Page 119 of His Forced Bride

The sound carries his rage with it, leaving behind only the memory of his white face when he saw my mother sitting in his living room.

I had hoped to intercept him at the door and let him know what I'd done, but I didn't hear his car approaching.

I move to the window and look out over the yard.

Everything appears normal, but I know things have changed.

Yuri hasn't locked me in a room for weeks, not since the night before our wedding when he kept me held up to ensure his plan would work.

Now I regret what I've done because it changed his mind about me, like I'm a soiled scrap of clothing instead of the woman he holds in high regard.

But my mother's perfume still clings to my clothes, and her words echo in my mind.

I've come to take you home, darling. Away from this monster.

The endearment rolled off her tongue so naturally, as if eleven years hadn't passed since she last called me anything at all.

As if she hadn't walked out of my life when I was just a child and never looked back.

Her voice had been warm and thick with maternal love and concern that made my chest ache with longing I thought I'd buried.

I gave up on the notion that I'd ever have a mother again, and today, she breathed life into that hope again.

I sink onto the bed and pull my knees against my chest.

She called me his prisoner.

She told me I was confused about him and that if I got away from his controlling behavior, I would see just how dangerous he is.

But I know Yuri now, better than ever, and I don't think he's dangerous to me.

I think he wants to help me, and I think she's wrong.

But how do I know what to believe?

My father wanted me to marry into this family, didn't he?

Why would he do that if Yuri was so dangerous?

Would he really have walked me down the aisle to hand me over to any of the Gravitch men if they were so deadly?

Yet when she'd spoken those words, her eyes had been busy cataloguing the wealth surrounding us.

The crystal chandelier hanging above the foyer.

The imported marble beneath our feet.

The oil paintings lining the walls, each one worth more than most people see in a lifetime.

She'd absorbed every detail with the practiced gaze of someone appraising valuable assets.

I close my eyes and force myself to remember every moment of our reunion.

The way she'd held my face in her hands, studying my features as if confirming my identity.

The questions she'd asked about my daily routine, my freedom to move through the compound, the security measures that governed my life here.

At the time, they'd seemed born of motherly concern.