Page 35 of Forced By the Bratva

Would she reject it?

Would she fight me and hate me for it?

The uncertainty tugged at my mind, and for the first time in a really long time, I was bothered by someone else’s opinion of my decision.

Chapter 13 – Iris

I can’t keep this up.

The more I tried to stay away from Ilya, the more I found myself always thinking about him. I thought that I could live in the same house with him and still pretend he didn’t exist. But clearly, I couldn’t.

Whenever he was away, a part of me would be relieved because I wouldn’t have to deal with his presence. However, at the same time, the other part of me would miss being around him.

If he stayed out late for reasons I told myself I wouldn’t ask about, I’d stay up all night waiting for his return. Only when I confirmed he was home safe and sound could I manage to get some sleep.

What started out as a hidden admiration was now turning into a full-blown obsession. I wanted to be with him all the time: to smell his cologne, to touch his skin at every opportunity that presented itself.

No.

At this point, it was becoming embarrassing because it felt as though I no longer had control over my actions when he was around.

The other night in the kitchen, after he scared the guard away, I wasn’t supposed to have softened so easily. But I did; I let anger dissipate into thin air, replaced by something I’d refused to label.

Why had I noticed his foul mood? I had no business noticing it. Why had I reached out to hold his hand while examining the wound on his knuckles? What prompted me to ask how he was injured?

I should’ve just minded my business or walked away instead of letting myself feel the strong pull between us. The way he’d softened at my touch that evening still lingered in my mind.

He’d looked back into my eyes after I held his gaze, brushing my thumb against his cut. Although all we did was stare at each other, the silence between us somehow felt peaceful.

One thing was certain now: I’d started attaching myself to the man who kidnapped me. I hated admitting it, even in my own head, so I gave it a name instead.

Stockholm syndrome.

Easier to call it a condition than sit with what it actually felt like.

One night, while in bed, I thought deeply about how my life was such a mess. This wasn’t what I’d planned for myself—this wasn’t the future I’d envisioned.

Ilya said he was keeping me here to protect me, but I realized this was a conversation we needed to have that we hadn’t had. If the goal was to make sure I wasn’t killed by his people, what was the plan for me?

What would happen to me?

Was I supposed to remain, trapped in this estate for the rest of my life?

I had no access to my family and friends, who, by the way, must be worried sick about me. I had no access to the internet or the outside world. This man made sure that I had no one else but him.

He not only kidnapped me; he also kept me isolated and hidden.

What if my life had never been in danger? What if he only decided to keep me here because he was a maniac who enjoyed my company? If he was protecting me from the Bratva, then who was going to protect me from him?

The more I thought about it, the more doubts crept into my head, fueling my desire to escape. I wasn’t going to find the answers to questions within these walls.

He said I wouldn’t survive a day outside his estate, and now that was starting to sound like a lie, one crafted to instill fear in me. What if he only said that to keep me glued to him?

What exactly would happen if I tried to escape?

When I first arrived, I thought it was impossible to sneak out of a vast estate like this. But now that I was already familiar with all the nooks and crannies of the building, I realized it was very much possible. So, that night, I made up my mind to finally leave this mansion before I lost myself completely in a world I knew nothing about.

I spent the next few days watching the guards and learning their rotation. There were cameras everywhere, and whenever I wandered the halls, I took mental notes of their positions and angles.