Page 77 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

I needed to know whether I was collateral damage from an old war or if this was planned from the start.

I picked up the test from the edge of the tub, wrapped it carefully in tissue, and buried it at the bottom of the bathroom bin beneath everything else.

Then I washed my hands and looked at my face in the mirror for a long moment. I could barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Despite all the mental and emotional stress I was going through, I seemed to be glowing more by the day.

My breasts were fuller and heavier, my twin peaks way too sensitive.

I combed my fingers through my messy blond hair and exhaled sharply.

“Whatever happens from here on now is beyond your control,” I said to the woman in the mirror. “But know this, Aria…you’ll be fine. It’ll work out in the end—I don’t know how, but it will.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks, and this time, I didn’t fight them. I let them flow, allowing the heaviness in my heart to find expression.

Chapter 22 – Rodion

She thought I didn’t know about the secondary access protocol that her friend, Jimmy, had installed on her laptop. She was wrong. I purposely didn’t have my men deactivate it because I wanted to know the first thing she’d do when she had access to the internet.

I honestly hadn’t thought that she’d get straight back to the investigation. A part of me thought she was going to try to send a secret message to her friends or something. But she didn’t do any of that. Instead, she chose to bury herself in work.

What she didn’t know was that I had access to her screen and was watching everything she did on that laptop in real time. All the searches and the secret about her father she ended up discovering.

I’d never met such a nosy individual who never let anything rest. Aria was so resilient that it was impossible to keep things from her. Except she didn’t wanna find out what was being hidden from her.

It was almost like she was drawn to the truth wherever it was hiding. And when she set her mind on something, she always found a way around it. That was one of the many things I admired about her.

I’d already confirmed that she was a direct continuation of a prior financial breach tied to her father’s advisory work.

The original collapse of Bratva-linked offshore assets was partially enabled by structured compliance systems her father had helped design. I had tracked this connection long before I had her brought to the mansion.

Despite everything her father helped destroy, I never saw her as guilty. Aria had absolutely nothing to do with Charles Bennett’s crimes against the Bratva. She was just an unresolved extension of that damage.

Her investigation was not just out of curiosity but also a repetition of the same structural pattern that had once weakened the Bratva network. At this point, keeping her outside controlled systems was now a long-term instability risk, not a short-term threat.

I was in my study at home that afternoon when she barged in without bothering to knock first.

“Please, come on in,” I said quietly, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “The door is open.”

She marched toward my desk, wearing a pair of jean shorts that left her alluring thighs exposed and a white tank top that slouched off one shoulder, revealing her bra strap.

Her blond hair was neatly combed today, cascading down her back in effortless waves. When she stopped in front of my table, I noticed her lips were glassy—glossed to perfection.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought this was a deliberate effort to look good for me.

For some reason, her gentle swells seemed a bit more generous than usual. Her skin glowed in the soft light, and her blues sparkled in a way that thawed something frozen inside me.

“How long?” she demanded, her voice low and even, palms on my table. “How long have you known?”

I raised my brows in bewilderment. “Are you allergic to specifics?”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” I leaned back in my chair. “Maybe shed some more light.”

“The other day I asked you why you’re doing this—why you tracked me for weeks and eventually had me kidnapped.” She paused, as if letting the words settle. “Tell me why I’m just finding out now that my father was part of a small group that weakened your organization twenty years ago.”

I stared at her silence.

“How long have you known that Charles Bennett was my father?” she questioned, watching me closely. “Did you know from the beginning? Was that why you targeted me?”