Page 10 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“Good. I want updates every six hours on her behavior. If she attempts another escape, I want to know immediately.”

I return to the estate that evening to find the house staff visibly tense. Anya practically jumps when I enter through the main hall, her usual composure replaced with nervous energy.

“Sir,” she greets me quickly. “Miss Souris refused dinner again. She also declined assistance with selecting appropriate clothing for the ceremony.”

“Did she leave her room?”

“Only briefly, to observe the security arrangements. She asked questions about guard rotations and exit protocols.” Anya hesitates. “She’s very… observant.”

“That’s not surprising.” I move toward the stairs. “Continue providing meals whether she accepts them or not. Don’t engage with her questions about security.”

The upper hallway is quiet when I reach it, only one guard stationed near Serena’s door. He nods as I approach but doesn’tspeak. I can hear movement inside the room; it’s pacing, from the sound of it, restless and agitated.

I don’t knock. Instead I simply observe through the small security monitor mounted discreetly in the hallway, watching the live feed from the camera positioned in the corner of her room.

Serena stands near the large window overlooking the eastern grounds, her posture rigid with barely contained fury. She’s still wearing the clothes from this morning—dark pants and a fitted sweater—her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. Everything about her body language radiates tension.

She’s not pacing aimlessly. She’s studying the grounds with the same careful attention she gave the guard rotations earlier, cataloging information, looking for weaknesses. Her mind is clearly working through scenarios, testing possibilities, refusing to accept defeat.

The defiance is… unexpected.

I enter the room without announcement. She turns immediately at the sound of the door, her entire body tensing for confrontation. When she sees me, something cold and calculating slides behind her eyes.

“Come to gloat?” she asks, her voice sharp with controlled anger.

“To inform you we will proceed with the wedding.” I close the door behind me but remain near it, maintaining distance. “The marriage will take place Saturday evening at eight.”

“Forty-eight hours.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question. “You’re rushing this because you’re afraid someone will interfere.”

Perceptive. “The timeline serves strategic purposes.”

“It serves your purposes.” She turns back to the window, arms crossed over her chest. “My father actually agreed to this. To selling me like property to criminals.”

“He agreed to a mutually beneficial alliance that protects his political career and expands our sphere of influence. You are the mechanism that ensures both parties honor their commitments.”

“I’m the hostage,” she corrects flatly. “Call it what it is.”

“If you prefer that terminology.” I move further into the room, noting how she tracks my movement in the window’s reflection. “Though hostages are usually temporary. Your situation is permanent.”

She turns to face me fully, and the fury in her expression is unmistakable. “You think you can force me into this. Make me stand there and say vows I don’t mean, sign papers that give you legal control over my life. You can’t actually make me accept it. You can’t make me cooperate.”

“I can make you comply, which is sufficient for legal purposes.” I keep my tone matter-of-fact, stating reality rather than making threats. “Whether you eventually accept the situation is irrelevant to the immediate requirements.”

Her jaw tightens.

“Saturday evening,” I continue, “you’ll be escorted downstairs where a small gathering will be assembled. An officiant will perform a brief ceremony. You’ll be asked to speak the required vows and sign the marriage certificate. The entire process will take approximately twenty minutes. After that, the legal aspects are complete.”

“And then what?” she demands. “You keep me locked in this house forever?”

“Then we negotiate the practical terms of our arrangement based on your level of cooperation. If you’re willing to fulfill basic public obligations—attending necessary events, maintaining appearances—your daily life can be relatively unrestricted. If you insist on constant resistance, security measures increase accordingly.”

“So my prison gets bigger if I behave. How generous.”

“It’s more freedom than you’ll have if you force more aggressive compliance measures.” I move toward the door, this conversation having served its purpose. “I suggest you use the next forty-eight hours to consider which approach serves your interests better.”

“Pavel.”

I stop, surprised she used my name. She’s been very careful to avoid any familiarity, referring to me only in third person or not at all.