Page 16 of Forced By the Bratva

Even Boris and every other man on my team hadn’t expected such generosity from me. To be fair, I was just as shocked about my softness toward her as everyone else.

I simply couldn’t bring myself to hurt her or let her hurt. It didn’t sit well with me for reasons I hadn’t yet discovered. Perhaps I had already, but refused to accept it.

Iris barely left the room. The times she did, she spent the whole evening roaming the mansion inside and out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was cataloging the place—probably watching out for the fastest way to escape.

However, attempting an escape would only lead to the loss of her own life. I wanted to believe she was smart enough to know not to pull a stunt like that.

I recalled the look on her face after I broke the news that the Bratva had their eyes on her. She was petrified, but beneath that fear was skepticism.

In her mind, she wasn’t sure she could trust me, and I honestly couldn’t blame her. I mean, I practically kidnapped her and locked her up in my mansion. Any reasonable person would sense something fishy.

She was wrong, though.

I had no ulterior motives toward her, which was still a mystery I had yet to solve, by the way.

The few times she wandered the mansion, her exploration always ended in the same destination.

The library.

A part of me loathed how invested in her affairs I’d let myself become. I watched her every move around the house, like a documentary for my own entertainment.

Nothing special about the way she spent her days. It was always the same routine. She’d wake up, stay curled up under the sheets for some time before getting into the bathroom.

In there, she’d spend roughly an hour or so. Then she was done; she’d step out, wrapped in a towel.

She’d change into new clothes from the variety already stuffed in her closet and then spend the next few hours sitting in silence.

Because she refused to eat with me, every meal was sent up to her room, and most of it was barely touched by the time someone collected the tray.

Her silence was useful. That’s what I told myself. Uncomplicated. A woman who kept to herself caused fewer problems.

Except I started noticing things anyway.

When she was bored, she’d pace the length of her room, chewing absently on her fingernails. I noticed she did that when she was deep in thought. She also tapped her feet when she was restless.

She was always switching between sitting on the couch, the bed, and even the table by her window, just to pass the time. A TV was mounted on the wall in her room, but she never turned it on.

Not sure why, though, considering how bored out of her mind she was.

Sometimes she’d simply sit with her legs pulled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She could stay in that position for hours, as if her soul had traveled to another world, leaving her body behind in the room.

Her body might be in a gilded cage, but her mind was free.

Yesterday, she stayed in that position for almost three hours. Unmoving.

Boris thought that was somewhat creepy. But if I was being honest, I found her ability to master isolation at that level rather fascinating.

Whenever she finally decided to leave her room, she avoided the guards entirely. Wouldn’t speak to them, wouldn’t look at them longer than she had to.

By then, I was already familiar with her daily routine down to the minute details.

For instance, I knew which books she reached for first on the meticulously arranged bookshelves. I knew how long she stood at the library windows, arms crossed, as if she were calculating something.

I studied her like an open book, noticing the simplest things. The way she piled her chestnut hair in a messy bun when she read. How she pulled her sleeves down over her hands when she thought too hard about something.

And as boring and predictable as her life was, it still was worth paying attention to.

One evening, I found the book she’d left behind on the armchair. She’d already gone upstairs. The library was empty, the fire dying in the hearth, and the book sat there as if she’d forgotten it existed.