Semua Bab Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband : Bab 31 - Bab 40

"Don't move."The voice came from the shadows by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Aria froze. She knew that voice; it was the voice of the storm.Damian Cross walked into the light. He was still in his charcoal suit, but his jacket was gone and his tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the powerful cords of his forearms. He didn't look worried. He looked like a man whose most expensive piece of equipment had just malfunctioned on the assembly line."Damian?" she rasped. Her throat felt as though it had been lined with sandpaper."You collapsed," he stated, his voice a flat, dangerous monotone. "Mr. Gable found you on the floor. He thought you were dead. He called security. Security called me.""I... I just got dizzy," Aria whispered, trying to pull the silk blanket up to her chin to hide how much she was trembling. "I’m fine. I just need to get back down there. The files are a mess.""You are malnourished," Damian snapped, the word hitting

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

It was February 14th. Valentine’s Day.The lobby of Cross Tower—which she wasn't supposed to see, but glimpsed on the grainy security monitors in the B3 break room was filled with deliveries. Massive, obscene bouquets of red roses. Tiered boxes of chocolates. The city was drowning in performative love.Aria sat at her metal desk in the basement, eating a cold sandwich she had made the night before in her small kitchen upstairs. Her phone buzzed against the cold surface of the desk.Cassandra: Emergency. Come to the penthouse immediately. Service elevator. Code 9909.Aria typed back: I’m working. Damian said—Cassandra: I don't care what he said. He’s in meetings until six. I need you NOW. Or do you want me to call Daddy and tell him you’re slacking off?Aria sighed, closing her eyes. She put her sandwich down. She grabbed her coat. She had no choice. In this tower, she lived between the whims of two tyrants.The service elevator opened into the utility room of the Obsidian Penthouse. A

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

Aria dropped her spoon. It clattered loudly against the china, the sound ringing out like a gunshot in the silent room."Father," Damian said, his voice low and warning."Don't look at me like that, Damian," Alfred told his son. "It’s the simple truth. Desmond Hale sold one daughter to save his failing empire. He’s trying to sell this one now, but it seems the market has dried up. No one is buying."He looked at Aria with a cruel, mocking amusement."Is that why you’re in the basement, girl? Hiding from the market? Or are you simply damaged goods that Damian is hiding away to protect the Hale brand?"Aria felt hot tears prick the back of her eyes. The humiliation was total. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream at them both that she was a human being, not a stock option. She looked toward Damian, her eyes pleading. Defend me, she thought. Please, say something.Damian looked at her. He didn't look angry on her behalf. He looked annoyed, as if her tears were an inconvenience, a spill