All Chapters of THE ALTAR WE BURNED : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Isabella's PovThe first time I saw Father Arthur Harper, he wasn't behind the altar,he was outside the chapel, shirt clinging to his body from sweat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms flexing as he shoveled soil like he was digging a grave for every temptation he'd ever tried to bury.He was supposed to be a priest. But he looked like a sin I couldn’t wait to commit. The sun bathed him in gold, casting shadows that danced across his sculpted frame, raven black hair tousled just enough to look unholy. That jaw sharp as judgment. Lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line. His entire presence warned me away, but every cell in my body pulled me closer. I should have walked past, Said a prayer, Crossed myself or something else, Instead, I stared. Let desire bloom in my belly like a curse.He noticed me. Of course he did. Those eyes—ice and ash, cool fire lifted slowly to mine. There was nothing priestly in them. No trace of mercy or modesty. Just the raw, danger

The silence after sin was always the loudest. The sanctuary, once a place of refuge, now felt like a co-conspirator to their fall. Candlelight flickered in the distance, casting halos of soft gold on cracked marble and stained glass, bathing the confessional booth—and them—in sacred light that mocked what they'd just done.Arthur lay beside her on the narrow wooden floor, still half-dressed, a crucifix swinging lightly above them from the booth’s ceiling. His fingers ghosted over Isabella’s bare arm. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t retreat. She only leaned into him with that same fire burning behind her eyes. No shame. No regret. Only hunger."I can hear your heart," she murmured, her voice husky. "It’s racing."He laughed bitterly. "It's the sound of a man unraveling." She rolled onto him, her bare thighs straddling his hips as her hands slid beneath his robe again, seeking the warmth she’d tasted too briefly. "Then let it unravel. All of it. I'm not finished with you, Fa

The church was silent that night. Not even the flutter of wings or the distant rustle of trees dared to interrupt the sacred air surrounding it. Yet as Father Arthur Harper stood at the altar, he could feel the tremble beneath his skin—a restless pulse that hadn't slowed since the last time Isabella had whispered his name like a sin.It had been two days. Two days since he'd tasted the forbidden.Two days since he'd watched her leave his confessional with her lips swollen, her voice hoarse, and her soul tangled with his.But tonight, she returned. Not for absolution, But for something else entirely.He saw her the moment she stepped in through the rear entrance, a shadow cloaked in desire. Her black coat hung off her shoulders like a casual afterthought, revealing the curve of her bare legs and the sin she wore like perfume. The moment their eyes met across the pews, the world fell into silence."You shouldn't be here," Arthur whispered, though he took a ste

Father Michaels sat alone in the chapel, the candlelight flickering shadows across the stone walls like restless ghosts. The confessional booth behind him loomed large in his memory—he could still hear the tremor in Arthur’s voice, the anguish barely hidden behind forced calm.“I’ve broken something sacred,” Arthur had confessed.But Father Michaels already knew.He had seen the signs. The way Arthur looked at Isabella. The way he lingered after mass, eyes searching for something he couldn’t find in the Word. The way Isabella had changed—softer around the edges, but burning with a defiance that felt like a cry for help.He’d pretended not to notice. Until last night.Until he saw them!Until he found the journal!It wasn’t just lust. It was madness. And it had taken root inside the very man he’d once mentored. The altar boy who had become the golden man of the church. The son he never had. The son he loved. The son he va

The sanctuary had fallen silent in his absence. Where once Arthur’s voice had echoed through the halls—delivering sermons, offering prayers, comforting mourners—now there was only silence and shadows. The church remained physically intact, but spiritually, he felt its heart was withering with him.A week had passed since the hearing. The final verdict was due any day. His every waking moment was filled with tension so thick it could be sliced with a consecrated blade. Though technically confined to his quarters, Arthur had begun taking quiet midnight walks in the garden behind the rectory. It was the only place he could breathe without drowning.Underneath the garden’s lone fig tree, Arthur knelt each night, whispering prayers that felt increasingly hollow. He could not feel God anymore—only judgment, only distance.“Why give me love,” he murmured into the night, “if You only planned to punish me for it?”A part of him feared the answer. Another f