Page 56 of Forced By the Bratva

A brief silence.

“I’m not as fragile and helpless as you think I am. I’m not a child. So stop treating me as one.”

It sounded more like a request than a command. I held her gaze, savoring how beautiful she looked tonight. The softness of her voice and the way her anger dissipated into thin air thawed something frozen inside me.

Indeed, she wasn’t a child. She was a mature woman who knew how to express herself without sounding disrespectful.

She didn’t know this. But I admired that about her.

Chapter 19 – Iris

It had been a few days since the gala and the heated argument on our way back. Ilya had been so swamped with work that he was hardly at home.

As usual, that part of me that was drawn to him now missed his presence at the house. He left early in the morning, before I woke up, and returned late at night, when I’d fallen asleep after waiting to hear the sound of his car pulling up downstairs.

I told myself that an overly jealous husband was dangerous and that I shouldn’t let myself become emotionally attached to him. But it was already too late. I’d crossed the line, and there was no coming back.

The more I tried to hate him, the more something kept pulling me to him like steel to a magnet. It was obvious that when it came to matters that concerned him, I wasn’t in charge of my own emotions.

Maybe that’s why I’d barked at that young man who tried to disrespect him at the gala. I deluded myself into believing I didn’t know why I stood up for him the way I did.

The answer was simple. But I refused to accept it. I couldn’t. Because the second I did, I’d be naming this feeling that was growing within me without my permission. And I wasn’t ready for that.

One cool afternoon, while he was away, I was wandering the halls, bored out of my mind, when I saw Natasha cleaning his study. I wanted to just carry on and let her do her job, but for some reason, I felt the urge to make my hands useful at least.

I changed course and walked inside his office for the first time since I’d been here. The air smelled faintly of his cologne, cedar, and aged paper.

Dark wood shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, packed with books and folders. An expensive golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, its warm glow illuminating the space.

A heavy desk sat near the window, papers stacked in careful piles across its surface.

Natasha was busy dusting a shelf with her back to me, unaware of my presence. Her hands moved with practiced ease as she hummed something under her breath.

“Natasha.”

She yelped, her hand flying to her chest as if to prevent her heart from jumping out. “Mrs. Tarasov.” She bowed her head. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Mrs. Tarasov. I still wasn’t used to being called that.

“It’s all right,” I said, scanning the office.

“Did you need anything, ma’am?”

I hesitated. “Actually, yes.”

Her silence was my cue.

I picked up my pace and headed over to her in slow steps. “So, I was hoping you’d be able to help me out with something.”

“Anything. Just name it.”

“Could you, like…let me clean his office today?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “You want to clean his office?”

“Yes.”

“Um…” She scratched the back of her head. “You’re basically asking me to let you do my job.”