Page 18 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“He put his hands on me,” I say calmly, checking my cuff links for imaginary lint. “He was disrespectful, and annoying.”

“He’s a friend!”

“He was a distraction,” I counter, finally looking at her. “You know better than to have distractions right now.”

“He wasn’t a distraction!” she yells, losing her composure. “He was… he was someone who could help me.”

“Help you with what?”

“With finding Ayaan!”

The name hangs in the air between us. I go still.

“He knew something,” she continues, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “He had information. You can’t just scare him off. He’s the only lead I have.”

I look at her, really look at her. She thinks she can gather clues like puzzle pieces and put together a picture of the truth.

It’s almost cute.

“He’s not a lead, Freya,” I say, my voice hardening. “He’s a liability, and I won’t have liabilities.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” she fires back.

“I do,” I say, leaning forward. The air in the car crackles. “I decide everything now. Remember? You agreed to this. You agreed to be mine. That means you don’t meet other men in secret, and you don’t chase ghost stories. You do what I say.”

“I agreed to play your fiancée!” she argues. “I didn’t agree to be your prisoner.”

“Same difference.”

She stares at me, her chest heaving. She’s furious, terrified, and incredibly alive. The fire in her eyes is captivating.

“This is just a performance,” she says, her voice trembling. “It’s fake. The engagement, the marriage… it’s all fake. You can’t actually control me.”

“Is that what you think?” I reach out, taking her hand. She tries to pull away, but I hold her tight. I pull her closer, until our knees are brushing, until she’s trapped in the circle of my arms.

“This isn’t a performance, milaya,” I murmur, my lips brushing her ear. “This is reality.”

“You can’t force me to marry you,” she breathes.

“I already have.”

Releasing her hand, I sit back against the leather seat.

“The wedding is in one week.”

She blinks at me, stunned. “A week? What? I… we haven’t even—”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” I state. “The invitations are sent. The dress is being fitted.”

“I haven’t picked a dress!”

“You don’t need to. I picked one for you. It will be delivered tomorrow.”

She stares at me, mouth open, completely rendered speechless. It’s a satisfying look on her.

“You’re… you’re serious,” she whispers.

“I never joke about business,” I say. “This is the biggest business deal of my life.”