Page 53 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

In my mind, these were all signs of stress and the fact that my monthly visitor was around the corner. Except for the throwing up part. That was new.

My voice of reason had been hinting at something that seemed to be the real cause of my “stress.” But I had deliberately refused to give it a thought. I couldn’t bring myself to even imagine the possibility of that being the case.

So, for the sake of my peace of mind, I chose delusion over fact even though I knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. I refused to go down that road because, honestly, I lacked the mental and emotional strength for that.

For over two weeks, I had tried to continue my investigation, but my schedule had been super tight lately. I was always attending never-ending classes early in the morning and returning late in the evening—drained and exhausted.

I was so busy with other academic deadlines that I kept my research assignment aside. For now, at least. And although I barely had any time for myself, a part of me loved it because at least I wasn’t drowning in the thoughts of Anton and his magical touch.

Because I was always on the move, I told myself that was why I was always tired and sick in the mornings. It was nothing serious.

Luckily for me, today, I had enough time on my hands. No important classes. No projects needed my immediate attention. Except, of course, my research assignment.

I slept like a baby last night, completely unaware of my surroundings. It was as though I’d passed out on my bed and didn’t wake up until ten in the morning. The first thing I did once I was awake was run to the bathroom because, for some reason, I was nauseated.

The bathroom door swung open, and I barged inside, dropped to my knees in front of the toilet seat, and vomited. My head was throbbing, and I felt like I had a fever. But this wasn’t the first time I’d experienced morning sickness. I was certain that I’d be fine in a few hours.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, flushed the toilet, and rose to my feet. The second I straightened, a wave of dizziness hit me, causing me to stagger for a bit.

“Oh, my God,” I said quietly, my fingers massaging my temples.

I reached the sink in a few strides, turned on the faucet, and washed my hands. The rushing water was cool against my skin, and as my gaze lingered too long, images of my own orgasm flashed through my mind.

Refusing to give in to the memory of that day again, I squeezed my eyes shut and drew a deep, long breath. I washed my face, rinsed my mouth, and then brushed my teeth.

How long are you gonna keep ignoring the signs? Reason asked me.

I refused to respond.

Dizziness, morning sickness, body aches, constant migraines, and vomiting, the voice added. Come on, it can’t get more obvious than that. You’re…

Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it, Audacity warned.

How ironic, coming from the voice of curiosity.

I had no intention of getting involved in this argument. I just wanted to ignore everything for as long as possible. It was a terrible idea, yes. But at that point, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to confront these voices.

You’re always pumped up—always ready to go down any rabbit hole in search of answers. But now that it’s about something that would affect our future, you’re suddenly spineless?

Those words stung like a nasty bee.

However, I didn’t respond.

I just stared at my reflection while quietly brushing my teeth. My heart was racing, my mind overrun by a million thoughts. On the surface, I looked like I was in control, but inside, I was a mess—confused, afraid, frustrated, and unsure of anything.

Ignore me all you want, said Reason. But time will tell, Aria. Time will tell.

I finished brushing my teeth, rinsed my mouth again, and dabbed my face with a clean towel before stepping out of the bathroom.

Later that day, while revisiting my ongoing research, I realized there were gaps and inconsistencies in the work that hadn’t been there before. Several key documents I’d previously had access to were missing.

But how?

I knew for sure that I’d written them down, so how did they magically disappear?

My eyes squinted as I stared at my laptop screen, trying to make sense of these omissions. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought someone had tampered with my computer.

Then the question struck me hard.