Page 68 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

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Later that same night, thoughts of her occupied my mind, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she looked in that dress earlier. I tried to replace the images of her in my head with something more productive. But the more I tried to erase her from my memory, the more difficult it became to focus on anything else.

I got out of bed in my white singlet and a pair of loose joggers. I stepped out into the hallway, attempting to clear my head by taking a stroll through the mansion. My bare feet were soundless against the cool marble floor as I walked aimlessly, wandering the halls like a ghost in the night.

The plan was never to stop by her room, but when I saw her door slightly ajar, something pulled me toward it. I tried to resist, tried to walk away and pretend like I didn’t see it. But I couldn’t.

Instead, I found myself walking in the direction of her room. I paused for a second outside her door, telling myself it wasn’t too late to turn around. My eyes scanned the interior, and that’s when I realized she wasn’t inside.

Now I had a genuine reason to invade.

I pushed the door open and closed it gently behind me. The room was dimly lit by the table lamp beside her bed and the moon’s ethereal glow streaming in through the open window.

The spread-out curtains danced to the rhythm of the cool breeze. And the scent of her, mingling with the aroma of fresh flowers, drifted through the air.

For a second there, I thought she’d actually attempted to escape through the window, and that’s why it was wide open. Without hesitation, I rushed over to check, my eyes scanning the environment outside for any signs of her.

Her room was on the fifth floor—a long way from the ground. I doubted she was bold enough to jump from this height.

“I might be crazy, but I’m not that crazy,” she said from behind me.

A wind of relief blew across my face, making me shut my eyes for a fleeting second.

“Jumping from that height is the quickest way to end my life,” she added. “Which I’m now realizing might not be such a bad idea.”

When I turned around and saw her standing there with a towel wrapped around her, my breath hitched. Her hair was damp, strands sticking to her moist skin as faint steam curled up from her body.

The smell of shampoo and conditioner filled the air around her, and her striking blue eyes sparkled with something mysterious.

“Suicide is never the answer,” I said, replying to her previous statement.

“You’re right.” She moved toward her vanity. “There are better ways to escape one’s reality that don’t involve exiting this cruel world.”

I watched how she moved so comfortably around her space—a stark contrast to the furious and confused woman at the dinner table hours ago.

“Why are you here, Rodion?” she asked. “What do you want?”

I stepped forward, my gaze sweeping over her body—not in a perverted way. Discreetly. “I wanted to make sure that you haven’t done anything stupid.”

“Like what? Jump out the window?” She raised her brows. “You made it pretty clear that trying to escape would attract consequences. Punishments.”

“Are you afraid of punishments, Miss Bennett?” I halted in front of her, a small smirk playing on my lips.

She raised her head, her eyes boring into mine. “Depends.”

“On what?”

Her voice dropped to a low whisper, one that made my cock twitch in my pants. “On the kind of punishments we’re talking about.”

I had a feeling this conversation was starting to veer toward something dark. And that expression on her face was so soft it could easily pass as seductive.

“Tell me, Miss Bennett.” I leaned in. “What kinds of punishment aren’t you afraid of?”

She paused, refusing to tear her gaze off mine. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

My smirk broadened by a whisper. “You’re not the only one who lets their curiosity get the better of them sometimes.”

She edged closer, mirroring my face, her fresh breath brushing against my skin. “I’m not telling you.”