trembling as she sets down the glass. I motion her toward the stairs and follow, eyes trailing her the whole time—obsession threading deeper beneath my skin, wrapping tight around the ribs already aching from this mess.

I’ll fix this. I always do.

Even if it means lying to her.

Even if it means lying to myself.

She doesn’t fight when I lead her upstairs. Wariness curls her shoulders in tight.

But when I open the door to the best guest room—the one with floor-to-ceiling windows, the king-size bed, the soft rugs, and the ocean view—her brows pinch.

“This is…where I’m staying?” Her voice is cautious.

I lean a shoulder against the doorframe, watching her. “Not exactly the dungeon you were picturing, huh?”

A flicker of irritation crosses her face before she wanders further in, hands brushing the soft duvet, the window frame. Her back to me now, outlined in the soft light. I shouldn’t be noticing the slope of her spine or the delicate curve of her waist. But I do.

“It’s the best room in the house,” I say simply. “Clean sheets. Privacy. Lock on the door—if that makes you feel better.”

She turns to face me, and her eyes narrow like she’s trying to figure me out.

I should leave. Let her settle in, process everything. But something keeps me rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s the way the afternoon light catches in her hair, turning it to fire. Maybe it’s the defiance still burning in her eyes despite everything.

“I’ll have dinner sent up,” I say gently. “Unless you’d prefer to join me downstairs.”

“I’d prefer to go home,” she fires back.

“This is your home now.”

She sighs and meets my gaze. “Why are you doing this? Really?”

There’s an exhaustion in her voice I don’t like hearing.

I run a hand through my hair, utterly lost for words. “It’s safer this way,” I manage to say despite the tightening in my throat. The truth? Can’t really tell her without shattering her world, can I?

I should feel guilty. Should regret dragging an innocent woman into my world. But watching her stand here, in this room, in my house, all I feel is possessive. Protective.

I didn’t really lie now, did I? Itissafer this way.

“Look, all I want to know—“ she starts to argue, but I cut her off.

“Rest,” I tell her, forcing myself to step back into the hallway before she asks the question I don’t yet have a clear answer to. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

I close the door behind me and hear the lock click from inside. But locks can’t keep me out if I really want in. We both know that.

Chapter 7 - Yulia

I wake with a start, my heart hammering against my ribs before my brain catches up. Then it crashes over me—the parking lot shootout, the kidnapping, the marriage certificate.

My fingers curl into the unfamiliar silk sheets as reality sinks like lead in my stomach.

I’m trapped in a stranger’s mansion, legally bound to a man who threatened my family—and I still have no idea what he really wants from me.

The morning sun burns too bright, too soft, too…wrong.

I don’t belong here.