Page 63 of Owned By My Ex’s Bratva Uncle

The dismissal makes me even angrier. He came in here like I’m some horse that needs to be branded, dropped his little demand, and left.

I finish getting ready for bed, fuming the entire time. When I finally slide under the covers, the other side of the bed remains empty.

Andrei never comes to bed. What a perfect wedding night.

I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, married for less than twelve hours and I already want to strangle my husband.

I close my eyes and try to force myself to sleep.

I wake up slowly, the morning light filtering softly through the heavy curtains. My body feels heavy, my head slightly foggy like I slept too deeply.

I stretch, wincing at a strange, tight sensation on the inside of my left forearm.

I frown, lifting my arm to scratch it absentmindedly. My fingers brush over something raised and slightly tender. I freeze.

Slowly, I push myself up against the headboard and turn my arm toward the light.

There, inked in bold black lines against my pale skin, is the Popov family crest. The same sharp sword with outstretched wings I saw on Andrei’s chest last night. Right beside it, is his name.

The ink is fresh. Slightly swollen. Still shiny with whatever ointment they used to cover it.

For several long seconds, I just stare.

My breath catches in my throat. My heart starts hammering so hard I can feel it in my ears. The fog in my head clears instantly, replaced by a cold, sinking horror that spreads through my entire body.

He drugged me.

He actually drugged me.

While I was unconscious, completely helpless, he had someone come in and permanently mark me with his family crest and his name — like I’m property. Like livestock. Like I belong to him in the most literal, irreversible way.

My stomach churns violently. I press my free hand over my mouth, fighting the sudden wave of nausea.

This is a dream. This isn't a nightmare I could wake up from.

He did this.

While I was sleeping, he had me tattooed without my consent.