Todos los capítulos de Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

December at the Hale estate was a high-budget performance art piece titled "The Perfect Family."The house was draped in heavy garlands of fresh pine that smelled of winter forests and old money. A twelve-foot fir tree dominated the foyer, dripping with crystal ornaments and thousands of tiny white lights that blurred into a golden haze. Carols played on a loop over the hidden speaker system, cheerful and hollow.It was suffocating.Aria had been allowed… ordered, really, to leave the vertical prison of The Obsidian and the isolation of the archives for the holiday week."It looks bad if you spend Christmas alone in the city," Cassandra had texted, her tone as sharp as ever. "Come home. Bring presents. Don't be cheap."So Aria was back. Back in her old room in the north wing, where the walls felt like they were closing in. Back to walking on eggshells and holding her breath every time she heard footsteps in the hall.______It was Christmas Eve. The annual Hale Christmas Party was in f

March in the city was not a season of renewal; it was a season of mud and profound misery.The romance of the winter snow had long since vanished, replaced by a permanent, industrial gray slush that clung to the sidewalks like a disease. The sky above Manhattan was a leaden weight, and the wind blowing off the Hudson River didn't just blow—it bit through fabric and skin, seeking out bone.Deep within the bowels of the city, Aria was in the basement archives of Cross Tower. She was wearing a thick, oversized wool sweater over her silk blouse, the heavy fabric itching against her skin. The heating system on Level B3 was "under maintenance"—a cold reality that she suspected Damian had authorized simply to cut overhead costs or perhaps as a subtle reminder of her place in his world. Down here, she was just another piece of cold machinery.It was 4:00 PM, the hour when the fluorescent lights usually started to make her head throb with a dull, rhythmic ache. Her phone buzzed against the meta

Damian Cross sat in his executive office on the 50th floor of Cross Tower. Behind him, the view was a masterpiece of cold ambition a panoramic sweep of Manhattan glittering in the twilight like a sea of jagged diamonds. But Damian wasn't looking at the city he ruled. He wasn't looking at the glowing ticker of the stock market or the legal briefs for his next multi-billion-dollar merger.He was looking at a plain manila folder resting on the center of his mahogany desk.Across from him sat Edwards, the head of his private security detail. Edwards was a former MI6 operative, a man who had spent decades finding needles in haystacks in the dark. He was a man who didn't flinch, and yet, sitting in the silence of Damian's office, he looked visibly uncomfortable.“Explain this,” Damian said. His voice was dangerously quiet, a low vibration that seemed to make the air in the room go still.“It’s the surveillance report, sir,” Edwards said, shifting slightly in the high-end leather chair. “It c

The burn on Aria’s thigh had turned into a map of violence.It was a jagged, raised patch of raw red skin, roughly the size of a handprint, hidden high on her leg where no one could see it. It was her secret scar, a physical manifestation of the night she had sacrificed her own skin to protect a sister who wouldn't even thank her for it. The injury throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache whenever she walked too fast, and it itched with a maddening persistence whenever the coarse fabric of her jeans rubbed against the healing tissue.She sat on the edge of the cold porcelain bathtub in Unit 40B, her fingers trembling as she applied the ointment Damian had sent via a silent courier that morning.There was no note this time. No card, no explanation, no apology. Just a clinical-looking box of medical-grade burn cream and a bottle of high-strength painkillers.Hydrate, he had told her in the car on the night of the disaster. Burns dehydrate the system.He treated her like a high-performance mac

The summons came at 6:00 AM on a Monday.Aria was asleep in her apartment, Unit 40B, curled under the heavy duvet, trying to ignore the gray light filtering through the curtains.Her phone buzzed. It wasn’t a text. It was a call.Cross Industries - Executive Office.She sat up, her heart hammering. She answered.“Miss Hale,” a crisp female voice said. It was Damian’s executive assistant, a woman named Sarah who terrified Aria almost as much as Damian did. “Mr. Cross requires your presence at the private airfield in Teterboro at 0800 hours.”Aria blinked, still half-asleep. “Teterboro? The airport?”“Pack a bag for five days,” Sarah continued, ignoring the question. “Business attire. Formal evening wear. And layers. London is rainy.”“London?” Aria gasped. “I can’t go to London. I have my online classes. I have—”“The university has been notified of your absence,” Sarah cut her off. “Your professors have granted an extension on your final exams. The car is downstairs. Do not be late.”T