Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I give her a final, lingering look, leaving the door open behind me on purpose. I want her to know freedom is an illusion; the real binds that keep us together are inevitable.
I can’t fucking wait to see her in a wedding dress.
Wearing my ring.
Taking vows.
Bearing my child.
The more I think about it, the harder I fucking get.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier.
CHAPTER NINE
Isabella
I stare at the open door.
I stare at his retreating back.
My stomach clenches. The events of the last few days have spiraled out of control. I hardly know what I want anymore.
But I know who I am. He can say what he wants. He can force me to take his name, and he will. But I’m Isabella Morales, and I will always be Isabella Morales.
And I have never, ever, no matter how powerless and beaten down I was, let my circumstances dictate my future. I may have been born into a family that valued me as a second-class citizen, but that doesn’t make it so.
Fine. Lev Romanov is going to marry me. I turn over the possibilities in my mind and think it through.
Yes. Yes, I can absolutely use this to my advantage, and I will.
The tension still lingers in the kitchen when my belly aches for an entirely different reason. I’m starving.
Well, then. Make myself at home, he said.
Happily.
Lev maintains his body like a finely tuned sports car. Well, guess what? So do I.
I open the fridge and am not at all surprised to find it well stocked and immaculately clean. Excellent. Someone’s watching his macros—we have at least one thing in common. Not that he cooks… It looks like most things in his fridge are prepackaged meals he gets from some kind of delivery service.
I grab a banana and yogurt before I hit the basement workout room.
I’ll need my energy for the day ahead.
I look around the kitchen. Will this be my kitchen? Will we live here?
In that case, I could like it. Could use some color, maybe some greenery or plants and definitely more coffee cups, but it’s a large, open-concept kitchen with high-end appliances.
I make myself a cup of strong, black coffee and drink it slowly while I consider the possibilities.
I fought him. I’ll fight him still. But he isn’t wrong. The two of us marrying might be exceptionally advantageous. He says he wants to do it to keep me chained to him or whatever, but it takes two to tango, and I am not going to lie down and give up. Nope.
This could be the perfect way to neutralize my brother. Once I get seated on the throne of the Los Sangre Dorada as the wife of Lev Romanov? Holy hell will heads roll. He can be king all he fucking wants as long as I reign as queen.
I find a single set of clothes in a guest room that will do for a workout. The tension from earlier still lingers in the air as I make my way to the gym.
I do need to work out. I need to clear my head, and working out has always been my way of finding focus. I need to stay strong, too.
His guards step inside as if they know better than to underestimate me.
The gym is spacious and well equipped, a testament to Lev's dedication to his own training. I get a quick vision of the two of us working out together and quickly squash it.
He isn’t my friend.
But he could be. We could rule together.
Every time I entertain the idea, I wonder if I’m crazier than I thought. Still, though…
I take a quick look around and head straight for the punching bag, wrapping my hands with the practiced ease of someone who's spent countless hours in training. Each punch lands with a satisfying thud, the rhythm soothing my restless mind. Fuck, but it feels good to break a sweat.
My knuckles are numb, my hands aching, but I don’t care.
“Carlos, for being a male chauvinistic prick and hurting my best friend,” I mutter.
BAM.
“My father, for thinking he could teach me to be a mindless robot and for hitting my mother.”
BAM.
“Javier, for not having a shred of human decency.” I could make a litany of accusations against him, but instead I let my fists do the job.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
I narrow my eyes at the bag. “For Lev, for having the nerve to be so fucking hot and total fucking asshole.”
I hit the bag again, and again, losing myself to the repetition until sweat blurs my vision and I’m gasping for breath.
“Wow,” a deep, amused voice, says behind me. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or take you over my knee.”
I swivel around to see Lev standing by the entrance, watching me. His gaze is intense, a mix of curiosity and something else I can't quite decipher. A corner of his lips tips up and his eyes lazily take me in. I’m surprised when he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as if I’m affecting him. I’m covered in sweat, the little tee riding up my belly. My hair sticks to my forehead and neck, and these boxing gloves are twice my size. I’ve had better days.