All Chapters of Fucked Into Forever [Forbidden Collection]: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Julian’s office was nothing like the sleek glass tower where he spent his days pretending to be Alex’s perfect secretary. It was a converted brownstone two blocks from his apartment—soft lighting, a worn leather couch, one abstract painting on the wall that looked like it had been chosen because it didn’t say much. No diplomas on display. No tissues in a box with a fake flower on top. Just a quiet room that cost three hundred dollars an hour and promised discretion. Sophia Harrington sat across from him, legs crossed, black cashmere sweater pulled tight over her shoulders like armor. She looked smaller in person than the photos Alex kept on his desk from before the accident—sharp cheekbones, dark hair in a low knot, eyes that had once smiled in every frame but now carried the flat, exhausted shine of someone who had cried all the tears out years ago. “I don’t want to talk about the boys yet,” she said before Julian could even open his mouth. “I’ve said that to every therapist I

Sophia walked into the brownstone at exactly 2:00 p.m., no early this time, no armor sweater. Just jeans and a plain gray hoodie that looked like it belonged to Alex from ten years ago. She dropped into the leather chair and stared at the floor for a full minute before she spoke. “I went through his phone last night.” Julian’s pen stayed still on his knee. He waited. “Nothing obvious,” she continued. “No texts from some woman named ‘Work.’ No hotel bookings under fake names. But he’s deleting things. The call log is too clean. And there’s this new pattern—late nights at the office, then he comes home smelling like the same cologne every time. Not his. Not mine. Something woodsy and cheap.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I’m not crazy, right? I’m not making this up because I’m broken?” “You’re not crazy,” Julian said. The words tasted like rust. “You’re observing changes in someone you’ve known for fifteen years. That’s just data.” She gave a hollow laugh. “D

Sunlight sliced through the blinds at seven-thirty, catching on the come stain still drying on the sheet from last night. Alex lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other resting heavy across Julian’s stomach. His phone had been blowing up since six—lawyer, two board members who’d clearly heard from Sophia already, and a single text from her that just read ‘Fuck you’. He hadn’t answered any of them. Julian stirred, rolled into him, and pressed his face into Alex’s neck. His morning voice was gravel. “You regret it yet?” Alex’s hand slid down Julian’s bare back, cupped his ass, squeezed. “Not even a little.” He felt the truth of it in his bones. The guilt was still there—sharp, familiar—but it didn’t choke him anymore. For the first time in two years he could breathe without the boys’ faces crushing his chest every second. Julian lifted his head. His eyes were clear, steady. “She’s going to come at us hard. You know that.” “I know.” Alex pulled him on top, their morning

The story broke at 8:17 a.m. Alex was pouring coffee in Julian’s kitchen when his phone lit up like a slot machine. “Harrington Heir in Gay Affair with Wife’s Therapist.” The headline was everywhere—business blogs first, then the gossip sites, then the morning shows. Someone had leaked the photos. Sophia hadn’t wasted a second. Julian walked in wearing only boxers, hair still wet from the shower. He looked at the screen over Alex’s shoulder and let out a low breath. “Well. She works fast.” Alex set the mug down. His hands didn’t shake. “Board called an emergency meeting for ten. They want me there in person. Probably to fire me from my own company.” Julian stepped behind him, arms sliding around his waist, chin on his shoulder. “You want me to come?” “No. Stay here. Delete anything you need to from the office files. Your license is going to take a hit.” Julian turned him around, kissed him once—slow, grounding. “Fuck the license. I’ve got savings. I’ve got you.”

The brownstone felt smaller by the hour. Blinds drawn tight, lights low, the low hum of the refrigerator the only steady sound. Reporters had thinned to three vans by noon, but the street still buzzed with them—waiting for one of them to crack and step outside. Alex paced the living room in yesterday’s boxers and a T-shirt that smelled like Julian’s bed. His phone kept vibrating on the coffee table: lawyer updates, board leaks, a single missed call from Sophia’s number that he let go to voicemail. Julian sat on the couch, laptop open to the latest gossip cycle. The headline had evolved: Harrington Scandal Deepens—Therapist Suspended, Widow Demands Full Asset Forfeiture. Underneath was a new photo Sophia’s team had dropped this morning—grainy security footage from the office elevator two weeks ago. Alex’s hand on the small of Julian’s back, the way they looked at each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist. “She’s not stopping,” Julian said quietly. He closed the lap