All Chapters of Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

"You're coming tonight," Cassandra said.Aria nearly dropped the knife. "To the dinner? But Damian said—""I don't care what Damian said. Father wants the whole family there to show a united front to the Vances." Cassandra leaned against the marble island, her eyes cold. "Besides, Alex specifically asked if you'd be there. It would be rude to keep his 'little friend' hidden in the basement.""I don't have anything to wear," Aria whispered."I've already had a dress sent to your unit. Wear it. And for god's sake, put on some makeup. You look like you're dying.""Cassandra, I really don't think—""It's not a request, Aria. It's an order." Cassandra turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "Don't embarrass me tonight. Alex might be charming, but he's still a Vance. If you make a scene, I'll make sure you regret it."Aria stood in the kitchen, the silence of the penthouse pressing in on her. She had been told to stay away from Alex by Damian, and ordered to attend a dinner with him by

"Damian," the woman said, her voice a dry, controlled rasp."Aunt Beatrice," Damian acknowledged, nodding to her. "I trust the suite was to your satisfaction.""It was," she replied, her gaze immediately landing on Aria, who was standing frozen by the coffee machine."Aunt Beatrice, you remember my sister, Aria," Cassandra said, her voice now a bright, artificial lilt. She moved toward Damian, placing a proprietary hand on his forearm. “She’s the family archivist. We were just discussing her... gloomy aesthetic.”Beatrice didn't offer a hand. She didn't smile. She simply watched Aria. She saw the way Aria's fingers went to her collar. She saw the way Damian’s jaw tightened when Aria tried to shrink into the shadows.“Aria is an employee,” Damian said, his voice dropping into a lethal, professional monotone. “Her aesthetic is irrelevant to the archives. Aria, go down to B3. The audit logs need to be cross-referenced by noon.”“Yes, Mr. Cross,” Aria said. She didn't look at him. She grab

The morning light in the penthouse breakfast room was sharp, cutting through the floor-to-ceiling glass in a way that made every speck of dust visible. Aria stood by the sideboard, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, her fingers picking at the skin of her cuticles until they stung. She was wearing a high-collared knit dress, the fabric stiff and abrasive against the fresh mark on her neck—the one Damian had left only hours before in the dark of her apartment. Beatrice Cross sat at the head of the mahogany table, her silver hair pulled into a bun so tight it seemed to stretch the skin of her forehead. She was a woman built of sharp angles and cold reputations, and her eyes hadn't left Aria since she had walked into the room. “The tea is lukewarm, Aria,” Cassandra said, not looking up from her phone. She was dressed in a silk robe that cost more than Aria’s entire wardrobe, her legs crossed in a way that suggested she had never known a moment of physical labor. “Honestly, I do

The Tuesday morning sun was a pale, sickly yellow as it fought through the thick New York haze. Aria stood in the massive, sterile kitchen of the penthouse, her fingers numb as she arranged a silver tray. It was August 24th, the day before the anniversary, and per Cassandra’s standing order, Aria had been summoned to the penthouse at 6:30 AM to prepare the "Memorial Breakfast" service. It was a tradition Cassandra had invented years ago—not to honor their mother, but to ensure Aria spent the day serving the family she had supposedly broken.“The jasmine tea is five minutes late, Aria. Honestly, do you want Father to have a stroke before the meeting even starts?” Cassandra walked into the kitchen, her silk heels clicking sharply against the marble. She was already dressed in a tailored cream suit, looking every bit the polished socialite.“I’m sorry, the kettle took longer to reach temperature,” Aria whispered, her voice sounding thin and hollow.“Excuses. That’s all you ever have,” Cas

The August heat at St. Jude's Cemetery was suffocating. The air shimmered over the rows of granite headstones, thick with the smell of scorched grass and wilting memorial lilies. Aria stood before the polished black slab, her fingers trembling as she traced the engraved letters.Eleanor Hale1970 – 2011Fifteen years. Five thousand, four hundred and seventy-eight days since the world had turned gray and stayed that way.Aria placed a single white rose at the base of the monument. The stone was hot beneath her palm, but the chill that settled in her bones had nothing to do with the weather. She had slipped out of the Obsidian at dawn, desperate to be here before the surveillance tightened, before anyone could stop her.But standing here now, the present dissolved like smoke.The rain had been relentless that November afternoon. Nine-year-old Aria sat in the back of the SUV, clutching her stuffed rabbit, watching her mother argue with Father on the phone. Eleanor's knuckles were white on