All Chapters of Craving Forbidden Pleasures : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The dining room shimmered with old money and old grudges. Crystal glasses sparkled in the light of the chandelier, and polished silver gleamed in perfect alignment across a table long enough to host a royal banquet. But beneath the glamour, the air was heavy—thick with unspoken words, sharpened pride, and simmering animosity. Lila adjusted the hem of her dress beneath the table, trying to sit straighter, calmer. She had been told, repeatedly, to behave. To smile when spoken to, to keep her opinions tucked behind her teeth like secrets, and to remember that tonight wasn’t about her. It was about business. It was always about business. Her father’s voice rumbled beside her, deep and commanding, the way it always was when he needed to mask irritation with civility. “Charles, surely you can’t believe that’s a sustainable strategy.” Across the table, Mr. Ashford—her father’s long-time partner and longer-time rival—smiled thinly. “What I believe, Henry, is that you’re running out of room

The envelope was sitting on her vanity when she came home from class. Thick, expensive cardstock. No return address. Just her name written in bold, deliberate strokes and an embossed crest she didn’t recognize. Inside was a single slip of paper. An address. A time. Tonight. Nothing more. Lila sat on the edge of her bed, staring at it as though it might bite her. Her father’s warnings echoed in her head, the weight of last weekend’s shouting match still fresh in her bones. Stay away from Damien Blackwell. Do not give him an inch. Do not get caught in his games. And yet— Her fingers kept brushing over the paper. Her heart kept twisting with a restless, dangerous curiosity and excitement. She told herself she wouldn’t go. That she would tear it up, throw it away, pretend it never arrived. But she soon found herself browsing through her wardrobe for a suitable dress. She chose the one she always looked great in. The one that always attracted admiring glances to her. She told herse

Lila had never seen her father like this.His voice thundered through the study, rattling the whiskey glasses on the shelf and making the chandelier tremble overhead. His hands slammed down on the desk, rattling the pens and scattering papers like startled birds.“You’ve what?” he roared.Lila stood frozen, her back pressed to the wooden door she’d foolishly closed behind her when she entered. Her father’s eyes were blazing—so like her own but darkened with fury, sharpened by years of ruthless deals and boardroom wars.“With Damien,” she whispered, though her voice was steady. It shocked her. She had expected to tremble, to fall to pieces under the weight of his fury. But all she felt was the ghost of Damien’s hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat, the memory of his voice telling her she belonged to him.Her father’s face flushed crimson. “Damien Vale is a viper. He’s poison, Lila! He’s been circling me for years, waiting for an opening, and now I see what his play has been all a

The rain had stopped just before dusk, leaving the mountain road slick and glistening like molten silver in the fading light.Sienna Holt leaned against the bus stop’s splintered bench, tugging her coat tighter. The mountain air bit harder than she’d expected for mid-September, and she’d been a fool not to check the weather before coming here.Greyford was supposed to be just a stopover on her way north — a sleepy little place where the only thing to do was grab a hot drink and wait for the next morning’s bus. But as she stared down the sloping main street, she realized she’d stumbled into something else entirely.Lanterns lined the cobbled road, casting pools of gold that swayed in the breeze. Stalls were being set up under the glow — selling everything from spiced cider to hand-carved charms. People were laughing, music spilling from somewhere deeper in the town.She spotted the banner strung across two rooftops: Full Moon Festival.Sienna smiled despite herself. Her grandmother use

Sienna should have left. She told herself that a dozen times on the hike back, boots crunching over pine needles, heart still tripping over the memory of his voice. She should have gone straight to the inn, grabbed her bag, and caught the first bus out. But the roads were empty when she reached Greyford’s main street. The festival stalls were closed. Doors barred. Curtains drawn tight. Even the air felt heavier, charged, as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Everywhere looked almost deserted and she felt that she had to get to the inn as soon as she possibly could. She was halfway to the inn when the scent hit her again — warm, wild, intoxicating. Her knees weakened before her mind registered what it meant. He was here. Her heart missed a beat. Not from fear. But from excitement. From anticipation. And she hated herself for being so drawn to a stranger that could pose a threat to her. The shadow moved before she saw it — a blur at the corner of her vision, faster than a man s