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publish date:
2026-08-26 14:28:36
Latest chapter
Forbidden: Craving My Mother's Husband 021
The air smells like stale beer and bad intentions, the kind of stench that sticks to the back of your throat. The leader of the three thugs is leering at me, his mouth moving, but I don’t hear the specific words over the thrum of blood rushing in my ears. I’m calculating the angle of my knee to his groin when a shadow detaches itself from the gloom behind him. A massive wooden plank comes out of nowhere, swinging with the force of a wrecking ball. It connects with the leader’s skull with a sickening, wet thud—a sound like a melon shattering on concrete. He drops instantly, a sack of wet cement hitting the pavement, his eyes rolling back in his head before he even settles. The other two scramble backward, their shouts sharp and panicked, tripping over their own feet. I stare past them, trying to make sense of the figure standing in the swirling dust. It’s chaos. The man moves fast, a blur of violence, but he keeps his body angled away from me, shielding his face. Because his back
Forbidden: Craving My Mother's Husband 020
The sound tears from my throat before I can stop it, a sharp, jagged gasp that echoes in the sudden silence of my room. My thumb fumbles frantically over the screen, mashing the end call button until the glowing display goes black. I stare at the device, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, then slowly lift my gaze. He stands in the doorway, a silhouette of sharp lines and expensive fabric. Tristan takes a step forward, the leather of his shoes silent on the plush carpet, invading my sanctuary. The air shifts, heavy and suffocating, as he crosses the threshold. "What the hell are you doing here?" I manage to stammer, my voice shaking despite my best effort to sound steady. I look up at him, craning my neck to meet his eyes. He’s tall, imposing, a wall of muscle and arrogance that fills the small space. Tristan doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes drag over me, a slow, deliberate perusal of my body that makes my skin prickle with heat. He stares at Anastasia—
Forbidden: Craving My Mother's Husband 019
Three sharp raps against the heavy wood of the door drag me out of a sleep so deep it feels like anesthesia. I groan, the sound vibrating in my chest, and blindly fumble for the phone on the nightstand. The screen blares 7:00 a.m. in harsh white light. "Who is it?" I croak, my voice thick and dry. "Mrs. Sinclair requested your presence downstairs for breakfast, Miss," a muffled voice calls from the hallway. The maid. I don't even know her name yet. "I'll be there," I manage to mumble before the silence returns. I push the duvet away and sit up, stretching my arms high above my head. My spine pops in three places, a satisfying chain reaction. I yawn, my jaw cracking, and run a hand through my hair—it’s a tangled, rough bird's nest on top of my head. God, this bed is ridiculous. The mattress swallows me whole, the Egyptian cotton sheets are softer than a cloud, and for the first time in months, I didn’t wake up with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I slept like the dead. The
Forbidden: Craving My Mother's Husband 018
I follow Valeria into the main hall, the maid scurrying behind us. The interior is even more stunning than the exterior—high ceilings, marble floors, expensive art covering the walls. I grasp the banister of the staircase, taking it all in. Valeria turns to the maid. "The room Anastasia is staying in needs to be prepared immediately. Arrange her things. Anything she wants, you get it." The maid nods vigorously. Valeria turns to me, "I will be upstairs in my room. My husband will be back soon. Make yourself at home." With that, she sweeps up the stairs. The maid looks at me expectantly. "Is there anything you need me to bring you, Miss?" I force a smile. "I'm fine for now. You can go." She nods and disappears down a corridor. Left alone in the massive living room, my mind drifts back to the mysterious man my mother is married to. I tried to look him up on the plane, but I fell asleep. Curiosity gets the better of me now. I pull out my phone, but the screen is black. "Dead
Forbidden: Craving My Mother's Husband 017
A sharp, rhythmic tapping against her shoulder blade pulls Anastasia from the heavy, suffocating dark of sleep. Her head snaps up, neck cracking, the disorientation of the plane cabin swimming into focus. A flight attendant stands over her, smile practiced and bright, informing her they have landed in Italy. Anastasia blinks, the grit of sleep crusting her eyes. She doesn't even remember drifting off. The last thing she recalls is the low hum of the engines and her mother, Valeria, sitting across from her, lips parted to say something about Anna’s father—a subject usually forbidden—before a ringtone sliced through the tension. Valeria had excused herself, leaving Anna alone with the hum and her own spiraling thoughts. Now, she stumbles out of the private jet, the Italian sun blasting her face like a physical weight. It’s a harsh, intrusive brightness that forces her to squint. A staff member gestures for her to follow, reaching out to take her heavy designer bag. She complies mech
Forbidden: Craving My Mother's Husband 016
The morning light slams through the curtains like a physical blow, piercing my eyelids and dragging me out of a dreamless sleep. My head throbs with a rhythm that matches the pounding in my skull, a nasty reminder of exactly how much alcohol I poured into my system last night. I shift, feeling the weight of another body pressing against mine. Lila. She must have crashed here after I stumbled in last night. She’s still fully dressed, her makeup smudged on the pillowcase, looking like she collapsed the moment she hit the mattress. Before I can even process the hangover splitting my skull in two, hands are on my shoulders, shaking me. "Anastasia," Lila’s voice cuts through the fog. "Wake up. You need to start dressing." I spring up, the room spinning violently for a second before settling. "What time is it?" "Seven a.m.," she says, already moving around the room, gathering scattered clothes. I groan, a long, raw sound dragging from my throat, and slam my head back onto the pi
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