All Chapters of Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

The private terminal at Teterboro is empty at six in the morning except for Damian’s car and the jet waiting on the tarmac. Aria sits in the back seat with her small carry-on, watching the sky lighten from black to gray.Damian hasn’t spoken since the driver picked her up from Unit 40B twenty minutes ago. He sits beside her, his attention on his phone, scrolling through emails with the kind of focus that makes the rest of the world disappear.But his hand rests on her thigh. Heavy. Possessive. A constant weight reminding her exactly who she belongs to.When they board the jet, the flight attendant greets them with professional warmth. “Mr. Cross. We’ll be departing in ten minutes.”Damian doesn’t acknowledge her. He walks to his usual seat—the large leather chair positioned at the window—and pulls Aria down onto his lap before she can move toward a different seat.“Damian—”“Sit.” His arm bands around her waist, locking her in place. His other hand moves to her hair, fingers threading

Damian looks down at her, and the hunger in his eyes is almost frightening—dark, possessive, like he’s claiming her soul along with her body. She feels that gaze like a physical touch, heavy and hot, making her shiver even as wetness slicks her thighs.His hand moves to his belt, unbuckling it with deliberate slowness.“You’re going to use that pretty mouth for something better than lies,” he says quietly. His pants open. “And you’re going to forget everything except pleasing me. Understood?”Aria nods, her heart hammering so hard she can hear it in her ears.He frees his cock, thick and hard, veins standing out along the length. Aria’s breath catches. She’s never done this. Never even thought about doing this.But the way he’s looking at her—like she’s his, like he owns every part of her, like nothing in the world matters except this moment—makes the fear dissolve into something else. Something desperate and aching.“Open,” he commands.She opens her mouth.His hand fists in her hair,

Morning light filters through the hotel curtains, turning the room from black to gray.Aria hasn’t moved. She’s been lying on her side of the bed for hours, staring at nothing, her body rigid and still. She didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. Just lay there feeling the weight of everything crushing her.Beside her, Damian stirs. She hears his breathing change, feels the shift as he wakes up.He doesn’t speak immediately. Just lies there for a moment. Then he gets up.Aria doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn her head to watch him. Just keeps staring at the wall.She hears him walk to the bathroom. Hears the shower turn on. Hears him moving through his morning routine like this is normal, like last night was normal, like she’s not lying here falling apart.Twenty minutes later, he emerges. She can feel him looking at her.Still, she doesn’t move.The mattress dips as he sits on the edge of the bed. She feels his hand on her shoulder.“Aria.”She doesn’t respond.“Look at me.”She can’t. If she looks at

“I hate you,” she whispers.“No, you don’t.” His thumb strokes along her jaw, almost gentle, but his eyes are still cold. “You hate yourself. There’s a difference.”“Let me go.”“No.”“Damian—”“You don’t get to start this conversation and then run when you don’t like the answers.” His hand tightens fractionally on her throat. “You asked me what you are to me. I’m telling you. You’re mine. My decision. My possession. And if that’s not enough for you, if you need sweet words and promises I’ll never make, then yes—walk away.”“I can’t.” The admission is broken, defeated.“I know.” He releases her throat but keeps his grip on her jaw. “That’s why this works. You need someone to tell you what to do, where to belong, and I need—”“What?” She looks into his eyes, searching for something, anything that resembles feeling. “What do you need?”For a moment, something flickers in his expression. Something that might be vulnerability, might be truth.Then it’s gone, shuttered behind that cold con

December in Manhattan bites with a particular kind of cruelty. The kind that seeps through expensive wool coats and settles into bones. The kind that makes the city feel sharper, harder, more unforgiving.Damian Cross drives through the gray afternoon with hands steady on the wheel, his expression revealing nothing.The phone call came fifteen minutes ago. Webb's voice professional and detached: "Sir, your wife just entered Sapphire Heights. Suite 3205."Damian had been in the middle of a board meeting. Seven executives, two attorneys, twelve million dollars hanging on his next decision.He'd stood without explanation. "We'll resume tomorrow."No one questioned him. No one ever does.Now the Sapphire Heights rises ahead—glass and steel reflecting the colorless winter sky. It's a luxury hotel. Discreet. The kind of place where staff are trained to see nothing and remember less.Perfect for secrets.Damian leaves his car with valet and walks through the lobby with the same measured pace