My Forbidden Fruit

The only thing one can truly hate about themselves?

It’s this:

You can be beautiful. Captivating. Everything someone else would kill to be.

And it still won’t make the person you love... love you back.

Me? I’m the living, breathing example of that cruel truth.

Because the only person I’ve ever loved in my entire 20 years on this earth—

doesn’t see me. Not really.

To him, I’m a girl.

And he likes women.

Today is my 20th birthday.

A milestone. A new CHAPTER.

But to him, it’s just another day. Because in his eyes, I’ll always be too young. Too innocent. Too… not her.

But I swear—this time next year, things will be different.

Next year, I’ll wake up tangled in his sheets, his arm heavy around my waist, his breath warm on my neck.

A girl can dream, right?

Oh, shit. I forgot to introduce myself.

Hi. I’m Isabella Evelyn Rose.

And this… this is the story of how I tried to stop loving the one man I could never have.

PRESENT DAY

The red mini dress hugs me like a second skin.

Is it a little slutty?

Yeah.

Do I care?

No.

Not anymore.

I’ve spent years trying every kind of sweet, innocent, pretty outfit just to catch his attention.

But none of it worked. Not the skirts. Not the soft makeup. Not the floral dresses.

So now, I’m done playing nice.

Because every time I see him with her, something inside me dies a little.

And I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t.

He doesn’t like it when I wear things like this.

But he never says no.

Never stops me.

He just… looks away.

You’d think it’s because he’s a gentleman. That it’s noble.

But no. It’s because he doesn’t see me that way.

And believe me, I know what it looks like when a man does.

I’ve seen it in the eyes of boys too eager, and men far too old.

That slow drag of the gaze. That hunger. That heat.

But not from him.

Never from him.

“You look gorgeous, Evelyn!”

Antonio’s voice pulls me back. I smile at him—my only father figure, the man who’s protected me when no one else would.

“Thank you, Antonio,”

I say, letting his warm hug sink in.

“You’ve grown so much.”

“God, are those tears in your eyes?”

I tease, watching his scowl deepen.

He huffs.

“Not funny, Bella. He’s a very dangerous man.”

And just like that, my breath catches.

I know who he means.

I turn.

And there he is.

Late, as always.

Lorenzo Vitalio.

He’s in a black suit, the kind that looks like it was made for his body alone. Broad shoulders. Rough hands. That unreadable expression he wears like armor.

He shakes Antonio’s hand, nods once. And then his eyes find mine.

It’s a stare-off. Ten seconds of nothing but thick silence and tension.

Then he moves, strides toward me, and wraps me in a hug.

His hands felt cold on my bare back, sending a shiver through me.

He was always soft towards me but whenever his rough hands came down on my body, I felt a sudden rush of heat.

“Happy birthday,Bella”

God. That word.

It breaks me and builds me every time.

Because no one else calls me that.

Just him.

And even though I hate that it feels a little childish? I cling to it like a lifeline.

“You’re late,” I pout, trying to keep it light.

He apologizes, muttering about work. His eyes trail down my body, and for a brief second, I think—maybe.

But it fades. As always.

I want more.

I want him to look at me.

Not like I’m a kid.

But like I’m his.

“I have something for you,” he says.

Another gift. Another necklace? Dress? He gives me things every week. It doesn’t matter.

“I want something else,” I say.

His brows furrow in confusion, and I want to laugh. He doesn’t get it. He never does.

“I want you to come with me,” I say, pulling him to the library.

I hand him the envelope—the gift I made for myself, pretending it came from him.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“No,” I smile. “We are.”

He stares at me. That soft, affectionate look that drives a knife through my chest.

“Did you ask Lily? Lucas?”

“No,” I whisper. “I want you.”

His hand lifts, rough fingers brushing my jaw. And I hate that it makes my knees go weak.

He could crush me with that hand.

And God help me—I’d let him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

A soft voice came towards the door.

My eyes met with the wicked witch of my life.

Quite Literally.

Believe me.

My stomach drops.

Of course.

It's Her.

Carol.

She walks in, all curves and lipstick, and he goes to her immediately. A kiss on her cheek. His hand on her waist.

And my skin crawls.

With irritation.

Because I’ve seen that look before.

I’ve given that look before.

“Ms. Carol,” I say, voice sharp.

“What a surprise. I didn’t know you were invited.”

She smiles, fake as hell.

And I smile back.

Deadlier.

Because I can play this game.

Even if it kills me.

Oh. Did I forget to mention?

He has a girlfriend.

Oops.