All Chapters of My Forbidden Brother : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

51 Chapters

THIRTY ONE : OLIVIA

OLIVIA The air in Adrian’s bedroom was thick, heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the electric charge of a storm that had been brewing since the day he moved back into this house. The moonlight bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting silver slashes across the dark silk of his duvet. I felt the weight of him pressing me down into the mattress, a physical manifestation of every secret, every bruise, and every silent command he had ever given me. "Look at me, Olivia," he rasped, his voice a jagged edge in the quiet. I opened my eyes, my vision blurred by the heat radiating from my own skin. He was hovering over me, his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, his chest heaving. He looked like a god carved from obsidian—shadowed, hard, and terrifyingly beautiful. I reached up, my fingers trembling as I traced the corded muscle of his shoulders, feeling the raw power he was barely keeping in check. "I’m looking," I whispered, my voice breaking. "This is the end of

THIRTY TWO : ADRIAN

ADRIAN The sunlight was relentless, cutting through the gaps in the heavy blackout curtains and slicing across the bed. I woke up slowly, my body feeling heavier and more grounded than it had in years. The usual cold, calculated alertness that greeted me every morning was replaced by a thick, honeyed satisfaction. I didn't need to open my eyes to know she was there. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft, rhythmic puff of her breath against my shoulder. I shifted slightly, disentangling my arm from beneath her head. Olivia didn't wake; she only let out a soft, subconscious whimper, her brow furrowing for a split second before she settled back into the pillows. I stayed still, watching her. In the pale morning light, she looked fragile, her dark hair a chaotic contrast against the white silk sheets. I slid out of bed, the cool air of the room a sharp wake-up call. My muscles were stiff, a dull ache in my lower back acting as a vivid reminder of exactly how I had s

THIRTY THREE : OLIVIA

OLIVIA Waking up in Adrian’s bed for the second morning in a row felt dangerously natural. The sheets still smelled of him—that intoxicating blend of expensive soap and something deeper, something purely masculine. For a few minutes, I lay there watching the dust motes dance in the shafts of morning light, feeling the lingering ache in my muscles like a secret trophy. But today, the fever dream had to pause. I couldn't hide in this room forever, and the "migraine" excuse wouldn't hold up for a second day without raising alarms with the school administration. I sat up, the duvet sliding down to reveal the constellation of marks Adrian had painted on my skin. They had faded from a violent purple to a deep, sunset red, but they were still there—a map of everything that had happened behind these closed doors. I padded back to my own room, the cold floorboards a grounding contrast to the warmth of Adrian’s suite. I spent nearly twenty minutes in front of my vanity, a palette of col

THIRTY FOUR : OLIVIA

OLIVIA The drive home from Beacon High felt like a slow-motion countdown. Every red light was an insult, every speed limit a suggestion I struggled to follow. By the time I pulled into the gravel driveway, my hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. I stepped into the foyer, smoothing my skirt and schooling my features into the mask of the "diligent student." I nodded to Mrs. Higgins as she crossed the hall with a stack of fresh linens. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Higgins. I'm feeling much better today, thank you," I said, my voice steady, practiced. "Glad to hear it, Miss Olivia. Your stepbrother is in the library," she replied with a polite smile. I didn't run. Running would be suspicious. I walked with a measured, rhythmic pace up the grand staircase, my heart thumping a frantic counterpoint to my footsteps. I bypassed my own room and went straight to the library, pushing the heavy oak doors open just enough to slip inside. Adrian was standing

THIRTY FIVE : OLIVIA

OLIVIA The sound of the door creaking open was like the crack of a whip. Adrenaline, cold and sharp, flooded my system, instantly drowning out the heat that had been clouding my brain. In one fluid, desperate motion, I scrambled off the pool table, my bare feet hitting the carpet with a soft thud. I didn’t even have time to breathe as I yanked the emerald silk down, smoothing the hem over my thighs with trembling fingers and turning my back to the door. I stood in the deep shadow of the far corner, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I was certain it would bruise. I kept my head down, pretending to study a rack of cues, my hair falling forward to shield the flushed, swollen state of my face. Adrian didn’t even flinch. He didn't move away from the table; instead, he simply leaned against the heavy mahogany edge, one hand sliding casually into his pocket while the other rested on the felt. He looked every bit the bored, untouchable heir—except for the slight roughness

THIRTY SIX : OLIVIA

OLIVIA Friday morning didn't arrive with the soft, poetic glow of a romance novel; it arrived with the cold, clinical precision of an executioner’s blade. The sunlight through my bedroom window felt intrusive, a glaring spotlight on the secrets etched into my skin. I woke up with the phantom weight of Adrian’s hand still anchoring me to the mattress, my body humming with a low-frequency vibration that made even the silk sheets feel like sandpaper against my sensitized nerves. I didn't want to go to school. The very thought of sitting in a hard plastic chair, listening to a teacher drone on about the Great Depression while my own world was undergoing a radical, illicit reconstruction, felt absurd. I wanted to crawl back into the dark, into the sandalwood-scented sanctuary of Adrian’s room, and let the rest of the world fade into a static hum. But Adrian was a man of protocols, even when he was breaking the most sacred ones. I found him in the closet, already dressed like he w

THIRTY SEVEN : ADRIAN

ADRIAN The drive to the city was a masterclass in tension. Olivia sat in the passenger seat, a vision of shimmering black knit and gold chains that seemed to catch every passing streetlight. The rhythmic chime-chime-chime of the links against the leather seat was the only soundtrack to our journey, a metallic heartbeat that mocked my internal resolve. I had spent weeks breaking her down, stripping away the layers of the "sister" and the "student" until only the raw, pulsing core of her remained. I had marked her, claimed her, and hidden her in the shadows of our father’s house. But tonight was different. Tonight, I wanted to see her in the light. I wanted to see her under the scrutiny of the world and know that she was still entirely, irrevocably mine. I pulled the car into the private garage of L’Eclat, a restaurant that didn't exist on any map for the uninitiated. We were met not by a crowd, but by a single man in white gloves who led us through a hidden elevator directly to the

THIRTY EIGHT : ADRIAN

ADRIAN The underground garage was a tomb of polished concrete and shifting shadows. The only sound was the rhythmic, metallic tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine and the frantic, mechanical hum still vibrating through the girl in the passenger seat. Olivia was a masterpiece in total ruin. Her head was thrown back against the headrest, her throat arched so sharply that the diamond choker looked like it was cutting into her porcelain skin. Her eyes were blown out, twin pools of ink that saw nothing but the aftershocks of the fire I’d lit inside her. I reached over, my fingers brushing the heat of her thigh, and finally clicked the remote to off. The sudden silence was violent. Olivia let out a long, shuddering sob of pure exhaustion, her body collapsing into the leather like a marionette whose strings had been slashed. "Adrian," she whimpered, her voice a broken thread of silver. "Please... I can't walk. My legs feel like water." "I know," I murmured, my own voice a low, p

THIRTY NINE : ADRIAN

ADRIAN The air at the top of the grand staircase was cooler, and heavy with the scent of the rain beginning to lash against the high skylights. I didn't let her feet touch the ground. Olivia was a dead weight in my arms now, her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches that rattled against my collarbone. I kicked the double doors open. The room was bathed in the charcoal light of the storm, the massive silk-canopied bed sitting in the center like an altar. I didn't go for the pillows. I didn't go for the blankets. I carried her to the very center of the room, under the shadow of the heavy rafters, and finally let her slide down my body until her toes brushed the dark hardwood. She couldn't stand. Her knees buckled instantly, and I caught her, my hands hooking under her arms to keep her upright. "Adrian... please," she whispered, her eyes fluttering, unable to focus. "I can't... I’m so tired." "One last room, Olivia," I rasped, my voice sounding like grinding stones even

FORTY : OLIVIA

OLIVIA The morning light was a cold, unforgiving intruder. Standing in the lounge, wrapped in Adrian’s white dress shirt, I felt like a ghost haunting the very rooms that had heard me scream only hours ago. Every muscle in my body ached with a dull, throbbing reminder of the marble, the velvet, and the gold chains. "Upstairs," Adrian murmured, his hand firm on the small of my back as he guided me toward the staircase. "The staff will walk through those doors in ten minutes. I want you showered and dressed before the first pot of coffee is brewed." I nodded, my mind still a hazy blur of silver-bullet vibrations and the smell of mahogany. We moved in a synchronized, silent retreat. By the time I reached my own room, the adrenaline was finally fading, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. I showered, scrubbing the scent of the night from my skin, and dressed in a simple, oversized cream sweater and leggings—the ultimate camouflage of the "innocent" student. When we descended the

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