Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Dark Sin: A forbidden touch: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 9

Elira's POV"What about my baby?" I looked up at the doctor in the white coat, my heart hammering against my ribs. My hands shook so hard I had to grip the bedsheets.The doctor hesitated. He looked at his clipboard, then at the floor, as if thinking of a lie. "Miss," he began, his voice soft and hollow, "we need to focus on you first. We need to make sure you are stable."A cold chill ran down my spine. I already knew something was wrong. I tried to sit up, but a sharp, burning pain in my stomach forced me back down. "Stop lying!" I screamed. "If my baby was okay, you would have told me the moment I woke up.""Your baby is fine," he said quickly, but his eyes shifted away."You're lying!" I shrieked. My voice broke, and I began to cry loudly, the sound of a woman going mad with grief. I couldn't breathe. I reached down and ripped the IV tubes from the back of my hand, blood splattering onto the white linen.The nurses rushed in, trying to pin me down, but I fought them off with a str

Arthur's POV They call me a man with a heart of stone, a soul stained black by the world I command. I have never known pity. I have never understood the concept of mercy. To me, people are either assets or obstacles, and I have spent my life removing the latter. But fate is a twisted poet, and it chose a Tuesday night to test the limits of my coldness. I was heading to the hospital for my quarterly check-up—a billionaire's life depends on his health, as the saying goes. Traffic was at a standstill, a sea of red brake lights stretching into the grey horizon. I rolled down the window of my SUV, the scent of wet asphalt and iron filling the cabin. That’s when I saw her. She was a broken doll tossed onto the pavement. Blood, dark and thick, pooled around her head, staining the hem of a white hospital gown. By her side stood a man. He didn't look like a grieving lover; he looked like a man checking to see if a pest was finally dead. I felt a flicker of something—a strange, sharp tug in

Arthur's POV "Is this a joke?" she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief. "Just say you want my body. Don't wrap it up in some twisted fantasy about a legacy. Men like you don’t want heirs; you want toys." I leaned back, watching the way the moonlight caught the tears she refused to let fall. "No," I said, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "It’s something I’ve desired all my life." "Then get a wife," she shot back, her eyes flashing with a defiance that made my blood sing. I went quiet. The word wife felt foreign. "A wife..." I dragged the word out. "I don't need a wife Elira, but I give you my word: I’ll make them pay for every drop of blood they took from you. I’ll make them bleed for hurting you." She didn't say another word. She turned her back on me, her shoulders stiff, and walked toward the staircase. I watched her climb, the sway of her hips a silent torture, until she disappeared into the shadows of the upper floor. I exhaled a breath I didn’t kno

Arthur's povI was about to pull away when she yanked me back toward her, her fingers digging into my sleeve. She leaned in until her lips were brushing against my ear.“I have one request,” she whispered.She told me what she needed. When she finished, she pulled back, her pretty eyes searching mine for a refusal I was never going to give. I turned my head toward Lena, who was standing a few feet away, watching us."You can head back to the company," I said, my voice clipping the air with cold authority. "I’ll let you know when you’re needed."Lena gave a stiff nod and retreated.We reached the cemetery shortly after. That had been her request: to visit her own grave before starting afresh. The cemetery was swallowed in a heavy, suffocating silence, the kind that makes you feel the weight of the earth. The air felt colder here. We walked through the rows of marble and stone until we reached it—the plot where a name was carved into granite: Elira Vale.I watched her from a distance, s

Arthur's POV The gala was a victory, but it felt like a hollow one the moment I realized Elira had vanished from the ballroom. I stood by the exit, my eyes scanning the sea of fake smiles and champagne flutes, but the emerald dress was nowhere to be found. I checked my watch. Ten minutes. Twenty. My patience didn't just wear thin; it evaporated. I stepped out into the cool night air, the heavy doors of the Astoria swinging shut behind me. I scanned the line of idling limousines and the remaining photographers, but she wasn't there. "Where the hell is she?" I muttered, heading toward my own car. I was about to bark an order at my security team to tear the building apart when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the head of my house security. "Speak," I snapped. "Sir... Miss Elira is here," the man stammered, his voice sounding uncharacteristically shaken. "She arrived a few minutes ago—in a very drunk state. She’s refusing to come inside." Relief hit me first, followed i