Page 78 of His Forced Bride

But I'm more comfortable with this arrangement than I ever thought I'd be.

"I know."

"I still want my freedom," I tell him as my hand rises and rests on his chest.

"I know that too."

But my words carry less conviction now, and we both recognize the shift.

Whatever this is growing between us—attraction, obsession, the twisted intimacy of shared captivity—it's becoming harder to deny.

"Tell me about Yelena."

His hand stills in my hair.

"Who told you about her?"

"Rosa. She said you used to be different."

I turn my head until I can see his face.

"I was weaker then," Yuri grumbles, but I don't believe him.

This sudden gruffness is put on.

"Were you? Or were you just human?"

He doesn't answer, but his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer against his warmth.

His silence is better than a lecture because I've been snooping into his personal history, so I'll take that as his agreement that we can coexist in peace in this moment.

But it doesn't mean I'm happy here.

It just means I'm not livid anymore.

14

YURI

The courthouse steps are slick with morning frost as I climb toward the main entrance.

St. Petersburg's legal district awakens around me—black cars depositing men in expensive suits, briefcases clutched against the cold, the familiar choreography of power exercised through paperwork and procedure.

My lawyer waits inside with an expression grim enough to confirm what I already suspect.

Viktoria has been up to no good and I'm about to find out just how not good this is.

"She's filed seventeen separate challenges," Ian Ivanov says as I approach.

He's a thin man with silver hair and predatory instincts that make him worth his exorbitant fees.

"Inheritance fraud, document forgery, improper witness testimony. Every angle she can think of."

We walk through marble corridors toward his office at a slow pace to discuss the business.

The courthouse breathes old power.

Decisions made here have shaped fortunes and destroyed lives.