Page 13 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

“And what happens to me when you realize I was right? When he doesn’t show up because he genuinely doesn’t care enough to risk himself for my sake?”

For the first time since entering the room, Maxim’s expression shifted. Not doubt, exactly, but something like consideration. He was weighing possibilities, calculating odds, deciding what my value was in his grand scheme of revenge.

“Please,” I said, and I hated how desperate the word sounded. “I had nothing to do with whatever happened in Prague. I was fifteen years old six years ago. I didn’t even know my father was involved in anything illegal.”

“Illegal is a matter of perspective,” Maxim said. “Your father made a business arrangement and then betrayed his partners. Men died because of his choices.”

“And that sucks, really, but it has nothing to do with me.” I could hear my voice getting higher, more desperate, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. “I design clothes, for fuck’s sake. I make pretty dresses for rich women. I’m not part of whatever world you and my father operate in.”

“You are now.”

The finality in those three words hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t going to let me go. Didn’t matter if my father cared or not, didn’t matter if his plan was flawed, didn’t matter that I was an innocent bystander in whatever war he was fighting.

I was trapped, at the mercy of a man who looked at me like I was a useful object rather than a human being.

“You’re a monster,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he agreed without hesitation. “I am.”

He turned toward the door, apparently finished with our conversation. Panic flared in my chest, the desperate needto make him understand, to find some argument that would penetrate that cold, calculated exterior.

“He won’t come!” I called after him. “You’re wasting your time! My father doesn’t love anyone enough to risk himself, not even his own daughter!”

Maxim paused at the door, his hand on the handle. When he turned back to look at me, there was something in his gray eyes that might have been pity.

“Then he’ll lose you,” he said simply.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and I heard the sound of the lock engaging. I was alone again, trapped in an elegant prison with nothing but my own fear and the unwelcome memory of how my body had responded to my captor’s presence.

I sank down onto the expensive bed and buried my face in my hands. This was really happening. I was really here, caught in the middle of a war I didn’t understand, held prisoner by a man who saw me as nothing more than a tool for revenge.

And the worst part, the part that made me want to scream or cry or punch something, was that some sick, twisted part of me was attracted to him. To his control, his danger, his absolute certainty in his own power.

I was losing my fucking mind.

The room felt smaller now, the elegant furnishings more like props in a stage production than actual comfort. I was an actress in someone else’s revenge fantasy, and I didn’t even know my lines.

All I could do was wait and hope that I was wrong about my father. Hope that somewhere beneath all that cold ambition, William Beaumont actually gave a damn about his daughter.

But I’d been disappointed by him before. And something told me this time wouldn’t be any different.

I was on my own, trapped with a beautiful monster who could destroy me without a second thought.

But would I let him?

Chapter 4 – Maxim

Eleanor’s words echoed in my head as I walked away from the basement room.“He won’t come. My father doesn’t give a shit about me.”

The conviction in her voice had been absolute, backed by a bitterness that spoke of years of disappointment. That kind of pain couldn’t be faked, which meant my carefully constructed plan might have a fundamental fucking flaw.

I’d kept my sentences short during our conversation. Cold. Strategic. Tactical. But keeping that edge wasn’t easy. She was wearing too little, a tank top barely covering her cleavage, and shorts barely covering her ass. My eyes kept catching where they shouldn’t. Her skin seemed spellbound to me, pulling my focus no matter how much I fought it.

My body reacted before my mind could stop it. My jaw clenched. My gaze dipped. I told myself to keep control, to keep my head in the game, but every second felt like my grip was slipping.

I cut the conversation short before it could slip completely and walked out fast.

I reached the top of the basement stairs and nearly collided with Anya. My sister stood in the hallway with her arms crossed, those sharp hazel eyes boring into me like she could see straight through to my soul.