Page 159 of His Forced Bride

She turns to look out the window at the city passing by.

"The woman who raised me is dead. What's left is a stranger who happens to share my blood, and strangers don't get to destroy everything I've built."

As she speaks, I feel something shift in my chest.

I've spent months convincing myself that what I felt was possession, protection, the natural instinct to guard what belongs to me.

But watching her transform from victim to predator, seeing her emerge from every test stronger and more dangerous than before, I can't deny the truth anymore.

I love her courage, how she stands her ground even when facing overwhelming odds.

I love her loyalty, the fact that she chose me publicly when choosing her mother would have been less of a fight.

Most of all, I love that she's become someone capable of surviving in my world without losing herself completely.

She's adapted, evolved, grown into the role of my partner in ways I never expected when I forced this marriage on her.

Love is weakness in my world, a vulnerability that enemies can exploit.

But now I have something worth protecting that goes beyond business interests or family obligations.

I have someone whose happiness and safety matter more than my own comfort or convenience.

Someone whose enemies automatically become my enemies, whose pain becomes my responsibility to avenge.

"We're here," Oleg announces, pulling up to the safehouse.

He parks and then opens the door for us.

I allow Inessa to climb out first, then I join her, and my hand rides the curve of her ass this time, feeling the muscle flex with each step.

When I give it a squeeze, I see the corner of her mouth lift in a smirk.

It's been a long day, and an even longer month.

I want nothing more than to take my wife to bed and feel the heat of her body wrapped around me.

And as soon as we are in the house and the door is shut, I turn toward her, my hand finding her hip under the thick coat she's wearing.

"Do you know what you do to me?"

I ask, moving toward her until she's backed against the wall.

Her breathing quickens, but her eyes never leave mine.

"I have a pretty good idea," she says, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"But I'd like you to show me."

The space between us disappears as I press closer, my hands bracing against the wall on either side of her head.

The scent of her skin, the heat radiating from her body, the way she looks at me with complete trust and desire—it's intoxicating.

"Inessa," I tell her, my voice rough with need, "I need you to understand something."

"What?"

“I love you.”