บททั้งหมดของ Forbidden Confession: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The silence in the house was a physical thing, thick and suffocating. It was broken only by the rhythmic click-clack of Landon’s keyboard from the home office. My husband. The man who was supposedly my partner in all things, yet here I was, alone in our king-sized bed, feeling a familiar ache deep in my belly. An ache he hadn't touched, or even seemed to notice, in weeks.My hand slid down from my stomach, over the silk of my nightgown, and between my legs. It was a lazy, frustrated touch at first. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to imagine it was him, that he’d finally closed his laptop and remembered he had a wife. But the fantasy was hollow. Landon’s touch, when it came, was always so… perfunctory. Efficient. Like he was checking an item off a to-do list.My fingers found my clit through the thin fabric of my panties. I was already wet. My own body, always ready, always hopeful, betraying me. I closed my eyes and let my imagination take over, picturing a man who wasn't Landon

The sound of Landon’s office door clicking open was like a starter pistol. Panic, cold and sharp, shot through my veins, overriding the languid, post-orgasmic haze. I scrambled off the bed, my limbs slick and trembling. The evidence of my betrayal was everywhere—my torn nightgown on the floor, the damp, cooling mess on the sheets, the scent of Kael’s sweat and my own arousal thick in the air.My heart hammered against my ribs as I snatched my robe from the floor, pulling it on and tying the sash with fumbling fingers. I heard Landon’s footsteps on the stairs, slow and even. He was going to the kitchen. I had seconds.With frantic, desperate movements, I ripped the soiled sheets from the bed, balling them up and shoving them deep into the bottom of my laundry hamper, praying he wouldn’t notice the bare mattress. I grabbed the torn silk of my nightgown and buried it under the other clothes. My body still ached, a deep, throbbing reminder of Kael’s possession. I could still feel him insi

"Can I get you anything else, Mr. Vance?" I asked, my voice polite, professional. The question was a formality. He was Silas Vance. A billionaire. Owner of this entire private jet. He had everything.He sat in a leather armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The only other person on the flight was his pilot, locked in the cockpit, a wall away. It was just him and me. And the silence. The kind of silence that feels heavy and thick.He was older. Forty-five, maybe fifty. His hair was silver at the temples, but his body was lean and hard under his expensive suit. His eyes, the color of a cold, deep ocean, watched me from over the rim of his glass. I felt my skin prickle under his gaze."Yes, Jessica," he said, his voice a low rumble. My name, spoken by him, felt like a brand. He set his drink down on the small table beside him. "You can come over here and sit with me."My breath hitched. My training manual didn't cover this. "I'm sorry, sir? I have duties to attend to."He chuckl

His mouth left my neck, leaving the skin feeling cold and exquisitely sensitive. The mark he’d left there throbbed, a tiny beacon of my betrayal. I was panting, my head still thrown back, my body pliant and boneless in his arms. My mind was a chaotic storm of ‘no,’ but my body was a calm sea of ‘yes.’“This isn’t the place,” Michael murmured, his voice a low growl against my skin. His hands slid from my waist, and he grabbed my wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. “Come with me.”He didn’t wait for an answer. He began to lead me out of the kitchen, pulling me along behind him like a prize he’d just won. My feet stumbled to keep up. Every step was a step further away from reason, a step deeper into a dark, thrilling territory I knew I should be running from. We passed the grand staircase where Talia slept, blissfully unaware, and my stomach clenched with a fresh wave of guilt so potent it almost made me sick. But the feeling was immediately washed away by the hot, electric thrill of hi

“The garage. Five minutes.”The text lit up the dark room. A command, not a request. My phone felt like a hot coal in my hand. For a second, just one, I thought about not going. Just locking the door, burying my head under the pillow, and pretending I was asleep.But that was a joke. A stupid, childish fantasy. He’d just come here. He’d stand in the doorway, silent, until I broke. This wasn't a game I could win. This was just a question of how I lost.My feet hit the cold floor. I didn’t bother with the robe. The dress I was still wearing felt like a costume anyway. The uniform of a whore.The house was dead quiet. Every creak of the floorboards under my bare feet sounded like a gunshot. I passed their bedroom door—Talia’s and Michael’s. My best friend was in there. Sleeping. Probably dreaming of something nice. Normal. The thought was a knife in my gut. Cold, sharp guilt. But something else was there too, something hot and dark and coiling in my belly. Anticipation. I was walking tow