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FIFTY ONE : OLIVIA
publish date:
2026-04-15 00:31:40
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My Forbidden Brother EPILOGUE: ADRIAN
ADRIAN The architectural logic of a skyscraper is designed to conquer the sky, but a home requires a different kind of foundation. It requires deep roots. Two years after the white marble altar in Amalfi, the glass penthouse in Soho had simply run out of room for the life we were building. The city was still our engine, the Vesper network still dictated the financial pulse of the East Coast, and Olivia’s position as Creative Director of Haute Couture at Vance & Co. was an unassailable global legacy. But the concrete grid of Manhattan no longer offered the quiet, expansive perimeter her spirit deserved. So, I bought her an estate. The Vesper manor sat on a secluded, heavily wooded cliffside along the North Shore of Long Island, positioned perfectly where the rolling green lawns met the dark, rhythmic waves of the Atlantic. It wasn't a historic, drafty fortress; it was a modern masterpiece of glass, fieldstone, and industrial steel, designed by the finest architects in Europe to
My Forbidden Brother HUNDRED AND TEN : OLIVIA
OLIVIA The private coastline of Amalfi did not carry the sharp, industrial roar of Manhattan, nor did it bear the suffocating, heavy silence of the Swiss Alps. Here, the world smelled of crushed sea salt, sun-warmed lemon groves, and the ancient, unyielding strength of the coastal stone. The afternoon sun was a cascading sheet of liquid gold, spilling over the high white terraces of the private Vesper villa and bleeding into the deep, endless turquoise of the Mediterranean Sea below. Inside the master suite, the high arched windows stood wide open, allowing the warm, salt-laced breeze to billow through the sheer ivory linen curtains like a slow, rhythmic breath. I stood at the center of the marble floor, looking at my reflection in the gilded antique mirror. Today, the tailored charcoal blazers and the geometric, sharp-shouldered silhouettes of my New York office were entirely absent. Instead, I wore the true masterwork of my life—my wedding gown. It was a piece I had drafted in
My Forbidden Brother HUNDRED AND NINE : OLIVIA
OLIVIA The morning after a coronation is always the quietest. When the frantic, blinding white flashes of a thousand runway cameras finally burn out, and the roaring standing ovations of the Manhattan elite settle into yesterday’s news, what remains is the simple, unyielding weight of reality. And for the first time in my life, that reality was entirely flawless. The early morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the penthouse, casting long, pale honey-colored ribbons across the dark hardwood floor and the tangled cream sheets of the master bed. The ambient hum of the city below was a distant, muffled vibration, easily sealed out by the reinforced perimeter of the tower. I shifted slightly, a soft, content sigh escaping my lips as the cool silk of the pillowcase brushed against my cheek. As I slowly opened my eyes, the first thing I saw wasn’t the sprawling New York skyline or the elegant minimalist decor of our room. It was Adrian. He was already
My Forbidden Brother HUNDRED AND EIGHT : ADRIAN
ADRIAN The roaring symphony of thousands of clapping hands, explosive camera flashes, and overlapping voices faded into meaningless static the moment her fingers wrapped around mine. I kept my arm locked securely around Olivia’s waist as I guided her off the concrete runway, navigating the heavy velvet drapes of the backstage tunnel. Ivan and a core tactical unit from the Volkov network instantly formed a moving wall around us, checking lines of sight and ensuring the swarming press corps didn't breach our perimeter. They knew better than to push their luck when my jaw was set, but tonight, the rigid, clinical calculations that usually governed my mind were entirely scrambled. I looked down at the woman flush against my side. Her breathing was still shallow, her cheeks beautifully flushed under the ambient utility lights of the backstage corridor. On her left hand, the emerald-cut diamond caught the glare of a passing overhead fixture, throwing a sharp, brilliant beam of white lig
My Forbidden Brother HUNDRED AND SEVEN : OLIVIA
OLIVIA The air inside the grand ballroom of the Manhattan Center was thick with ozone, expensive perfume, and the electric, crackling static of a high-fashion premiere. Beneath the soaring, historic glass arches, a tiered sea of the world’s most formidable style critics, international buyers, and Hollywood elite sat in reverent, breathless silence. Backstage, the atmosphere was a controlled hurricane. "Look nine, check the hem alignment! Look twelve, your left shoulder structure is dragging by two millimeters—fix it now!" Chloe’s voice barked with the razor-sharp authority of a seasoned field general, her digital clipboard slicing through the air as she directed the frantic circle of tailors. I stood at the center of the main technical bay, a calm, unyielding anchor amidst the storm of tulle and silk. I wore a tailored, floor-length gown of my own design—a stark, structured column of double-faced black silk crepe featuring an asymmetric neckline that mimicked the jagged silhouette
My Forbidden Brother HUNDRED AND SIX : OLIVIA
OLIVIA The invitation to headline the New York Fashion Week Vanguard Showcase arrived not on digital stock, but on a heavy, textured card with a gold-leaf edge that bore the official seal of the global design syndicate. It was the highest creative honor the city could bestow upon a designer—a definitive acknowledgement that my work had crossed the line from temporary seasonal trends into historical legacy. Two years had passed since the afternoon. Adrian had first parked his matte-gray sedan by the Soho curb, and in that time, the kingdom we built had achieved total equilibrium. My role at Vance & Co. had evolved into something monumental. I was no longer an associate; I was the Co-Creative Director of the Haute Couture Division, sharing equal structural authority with Julian himself. The *Titanium Lily* collection had become a benchmark for modern evening wear, and the subsequent collections had solidified my name—Olivia Dawson—as a global synonym for unyielding, architectural
My Forbidden Brother THIRTEEN : OLIVIA
OLIVIA The drive to Beacon High was a blur of shifting gears and lingering fantasies. Every time I hit a bump in the road, the friction against my seat sent a treacherous jolt through me, reminding me exactly how sensitive I still was from my morning "interruption." By the time I pulled into t
Last Updated : 2026-03-17My Forbidden Brother FOURTEEN : OLIVIA
OLIVIA The ice cream parlour sat just a street away from Beacon High, tucked between a bookstore and a nail salon. It was one of those cozy places with pastel walls, fairy lights, and a bell above the door that chimed happily when we walked in—like it was congratulating us for surviving the sch
Last Updated : 2026-03-17My Forbidden Brother FIFTEEN : ADRIAN
ADRIAN I kept my eyes on the assignment on my laptop, but I wasn't reading. It was impossible to focus on the words when the air in the room shifted the second Olivia walked through the door. I didn't need to look up to know she was there. I could smell her—chocolate, vanilla, and the faint, c
Last Updated : 2026-03-17My Forbidden Brother ELEVEN : OLIVIA
OLIVIA When I got home, no one was in. Not like there was no one, the staffs were in the house but not my dad and Adrian. "Welcome back, Miss Olivia. Would you like something to eat now before dinner?" a maid asked just before I went up the stairs. "Hmm, I'm not sure. Anything is okay, I'm ju
Last Updated : 2026-03-17
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