Lahat ng Kabanata ng Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband : Kabanata 141 - Kabanata 150

Then at Damian’s hand—still close to Aria’s face.Not casual.Possessive.Cassandra’s eyes went wide.“Oh my God.”She backed away from both of them.“Something’s going on between you two.”Cassandra’s eyes narrowed.“I thought—” Her voice cracked. “I thought you were angry because I humiliated you. Because I damaged the family reputation.”She took a step closer, studying Damian’s face.“But that’s not it, is it?”Damian’s expression didn’t change.Cassandra looked at Aria again.Really looked.Saw the way Aria was trembling. The way she couldn’t meet Damian’s eyes. The guilt was written all over her face.She laughed—sharp, hysterical.“Oh my God. You’re not angry at me. You’re angry at HER.”“Cassandra—” Aria whispered.“Shut UP!” Cassandra screamed.She walked toward Aria, circling her like a predator.“How long?”“What?”“How long have you been spreading your legs for my husband?”“I haven’t—”“LIAR!” Cassandra shoved her. Hard.Aria stumbled back against the wall.“You think I’m

Aria woke up on the sofa.She didn’t remember going there. Didn’t remember falling asleep. Just opened her eyes to gray light bleeding through the windows and the realization that she was still here.Still in this place.Still breathing—barely, each inhale a jagged reminder of the void clawing at her chest.She sat up slowly. Her head felt heavy, disconnected from her body, like it belonged to someone else—someone who hadn’t shattered into irreparable pieces. The penthouse stretched out around her—silent, pristine, empty, its perfection mocking the chaos raging inside her.A breakfast tray sat on the dining table. Toast. Eggs. Orange juice in a crystal glass.She stared at it, her stomach twisting in revulsion.Someone had been here while she slept. Walked in. Set down the tray. Left.She hadn’t heard them.Hadn’t woken up.That should bother her. Should frighten her, the idea of strangers invading her fragile sanctuary while she lay vulnerable.It didn’t.Nothing did anymore—nothing

Damian Cross.Her thumb hovered over the call button, indecision warring within.She’d called him on Day 19. Left six voicemails. Told him she was sorry, that she understood why he was angry, that she just needed to know he was okay, her voice breaking with vulnerability.He never responded, his silence a final rejection.She set the phone down, the act feeling like surrender.Stood, her legs unsteady beneath her.Walked to the kitchen, the motion mechanical.The routine. Window to kitchen to bathroom to sofa. Over and over. A loop with no beginning and no end, a prison of repetition.She opened the fridge. Fully stocked like always. The staff made sure of that, their efficiency a stark contrast to her decay.Took out a bottle of water. Drank half, the liquid cool against her parched throat. Set it down.Her hands were shaking.They were always shaking now, a constant tremor of frailty.She walked back to the window, seeking solace in the view.“Twenty-nine days,” she said out loud, t

Aria hadn't moved from the window.Dawn had come and gone, sunlight now pouring through the glass in harsh, unforgiving rays that made her eyes ache. She'd watched the city wake up below—cars appearing on streets, lights blinking on in distant buildings, the world continuing like nothing had changed.Like her entire existence hadn't shattered twelve hours ago.Her body was still curled tight, knees to chest, arms wrapped around her shins. Her muscles screamed in protest, locked in the same position for so long they'd gone numb and then past numb into a deep, bone-grinding ache.She couldn't move.Couldn't uncurl herself.The door to the study opened.Every muscle in her body seized.She didn't turn. Couldn't force her neck to work, couldn't make herself look at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the window, on the city beyond, on anything except the man who'd just entered the room.Footsteps crossed the marble.Steady. Unhurried. The same controlled rhythm from last night, like he had all

Aria sat at the table for a long time after she finished reading.The contract sat in front of her. Every brutal clause. Every dehumanizing term. The signature line at the bottom, blank and waiting.The penthouse was silent except for the faint hum of traffic fifty floors below. Morning light poured through the windows, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating every word on that page until they seemed to burn into her vision.Her hands had stopped shaking.That surprised her. After thirty days of trembling, of falling apart, of barely holding herself together—her hands were suddenly still.Steady.Like something inside her had finally solidified.She stared at the pen next to the document. Black. Expensive. Waiting.All she had to do was pick it up. Sign. And it would be done.She'd have somewhere to live. Food. Medical care. The basic necessities required to survive.In exchange for everything else.The air in the penthouse felt thick. Heavy. Like it was pressing down on her chest, making