Chapter 5: Forbidden lines

The lock clicked like a gunshot in the silent bedroom. Harrison's body filled the doorway, moonlight spilled across his open black shirt and the hard lines of his chest. My silk nightgown suddenly felt transparent, I clutched the duvet to my chest, heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“Please leave,” I whispered fiercely.

But instead, he stepped inside and closed the door with a soft, deliberate click. Those storm-gray eyes pinned me in place, dark with the same hunger that had undone me hours earlier in the bathroom. “We can’t pretend it didn’t happen, Ivana.”

My stomach twisted. “Watch me try.” You married my mother today, and she’s sleeping down the hall on your wedding night, and you’re here in my room like some predator.”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he crossed the room with that measured, powerful stride and stopped at the foot of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat on the edge, close enough that the heat of his body reached me. 

“The escort arrangement was supposed to be a simple stress relief before the wedding, when you walked in looking shattered and stunning, I didn’t stop to ask questions. I should have. But touching you…” His jaw flexed. “I don’t regret a single second of it.”

My mom’s glowing face at the reception, her hugs, the way she’d called us a family, it all replayed in my head. “She loves you, Harrison. This would break her heart and we both know that.”

“I care for Diana,” he said, voice low and steady. “She wanted stability after years on her own, and I gave her that. She understands this marriage isn’t some fairy-tale romance. But you…” He leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing the curve of my neck where faint marks still lingered beneath my hair. “You were fire in my hands tonight. The way you responded, the sounds you made, you weren’t just going through the motions, You were alive, and I want more of that.”

Heat flooded my face. I remembered every gasp, every plea, the way my body clenched around him, as pleasure tore through me again and again, and how Mark’s cruel words echoed faintly in my head, but Harrison shattered that lie in minutes, my thighs pressed together under the covers at the memory.

“It was a mistake,” I forced out, scooting back against the headboard. “ I was heartbroken, and in pain, but everything ends tonight.”

A soft creak sounded in the hallway outside, probably my mom, we both went still. Harrison’s hand hovered near mine on the duvet, not quite touching. The footsteps passed, then he exhaled slowly.

“Two days until the honeymoon,” he murmured. “Plenty of time to figure this out. Carefully. I won’t destroy what I have with your mother, but I’m not walking away from this… from you either.” His fingers finally brushed mine, it was warm, I yanked my hand away, but the spark lingered.

“Leave,” I repeated, weaker this time.

He stood, towering over the bed, “Don’t lock the door tomorrow night sweetheart, we both know you won’t.”  He slipped out leaving the room feeling colder and emptier than before.

Sleep came in fragments. By morning, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries. Mom stood at the counter in her silk robe, radiant as ever, both hands wrapped around her coffee mug. Harrison sat at the marble island, newspaper in hand, the picture of a devoted new husband. His gaze lifted the moment I entered, dark and knowing, I moved straight to the coffee maker.

“You look tired, honey,” my mom said, pulling me into a warm hug. “Rough night? She asked.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile as I poured coffee, my hand trembled slightly. Harrison’s lips curved into the faintest smirk behind his paper, hidden from my Mom, but burning straight into me.

In the sunlit library that afternoon, while Mom went upstairs with her assistant to finalize packing, we finally found ourselves alone.

I stood by the tall windows, arms crossed tightly. “We can’t keep doing this. The glances, the touches, It’s reckless, someone's going to notice.”

Harrison rounded the antique oak desk with purpose, stopping just a few steps from me, but close enough that I could feel his warmth. “Tell me you don’t feel it and I’ll back off right now.”

My phone buzzed on the desk, Mark’s name lit on the screen, I silenced it, then a text followed immediately. Harrison reached for it before I could, his expression darkening like a gathering storm. “That bastard doesn’t get to crawl back after treating you like garbage, you’re done with him.”

The possessiveness in his tone should have angered me. Instead, it stirred something dangerous and warm. But my mom’s voice suddenly called from the hallway, asking Harrison about flight details. He stepped back smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks as if nothing had happened, and by the time she entered, we were on opposite sides of the room.

Dinner was quiet torture, Mom filled the silence, talking about the villa they had booked and restaurants she had researched. I kept my eyes on my plate, acutely aware of Harrison across the table, the way he answered her questions with perfect patience, but his eyes never left my body, his deliberate leg brushing my ankle to my thigh beneath the table, I excused myself early with a headache, my mom kissed me goodnight, Harrison said nothing, but I could feel his gaze follow me up the stairs.

Night fell heavy over the mansion. I showered, the water reminding me too much of the steam-filled bathroom. Slipping into my nightgown, I climbed onto the bed, telling myself I would lock the door this time, but I didn’t.

Around 1 AM, the handle turned. Harrison slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He wore gray sweatpants and nothing else, his phone clutched in one hand, his face was grim in the low lamplight.

“We have a problem,” he said, voice tense as he crossed to the bed and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress. “Your mother found messages on my phone about the escort booking, she thinks it was just innocent stress relief before the wedding, but if she keeps digging……”

He didn’t finish, but the weight of what could happen hung between us: exposure, heartbreak, the end of everything.

Before I could reply, a soft knock echoed on my door.

“Ivana?” my mom’s voice, gentle but laced with concern, filtered through the wood. “Sweetheart, are you still awake? I saw your light on.”

The knob turned slowly.