✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

20-Too Much To Destroy

ANNA

Women are just flashy accessories, glittering trinkets to be flaunted and traded like currency to the highest bidder. In the brutal world I've been thrust into, I'm painfully aware of my role—to be the key to alliances, the glue that binds the Bratva to any power they deem worthy. I am the ace card in the fragile house of cards my family built the ruthless Bratva.

Once, I was one of the Bratva's finest assassins, a phantom in the night feared by even the most hardened criminals. My skills were unmatched, my reputation cemented as one of the deadliest operatives in the world. Yet, here I am, stripped of my lethal identity, reduced to a pawn in a twisted game of power and prestige.

Now, I am married the Prince of England, the heir of the Salvatore dynasty. Who could have foreseen such a fate? From the shadows of my bloody past, I am thrust into a world where sadism is cloaked in the guise of elegance and refinement. The cold, calculating eyes of those around me hide their true nature—predators dressed in the finest silks, with smiles that mask their malevolent intentions.

I stood in front of my massive mirror, fresh from the shower. The warm embrace of the water had soothed my senses, offering a brief respite from the day's relentless demands. My leg, thankfully, had been cooperating since morning. As I stared at my reflection, I began to brush my hair, the rich oils from Morocco Jude brought me making each strand shinier and softer. These oils were a true revelation, transforming my hair into a silky cascade. I carefully braided my hair into two plaits, a simple decision to ease into sleep despite the relentless cramps gnawing at my abdomen.

I slipped into my cotton shorts, leaving my upper body bare. I hadn't bothered to bring a t-shirt, knowing I would soon be lost in the depths of sleep. But before I could surrender to the comfort of my bed, I needed to take my painkiller. As I made my way to the bedside table, a sharp knock echoed through the room. The sound was familiar, signaling the arrival of the housemaid. With a sigh, I mumbled, "Enter."

I took a pill and swallowed it, waiting for the housemaid to say something. Instead, I felt a burning stare on my back, igniting a fire within me. His gaze was like a brand, scarring my skin with its intensity.

I knew I had married a sociopath, a man whose sadistic tendencies were as deeply ingrained as his charm. He had an unsettling fascination with the human body, a morbid appreciation for its every detail. "Got something to say?" I asked, turning to face him. He stood in the doorframe, holding a cup, his presence both commanding and unsettling. He still wore his black jeans from work, paired with a t-shirt, his hair beautifully disheveled. The sight made me want to run my fingers through it, to brush it softly. What the fuck am I thinking?

His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The silence stretched between us, thick with tension and unspoken words. His gaze traveled over my bare torso, lingering in a way that made my skin prickle. I could sense the wheels turning in his mind, calculating, observing.

Standing tall, staring him down, I could feel our mutual animosity igniting a fire that burned and ached between us. Naked before him, his gaze locked onto mine, he tried to hold me prisoner with his eyes. But I wouldn't—couldn't—let him.

Jake began to walk toward me, never breaking eye contact, his glare a weapon he wielded effortlessly. He had mastered the art of intimidation, and he used it now as he stopped in front of me, leaning in to set the cup down on my bedside table, next to the gift plant. Did he make it for me? Funny.

"Where is your elastic bandage?" His voice broke the silence, his first words since entering the room.

"Not needed anymore," I replied, my tone defiant.