บททั้งหมดของ HIS FORBIDDEN TEMPTATION : บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 160

The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, but it did nothing to warm the storm inside me. I’d been awake for hours, tossing and turning in a bed that suddenly felt far too big, far too empty.Emily.Her name ran a loop in my mind like a mantra—no, more like a curse.I sat up with a sharp exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. My phone was already in my palm before I even registered the movement. I’d texted her just before dawn.Are you okay?Simple. Careful. But it was anything but casual.Because I wasn’t okay.Not after last night.Not after watching her walk away with De Vito like she belonged to him. Like she chose him.God, the way he looked at her. Touched her. Like he had every right. Like she was his to claim.My jaw clenched at the memory, my grip on the phone tightening until my knuckles turned white.He had no right.Emily might work under him, but that didn’t make her his. She wasn’t some trophy to be passed around or collected.

The sun was high by the time I finally arrived at the construction site. I stepped out of the car, heels crunching against gravel, tablet tucked under my arm, and hardhat in hand. The air was thick with the scent of sawdust, fresh paint, and the low rumble of machinery humming in the distance.To someone else, it might’ve looked like chaos.But to me?It was art.Concrete walls rising like monoliths. Steel beams slicing through the sky like the bones of something ancient coming to life. The echo of hammers, the hum of voices, the rhythmic whine of drills—it was a symphony. My symphony.I inhaled deeply, grounding myself.My name might not be on the front of this hotel, but every inch of it was mine. My design. My vision. My fingerprints were carved into the very foundation, hidden beneath layers of rebar and cement. And now… now it was coming to life.“Morning, Emily,” one of the contractors greeted, clipboard in hand and a streak of dust across his cheek.“Morning,” I smiled back, sl

The silence between us was gentle. Companionable. The kind of silence that didn’t feel heavy or awkward—it just was. Like the hush after a song you didn’t want to end.We’d finished dessert—tiramisu, impossibly light—and I’d managed to convince myself that this was just a dinner. Just two people talking. Laughing. Existing in a bubble of flickering candlelight and quiet music.But then something shifted again.Subtle. Barely there.His hand reached out across the white linen tablecloth, fingers brushing mine. It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a real touch. Just a gentle sweep of skin on skin. But it sent a tremor through me like someone had plucked a string tied straight to my ribs.I looked up, startled—and he was already watching me.His fingers curled around mine, tentative at first. Then firmer. As if he needed to hold on to something before the courage slipped away.And for a moment, he didn’t speak.His thumb moved slowly over the back of my hand, the silence stretching between

The silence inside the car was nothing like the one at dinner.This silence was taut. Heavy. Pulling at my nerves like strings wound too tight, humming with the weight of something unsaid.I sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on the city lights flashing by the window. Alessandro’s car moved smoothly through the streets, the soft hum of the engine doing little to ease the pounding in my chest.He had kissed me.I had kissed him back.And now I was sitting in his car, heart racing, blood roaring in my ears, completely unable to shake the image burned into my brain—the blue of his eyes in the dark, like a flame behind glass."You okay?"His voice cut through the quiet, low and careful.I turned my head, startled. Alessandro glanced at me quickly before looking back at the road, his hand relaxed on the wheel.I forced a nod. "Yeah. I'm okay.""Are you sure?"His tone was softer now, more intimate. There was something about the way he spoke that made me want to c

I woke up in a tangle of silk sheets, the scent of lavender faint in the air. For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was. Then the ceiling came into focus, tall and intricate with its soft ambient lights, and I remembered. The penthouse. The place that was supposed to be my safe haven, my quiet escape from the noise of the world.But something was off.I could feel it. That prickling sensation at the base of my neck. The hairs on my arms rising without reason. I blinked slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.And then I saw him.Lorenzo.Sitting in the chair beside my bed.Just sitting there.His posture was relaxed, almost too much so, as if he’d been sitting there for hours, maybe longer. But his eyes—they were anything but calm.They were shattered.Bleeding with hurt. With something deeper than anger. Something rawer than rage.My throat dried.“Lorenzo…” I whispered.His voice was quiet. Steady. Dangerous."Is it because I’m old?"I blinked, confused. "What?"His gaze didn’t