The Forced marriage full novel download

Liliana's POV

The blood wouldn't come out.

I scrubbed harder, my split knuckles burning as they scraped against the frozen cobblestones. My body vibrated under the chilly weather and I could feel my blood freezing. But I dared not stop. Elena would make me regret it.

The water in my bucket had long since turned pink, yet the blood stain from last night's disciplinary lesson remained. Above me, my half-sisters' laughter floated down from the rooftop like falling icicles.

"Look at her," Irina sneered, swirling her morning tea. "Papa's little ghost, scrubbing away her sins."

Katya threw a crust of black bread at my feet. It landed in the dirty water with a splash. "Here, svoloch. The dogs didn't want it."

They bursted into laughter.

I kept my head down. Ten winters in the Orlov household had taught me that silence was the only armor they couldn't strip away.

Elena's stiletto heels clicked across the courtyard behind me. The eldest Orlov daughter stopped so close that I could smell her French perfume over the metallic tang of blood.

"You missed a spot," she purred before kicking my bucket over. Ice-cold water soaked through my threadbare dress, one of their cast-offs from three winters ago. The sisters' laughter rang out as I shivered violently.

Elena crouched down, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my chin. "You'll never be a real Orlov," she whispered, her minty breath fogging between us. "You are nothing but a bastard mistake. Our little house rat." She giggled.

Elena sipped her champagne, her heels digging into my fingers as blood seeped out. I held back my tears. "I wish you'd just died at birth." She said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a bad luck charm."

The courtyard gates groaned open. Guards snapped to attention as Nickolas Orlov himself strode through, his wolf-fur coat dusted with fresh snow. The sisters immediately straightened, their cruel amusement vanishing like smoke.

"Liliana."

My father's voice sent ice flooding my veins. He never used my name unless...

"Clean yourself up." His cold gaze raked over my soaked dress with obvious disgust. "You'll be of use to the family tonight."

Elena's champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering on the stones. "Papa?"

Nickolas didn't spare her a glance. "The white dress," he told me. "And for God's sake, do something with that hair."

My throat tightened. The white dress, the one decent garment passed down to me by Elena, reserved for rare occasions when the Orlovs needed to pretend I was family.

"Use... how?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Nickolas backhanded me so fast I barely saw it coming. Pain exploded across my cheekbone as I crashed into the half-frozen water.

"You'll know when you need to know," he said calmly, shaking out his hand. "Now go. The car leaves at seven."

As I scrambled to my feet, Elena caught my arm, her fingers like talons. "Finally making yourself useful," she whispered, her smile reaching her hazel eyes.

The bathhouse was empty when I entered. While my sisters use private rooms and bathrooms, I share with the maids. Steam curled around my battered body as I sank into the hottest water I could bear. My mind raced with terrible possibilities. Of what use could the daughter of a maid be? They never made me forget that I was of low-birth.

My father called me a curse. Because my mother died immediately I was born. He was expecting a boy, an heir not a mistake!

His empire is full of girls, making him weak and vulnerable.

My sisters are spared from his wrath because they are of noble birth, not a maid's daughter.

When the maid came to do my hair, she couldn't look me in the eyes. The expression on her face was way too familiar. I see it on her face every time. Pity.

"Who is it?" I asked quietly as she worked the knots from my tangled hair.

Her hands stilled for just a moment before continuing. "They say... they say it's a great honor, devochka."

I knew it was a lie.

At exactly seven o'clock, I stood in the foyer wearing the white dress, my damp hair braided tightly down my back. Nickolas looked me up and down with something almost resembling an approval.

"Remember," he said as he pushed me toward the waiting car, "you are an Orlov tonight."

The black Mercedes wound through Moscow's snow-covered streets, driving past glittering storefronts and crowded cafes. I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, watching ordinary people live ordinary lives. I wish I had that much freedom.