All Chapters of Forbidden Affairs : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

It started with a dare. A stupid, drunk, late-night dare that should have ended with a laugh and a blurry video on someone’s phone, not with me standing frozen in the doorway of the men’s locker room, heart pounding so hard I swore the sound would give me away. I should have walked away the second I saw the light bleeding under the door, should have turned around when I heard the low rumble of male voices echoing off the tiled walls. But I didn’t. I pushed the door open anyway.It creaked like a confession, and for a second, I panicked. I held my breath. Nothing happened. No alarms. No shouts. No one came running. So I slipped inside.The room smelled like sweat and cologne and something rawer, heavier, the kind of scent that hits deep in the chest and makes your thighs clench without permission. I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t want to. There was a pull in my gut I didn’t recognize but couldn’t resist. The noise grew clearer. Someone was laughing. Someone else groaned. Then I heard a

They told me not to wear panties.I didn’t know if it was a joke or a command, but when I pulled on the tight black dress they left for me, I obeyed. My thighs trembled the entire walk to the stadium. Not from cold—but from the memory of how my body still pulsed from the night before.My skin still wore their fingerprints. My lips still tasted like sweat and musk and control.And I wanted more.Silas met me at the side gate, hidden behind the equipment truck. His eyes raked over my body the second I stepped into view. He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.He just reached out and slid his hand up my bare thigh, stopping when his fingers met the heat between my legs.“Good girl,” he murmured.He handed me a clipboard, then a pass on a lanyard.“Ball girl,” it said. Like I was official.I wasn’t.I was theirs.“Stay close to the bench,” he said. “Don’t make eye contact with the coaches. And if we win this game, you know what comes after.”I nodded, heart pounding.The game started. I stayed

The mirror didn’t recognize me anymore.I stood in my dorm bathroom the morning after, bruises blooming on my thighs, hickeys painting my breasts like war marks. My body pulsed in places I hadn’t known could ache. My voice was nearly gone. My eyes, though—they were still wild. Still full of the things I couldn’t say out loud.Because how do you explain letting an entire football team claim you?How do you confess you liked it?I should’ve felt shame.I didn’t.I felt full. Used. Worshipped. And now… I felt empty without them.By midweek, I was checking my phone constantly, waiting for something—anything. But nothing came. No notes. No texts. No mysterious appearances in hallways or cornered whispers between lockers. It was like I’d been erased.Used and tossed aside.But I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg.I waited.Because I knew better.They weren’t done with me. Not yet.It came Friday night.A knock on my door, just after midnight.I opened it without thinking.Silas stood there.Not smil

I should have turned around. Should have gone back to my room, locked the door, and buried myself in a blanket of guilt. But I didn’t. I stood there outside his door like a girl possessed, unsure if I was more afraid of getting caught or of being ignored. The storm still echoed faintly through the walls, thunder humming in the distance, rain slicking the windows in steady streaks. I raised my hand and knocked. Once. Soft. Hesitant.No answer.My fingers curled around the knob, and I turned it slowly.The room was dim, only the soft glow from a lamp on the dresser casting shadows over the space. Reed sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, one arm resting on his thigh, the other holding a tumbler of whiskey. His eyes met mine the moment I stepped in. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me with that unreadable expression, jaw tight, eyes dark.I didn’t say a word either. My breath caught in my throat.“You lost?” he asked, voice low, almost tired.I stepped farther inside, clo

The gala was exactly what I expected—polished faces, fake laughter, and an endless stream of champagne flutes carried by bow-tied waiters who avoided eye contact. It reeked of money and ego. My father loved this scene. Loved showing off his tailored suits, the weight of his name, the way people bent slightly forward when he passed by, even if it wasn’t a full bow. I wasn’t invited. Of course not. I’d been away at college and intentionally kept out of the family business drama. But I didn’t come here to support him. I came for him.Vincent D’Arcy.My father’s biggest rival. The man whose name made my father curse under his breath. The man I’d only seen from a distance once, years ago, when I was barely eighteen, and he’d come to a meeting that had ended with my father slamming his glass against the wall. I remembered him then, tall and broad, a man in full command of his presence, the air around him heavy with intimidation and power. I didn’t know then why I stared so long. But I knew