All Chapters of His Forbidden Muse: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Sometimes, I think the Universe has a personal vendetta against me. Not because I am a wicked bastard, or I’ve sinned more times than I’ve prayed.It’s because I dared to want something… pure. And fucked it up the second I touched it.That house. The fucking mansion.I’m standing across the road from it like a goddamn ghost haunting my own regret. The wind bites at my skin as if it knows I deserve this pain. This pain that doesn’t bleed me on the outside, but it festers. The one that names itself her.The lights in her room are off. But the windows are still open.The panes rattle as breath did beneath me so, so violent and unsure of what to do next. They’re cracked in the corner now, like her voice when she told me to leave. Violet curtains dance like haunted fabric, part inside, part out.Half hers.Half mine.All fucking wrong.I shift my weight on my boots, but I don’t have the intention to move. I can’t move for fuck’s sake. The personal witch of mine has casted a spell so strong

“You’re up early, sweetheart,” Papa says, patting the seat beside him. “Come eat before everything gets cold.”Papa offers me a wink. Gerhard nods at me, the old man is getting very close with our family. I smile, at least try to, as I enter the dining room fully. On my way to the seat, my eyes meet Papochka’s and he gives a grunt that counts as affection. Even Mama musters a tired smile, one that doesn’t quite reaches her eyes but still feels like an embrace.Too normal. Much too normal.It claws at me, this confusion and I was ready for war, and they handed me peace.But peace with our family? I don’t trust it.It’s always the calm before the storm, and with us, the storm always comes, one way or another.It’s not like I hate my family. I don’t. in fact, I love them beyond anything. I can even sacrifice myself for them, knowing damn well, they’d do the same for me. But what about the blood that binds us, the legacy that haunts our every step? Maybe that’s the reason Zayn stopped com

She’s sitting in my car like she doesn’t belong there. Like she doesn’t know this whole goddamn world revolves around the fact that she’s in that seat right now, breathing in my air, dragging my attention into her like gravity in its purest, most violent form.Krystina Romanovski.My little chaos. My sweetest rebellion. My favourite delusion.She’s curled up, arms folded, glaring out the window as if she’s debating how best to set me on fire. And maybe I’d let her, just to watch her softest brown eyes shine in the fire.Every time I see her, I don’t just want. Wanting is too human. Too polite. What I feel is a need that borders on destruction.I want to wreck her. Fold her into my chaos. Crush the world that shaped her without me in t. I want to make her bleed out every memory that doesn’t have me in it. And if that sounds monstrous, I can’t even tell what sick part of me thinks yet.Because I am.And yet, knowing the damn consequences of this obsession, of reminding myself she’s the

There’s something about horizons that break you a little. I’ve never thought about that, but now I’m looking at one, I realise they show you the distance between what you want and what you’ll never reach.Between peace and reality.Between the person you wish you were, and the person your blood turned you into.Maybe that’s why I can’t stop staring. Maybe that’s why I can’t breathe.The wind is kinder here. It doesn’t carry the stench of blood or the echo of gunfire. It doesn’t mock me with silence after another scream disappears into the dark. It juts… brushes my hair back a little for it doesn’t care who I am. Doesn’t care that I’m a Romanovski.Because God knows I do.I love my family. I do. But sometimes loving them feels like being handcuffed to burning building. Sometimes it feels like being expected to smile while watching people fall, from the rooftops we call loyalty.I’ve seen more people die than I’ve spoken to in school, or in life, in general.I’ve seen Judas shooting som

Some things don’t fade with time. They brand you, but they don’t fade.Like the echo of a name you never stopped answering to.Like fingerprints on your soul, unseen yet there.Years pass, people change, but some aches are stitched into the fabric of who you are.Some scars don’t show. But they shine when the light hits just right. And pride, it keeps you from reaching out but it never stops you from remembering. Because stories don’t end. They just mould into new ones. And some loves, they don’t die. They haunt. They burn and like I said, they brand.Forever.And the blood on his hands isn’t fading. No matter how many times I blink, or try to pinch myself awake, it’s still there. Crimson. Warm and real.Staining the moment. Staining me.My knees buckle before the silence does and the weight of it all finally crushes me, and I let myself fall. The cold floor beneath me don’t comfort me in any way, they scald my skin through the fabric. I slide down the wall in surrender. My arms wrap