Forbidden Fruit

Brinda's P.O.V

Jason's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as every word landed like a blow. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my feet felt glued to the floor. 

“Oh, what a touching little fairytale you two were living— too bad reality doesn't care,” she said with a sinister gaze. “Now, I need my money, Brinda. And you know what they say—“money makes the world dance.” Her gaze sliced through me, dripping with venom. 

I was so frozen, unsure how to handle the situation or reach out to Jason, whose eyes revealed hidden pain. 

My hands twitched at his side, but his stony stare stopped me. His eyes flickered, stormy and unreadable, as if they held years of unanswered questions. I reached out for Jason's hand, hoping he'd sense what I couldn't say aloud — but his reaction caught me off guard. 

“Don't you dare touch me, you disgust me” He snapped. I stared at him, my body frozen in shock. 

He looked straight through me, like I was an old photograph he no longer recognized. I knew this was the beginning of my end, as his clenched fists held all the anger inside him. 

Before I could speak, he turned and walked to the door—like he needed distance from the stench of betrayal. I stood there, confused. 

Miss Cash's smirk curled like a serpent’s tail. I felt my stomach twist — she was savoring every second of destruction. 

He kept staring at Miss Cash, which confused me about his next move—but I prayed it would go in my favor. 

Before my mind could wander, a heavy smack landed on my face, leaving the room in stunned silence. 

“You disgust me. And if this child turns out to be mine… it won't change a thing. You'll still mean nothing,” he said, his hands still suspended in the air. 

He faced Miss Cash and requested her to leave his premises or things would get ugly, which she accepted without hesitation, and I knew it smelt more trouble. 

“Darling, you know you shouldn't hit a pregnant woman. Looks like I chose the wrong moment to drop the rest of my bombs. No matter—I’ll be back,” she smirked, flipping her middle finger as she silently mouthed, “I will be back,” which left me trembling for help. 

She entered her SUV and zoomed off, leaving me alone to face the aftermath — just like always. It burned — like every betrayal I had ever survived, clawing at my throat all over again. 

I turned my head toward Jason, heart thudding, searching for even a flicker of warmth. But his eyes were sunken, lost in some internal war I couldn't fight with him. 

“Jason, p–please. You have to listen to me. At least give me a chance to explain,” I pleaded, on my knees — but he just stared through me like I was a ghost. 

“If you don't want me around, I understand. I’d never cause you pain. Maybe it's best… I abort the child — for both our freedom,” My hands trembled. But all I got was silence — louder than any scream he could've given me. 

Just as I shifted my foot, fingers wrapped around my wrist — firm, trembling. I turned slowly, my breath caught. It was Jason.

“You’re not going anywhere until my child is born. And get ready — we have a public convention tomorrow. No drama,” he said, our eyes momentarily locked…but I could notice a sense of hurt on his face even when he tried to mask it from me. 

We were so close to each other, but before I knew what was happening, I felt a sudden gap between us and his face back to square one. 

“If you need anything, make yourself at home. And I repeat — do not disturb me, or you'll face the consequences,” he warned, disappearing upstairs. I stood in a silence so thick it just burned and stayed, unsure whether to run, scream, or collapse.

“She found me. And if she found me once, she'll do it again.” I wrapped my arms around myself, cold despite the air. “No more hiding. No more hoping. I have to be sharper. Stronger. Ready.” with my hands ruffling my hair. 

I walked slowly to the kitchen hoping to get a pain relief when my eyes glimpsed the alcohol section. It was the only thing that listened when I cried. The only friend that never asked questions — just burned,and stayed. 

My hands trembled as I gripped the bottle, its cool glass anchoring me. I took another gulp, trying to drown the shiver crawling down my spine. Just a little more. Just until the shaking stops. But it didn't. Not really. 

I set the empty bottle down, the burn still lingering in my throat. The silence wrapped around me like a noose—until the doorbell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each chime louder than the last.

I hesitated. Jason was upstairs. The house was locked. No one should be here.

With slow steps, I approached the door, peeking through the side window.

Nothing.

Then, just as I reached for the knob—

A crisp white envelope slid beneath the door.

No return name. No stamp. Just my name.

Brinda.

With trembling fingers, I tore it open.

Inside, a single photograph.

Jason.

In bed.

With her.

Miss Cash's lipstick smeared across his chest like war paint.

And beneath it, a note scrawled in her cruel handwriting:

“You thought I was the villain? Sweetheart, you haven’t even met the monster.”

I dropped the photo.

My vision blurred.

But my rage—oh, it had never been clearer.

Still, something inside me — small, stubborn, unyielding — refused to break. With every burning swallow, courage sparked like flint against stone. Miss Cash had started a war — but I wasn't going down easy.