Chapter 3: The Beginning of Forbidden

KEIRA’S POV

I couldn’t concentrate as I gathered my things at the end of class. My mind kept drifting back to yesterday—the way Drake had cornered me in my room, the heat of his touch, the pull I couldn’t ignore. I told myself I hated him. I wanted to believe it. But the way his eyes followed me—like I was already his—made it harder to remember why.

My phone buzzed, and I almost jumped. Who could it be now? I answered quickly.

“Hello, Mom?”

“Where are you? I’m outside your school. I came to pick you up so we can go together.” Her voice was warm, comforting, and I felt a small flicker of relief despite the lingering tension in my chest.

“My last class just ended, Mom. Wait for me,” I said, then turned to my friends. “I’m heading out. My mom’s here.”

“Alright, take care,” Trisha said, waving. Earl didn’t speak, his eyes still shadowed by what had happened with Drake.

I hurried across the campus and slid into my mother’s car. I wanted to focus on something normal, but Drake’s memory clung to me like a shadow, and I could still feel the echo of his presence.

“There’s a coffee shop across the street. Change into this dress first because we’re going somewhere else,” Mom said, handing me a paper bag.

“Where are we going? Why do I need to change?” I asked, curious.

“I’ll explain later. Just change,” she said with that teasing smile. Hesitantly, I went to the coffee shop to change.

When I stepped back into the car, the dress hugged me in all the right ways—a keyhole neckline, snug sleeves, a narrow waist cinched with a delicate ribbon, and a trapeze flare falling just below my knees. T-strap sandals completed the outfit. I felt… almost like someone else, and yet part of me still felt restless and uneasy.

“Today, Edward and I arranged a meeting for the two of you. He wanted to meet you, and I wanted to meet his son,” Mom said, her excitement infectious. I swallowed nervously. His son… could it really be who I think it is?

The drive was quiet, giving me time to feel the tension in my chest, the nervous flutter of anticipation—and something else I didn’t want to name. After about half an hour, we turned onto a road lined with fields, then entered a long tunnel. When we emerged, it was like stepping into another world.

Through an elegant gate, we drove down a long driveway bordered by high walls. And then, the mansion appeared—a breathtaking structure with a central fountain glistening under the sun. My chest tightened.

“Mom, are you serious? This is their house?” I whispered, awed.

“Yes, my dear,” she said, clearly delighted by my reaction. We stepped out, my pulse quickening—not just from the grandeur, but from the thought of meeting them.

As we approached the door, it swung open automatically. A row of uniformed maids greeted us with synchronized bows. My eyes widened. The scene was surreal, like something out of a drama, and I had to remind myself it was real.

One maid stepped forward. “The Masters are already in the dining hall,” she said softly.

We followed her through the mansion, and I couldn’t help stealing glances at the sparkling chandeliers, polished floors, and delicate furnishings. My chest still fluttered, and I could feel a faint prickle of anxiety—and a pull I hated to admit—at the thought of what—or who—awaited us.

When we reached the dining area, my breath caught. Three chandeliers hung above a table long enough to seat twenty, yet only four places had been set. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and flowers. At the head of the table sat a tall man, and beside him… a young man, back turned to me. My heart skipped.

He turned slightly, and I froze. It can’t be…

"What? Is she going to be your new girlfriend?"

I froze. My heart stuttered, and I turned to see him—Drake. There he was, just as infuriating, arrogant, and impossibly handsome as ever. Even here, far from the chaos of school, he had found a way to make his presence impossible to ignore.

The same rush of emotions that had overwhelmed me in my room returned tenfold: frustration, fear, longing, and something I couldn’t name. His eyes, sharp and confident, seemed to pierce right through me, claiming me before I even had a chance to speak.

I forced myself to sit upright, taking a steadying breath. “Hello,” I managed, my voice quieter than I intended.

He smirked, leaning casually against the chair behind him, as if the world belonged to him alone. My pulse hammered, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time we had been alone—how close he had been, how my body had betrayed me.

Edward’s attention remained on the conversation with my mother, leaving Drake and me in a charged, silent stand-off. My fingers flexed in my lap, wishing I could disappear or at least stop noticing the way his presence made my skin tingle.

Drake was sat across the table, jaw tight, eyes darker than I remembered. Every time our gazes met, something hot and dangerous flickered in the space between us.

Drake finally spoke, his tone low, teasing, and somehow commanding all at once. “I see you survived the morning,” he said, eyes glinting with amusement.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my voice into a controlled whisper. “Yes. I survived.”

He leaned back, smirk still in place, eyes never leaving mine. “You know, Keira… I like watching you squirm,” he said softly, and my stomach twisted with a mix of annoyance and something far more dangerous.

I swallowed, trying to steady my racing heart. This was Drake Ashford—arrogant, infuriating, and utterly impossible to ignore. And yet, I was already tangled in the pull of him, every instinct screaming at me to stay away while my body and mind betrayed me in equal measure.

The conversation continued around us, but I could barely focus. Each time he shifted in his seat, the scent of his perfume reached me, each glance a quiet claim. I knew, deep down, that nothing would be the same from this moment forward.

Mom and Mr. Ashford were laughing softly at the dining table, lost in their own world. I tried to focus on my plate, but I could feel his eyes on me—the kind of stare that makes your skin tingle before you even look up.

“I need to go to the restroom,” I murmured to Mom, trying to sound calm.

She nodded without looking up, still smiling at Edward.

I stood, smoothed the hem of my dress, and asked one of the maids quietly, “Miss, where’s the restroom?”

She pointed down the hall, past the grand staircase. “Second door to the left, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a polite smile before walking away. I could feel Drake’s stare following me—heavy, unreadable, like a touch that lingered even when he wasn’t near.

Everything about that mansion felt too big—too bright, too expensive for someone like me. The marble floors echoed every nervous step I took. The scent of fresh lilies and old wood filled the air, and I could almost hear my own heartbeat bouncing off the walls.

When I reached the hallway, the sound of the dining room faded. The silence here was thick. I was about to open the restroom door when I felt it—his presence.

“Drake,” I whispered, turning around slowly.

He stood there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his usual gesture, and that infuriating smirk curling his lips. “You got lost?” he said, his tone low and mocking.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, heart racing.

“Following you,” he said, taking a step closer.

My breath hitched. “Why?”

He tilted his head, eyes locking on mine. “You already know why.”

I stepped back, but the cold door met my spine. “Don’t start, Drake.”

“Start what?” His voice dropped, a husky whisper that sent a shiver through me. “I just wanted to see if you’d still look at me the way you used to.”

I hated that he was right. Every time he looked at me like that, I forgot how to breathe.

He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his warmth through the thin fabric of my dress. His hand came up, not quite touching my face—but close enough to make my knees weak.

“Drake… you know I hate you,” I whispered, though my voice trembled with everything I wasn’t saying.

“You can say you hate me all you want,” he murmured, voice brushing against my skin like a secret. “But your eyes tell a different story.”

My pulse throbbed in my throat. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re lying,” he said softly.

Then his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear—his touch slow, deliberate. My breath caught when his thumb grazed my cheek. His scent, warm and familiar, wrapped around me, and the world seemed to tilt.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering near mine but not yet touching. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

I couldn’t.

And then, for a single, dangerous heartbeat, he did what I thought he wouldn’t—his lips brushed mine, slow and deliberate, tasting of control and defiance. It wasn’t rough or hungry; it was knowing. Like he’d been waiting for this moment and wanted to remember it.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ghosted against my ear. “You still react the same way,” he said, a smirk ghosting over his lips.

My legs felt weak, my thoughts a blur of heat and confusion.

He stepped back finally, leaving me breathless and trembling against the door.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” he murmured, and then he walked away—like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just unraveled every wall I tried to build.