When Forbidden Feels This Good

Scarlett's POVThe Uber driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, probably wondering why I was white-knuckling the door handle like we were heading to an execution instead of a homecoming. If only he knew that the sprawling modern estate perched on the hillside, all glass and steel and impossible wealth, was as foreign to me as the moon.This wasn't home. Home had been a modest townhouse with creaky stairs and a kitchen that always smelled like my mother's lavender candles. Home had been small and warm, and ours.This place looked like it belonged in an architecture magazine."You sure this is the right address, miss?" The driver's doubt mirrored my own.I checked my phone again. The pin Mom had sent dropped exactly here. "Yeah. I'm sure."The car rolled to a stop in front of massive double doors, real wood, probably worth more than my entire college tuition. My stomach did a nervous flip. I'd wanted to surprise Mom for her birthday, flying in early from Florence without tell

Scarlett's POVThree days of careful choreography. Three days of precision avoidance, like we were dancers who'd memorised each other's movements but never actually touched. I used the east wing bathroom while he showered in the west. I ate breakfast at seven; he ate at eight. When I was in the living room, he was in his office. When he was working in the garage, I was hiding in my bedroom like a coward.It was exhausting.It was also completely unsustainable.Thursday afternoon found me sprawled on the couch in the living room, laptop balanced on my thighs, trying to focus on restoration research. The frescoes I'd left behind in Florence felt like they belonged to a different lifetime, a different person. Someone who'd had her life figured out. Someone who wasn't slowly losing her mind over a man she couldn't have.Outside, the Texas sun beat down mercilessly. The air conditioning hummed, keeping the interior cool, but I couldn't shake the heat that seemed to live under my skin now.

Scarlett's POVThe silence in the house was suffocating. Every creak of the floorboards, every hum of the air conditioning, and every tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway felt like it was mocking me. I stared at Madison's text for the hundredth time, the photo burning itself into my retinas. Evidence. Blackmail. Destruction wrapped up in a single image.I couldn't think here. Couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, and all I could see was Cade's face when he'd walked away, tortured and resigned, choosing duty over desire.Choosing them over us.I needed out. Needed noise and people and something, anything, to drown out the chaos in my head.Three hours later, I was sliding into a dress I'd bought in Milan and never had the guts to wear. Black silk that clung to every curve, with a neckline that dipped low enough to be dangerous and a hem that barely kissed mid-thigh. I paired it with heels that made my legs look endless and grabbed my clutch.If I were going to self-destr

Cade's POVThe silence in the truck was suffocating.I'd managed to get Scarlett into the passenger seat without another word, her body rigid, face turned toward the window like she couldn't bear to look at me. The engine rumbled beneath us as I pulled out of the construction site, leaving behind the wreckage of my reputation and Edward's bloodied face.My knuckles throbbed. Split skin, swelling already starting, blood dried in the creases. I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel, felt the sharp sting, welcomed it. Physical pain was easier to process than the look on Scarlett's face when I'd lost control.The look that said she was seeing me clearly for the first time and didn't like what she found.I drove on autopilot, taking the familiar route back to the estate. The Texas sun beat down mercilessly, heat waves shimmering off the asphalt. Inside the truck's cab, the air conditioning blasted cold air that did nothing to cut through the tension.Scarlett hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken.

Scarlett's POVSix Weeks Ago - Florence, ItalyThe cold evening air swept across my face like a lover's caress as I stood on the gallery balcony, watching the city sprawl beneath me in a tapestry of amber lights and ancient stone. Soft jazz drifted from the party inside—something French and melancholic that made my chest ache with a longing I couldn't name.Florence had never looked more beautiful.The Arno River snaked through the city like a ribbon of black silk, bridges spanning it like jeweled clasps. The Duomo rose in the distance, its terracotta dome catching the last rays of sunset, turning it molten gold. Terracotta rooftops stretched endlessly, interrupted only by bell towers and cypress trees standing sentinel against the darkening sky.I sipped my champagne, the bubbles sharp and bright on my tongue, and tried to memorize this moment. In three weeks, I'd be back in Texas. Back to heat and humidity and a future I couldn't quite picture."Beautiful view, you'd agree." Giovann