Chapter 7 Inessa #2
His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I have to fight the urge to bite him—or worse, to part my lips and accept whatever he offers.
"Let go of me," I say gruffly.
"When you eat."
He uncovers my plate and picks up my fork, then sticks the tines into a bit of meat and brings the fork to my mouth, laden with duck and sauce.
His dark eyes never leave mine, watching for any sign of submission or rebellion.
The intimacy of the moment is terrifying and infuriating, but my body responds to his touch in ways that make shame burn in my chest.
I want to turn away, to refuse, to maintain what little control I have left.
But the practical part of my mind knows I need food.
I part my lips and let him feed me, hating how the simple act feels both degrading and strangely arousing.
Yuri's eyes watch my lips close around the fork and draw the food off it.
I see how he devours me the same way, absorbing every inflection of my facial muscles, drinking in the hate in my eyes as I look away from his eye contact.
Why is my body so hot?
Why is his domineering care making my core melt?
"Good girl."
The praise makes my face burn with embarrassment, and he feeds me another bite, his thumb lingering against my lip longer than necessary.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because you need to eat, and you're too stubborn to do it yourself."
"Not that. This whole thing. The marriage, the compound, keeping me prisoner."
I pull back from his touch, putting distance between us.
"You could have any woman you wanted. Why force someone who hates you?"
He sets the fork aside and leans back in his chair, studying me with those dark, penetrating eyes.
"Hate is honest. Hate is real. Most people lie about what they feel, especially around men in my position. But you…"
He reaches for his wine glass.
"You show me exactly what you think, even when it's dangerous to do so."
"That doesn't answer my question," I snarl, but I take those words as his compliment to me.
"Doesn't it?"
He takes a sip of wine, never breaking eye contact.
"I don't want a wife who pretends to love me for my money or my protection. I want someone who fights back, who challenges me, who won't break under pressure."
"So you'll force me to marry you so you can break me yourself?"
"So I can shape you into something stronger."
I want to argue, to throw his arrogance back in his face, but part of me recognizes the truth in what he's saying.
I am strong.
I did build my company from nothing, did fight for every contract and client.
But strength without freedom is just another form of imprisonment.
"My father never agreed to this. He wanted me to marry Dominic, not an old man."
"Your father was a practical man. He understood that business arrangements require backup plans."
Yuri's gaze tightens on my face, and I swallow the lump forming there.
There's no way in hell Batya would allow this.
"I won't do it."
"Yes, you will."
The certainty in his voice ignites the rage that's been building all evening.
I surge to my feet, the chair scraping against the floor.
"You can't make me marry you. I don't care what papers you have or what my father wrote. I won't speak those vows."
Yuri rises as well, his greater height forcing me to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
"You'll speak them, Inessa. And you'll do it when I tell you to."
"And if I refuse?"
Crossing my arms over my chest, I look past him, still unable to squelch the heat in my belly, and I stare at the window where the sky is the color of gunmetal and thick clouds are rolling in.
"Then you'll watch your employees lose their jobs one by one. Your suppliers will cancel their contracts. Your buyers will find other designers. Your company will die slowly and painfully while you sit here knowing you could have prevented it."
I slam my fist on the table hard enough to make the crystal glasses ring.
"You bastard!"
"Perhaps. But I'm a bastard who keeps his promises."
He leans closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous volume.
"Marry me tomorrow, and your company survives. Your employees keep their jobs. Your dreams stay alive. Refuse, and I'll make sure you have nothing left but regret."
"Why do you even want the company?"
He could find a dozen other places to do his dirty business.
"It's all about you."
The admission comes out raw and filthy, like he's confessing to a crime no one knows he committed but that he's proud of accomplishing.
"It's about having something beautiful that belongs to me completely."
The words send another unwanted thrill through my body.
I should be disgusted by his possessiveness, by the way he talks about ownership rather than partnership.
Instead, I feel a dark flutter of attraction that makes me hate myself.
"I'm not a possession," I mutter, but somehow, I find myself desiring to be possessed so fully, I can't think.
Just not by this man…
"Tomorrow, you'll be my wife. That makes you exactly what I say you are."
He rises and moves around the table until he's standing directly in front of me, close enough that I can smell his cologne and the underlying scent of danger that always clings to him.
When he reaches for me, I stand frozen as his hand cups my face.
"Your future lies with me, Inessa. Whether you accept that willingly or I convince you through other means is your choice."
"Other means?"
His thumb traces across my cheekbone so lightly, I almost don't feel it.
"I can be patient when necessary. But patience has limits, especially when dealing with stubborn brides."
For a moment, the only sound in the room is my pulse thudding in my ears.
"The wedding is at ten tomorrow morning," he continues.
"Rosa will help you prepare. Your dress has been delivered. I will have it cleaned."
My wedding dress.
The ivory silk stained with my father's blood…
"Don't you fucking touch that dress," I hiss, and he chuckles.
"As you wish. But red isn't your color, dear."
The smirk on his lips is beguiling, making me hate him and yet attracting me to him in the same breath.
That devilish smile, the glint in his eyes.
"I hate you," I tell him plainly.
"I know."
He leans down until his lips nearly brush my ear.
"But hate can transform into other things, given time and proper encouragement."
"It won't."
"We'll see."
He steps back, releasing me from his proximity but not from his influence.
The space between us feels charged with tension and unresolved conflict.
"Rosa will escort you back to your room. I suggest you rest. Tomorrow will be demanding."
I want to argue more, to find some flaw in his logic or weakness in his resolve, but the threats leave me without hope.
Batya bound me to this marriage before his death, leaving me with no legal or moral grounds to refuse.
Rosa appears as if summoned, her kind face carefully neutral as she waits by the door.
I follow her without another word, leaving Yuri alone with his victory and his wine.
She opens my door with a key card and waits until I'm inside before speaking.
"Is there anything you need for tonight?"
I almost laugh at the question.
What I need is freedom, choice, a different father who wouldn't have sold me to secure his business interests.
What I need is a world where twenty-three-year-old women aren't traded to settle debts and forge alliances.
"No. Thank you," I mumble as I walk toward the bed where I want to collapse and cry now that he can't see me break.
She nods and locks me in again to stew in fury and fear.
I sink onto the bed and stare at my reflection in the darkened window.
The woman looking back at me appears fragile, defeated, nothing at all how I see myself.
But appearances can be deceiving.
If Yuri wants a wife, he'll get one.
But he'll also get everything that comes with marrying someone who hates him—the rebellion, the resistance, the constant battle for dominance that will define every day of our shared future.
He thinks he can shape me into something stronger. Tomorrow, he'll learn what I'm already made of.