All Chapters of FORBIDDEN: HIS PLUS SIZE OBSESSION : Chapter 671 - Chapter 680

I hurried over, and he swung the door open to reveal a surprisingly organized stash—bottled water, snacks, protein bars, and various other essentials, all neatly arranged.He grabbed a bottle and handed it to me, then pulled out a small key card."Here," he said, placing it in my palm. "This gets you anything—water, snacks, whatever. Don't lose it."I clutched the key card like it was made of gold. "Thank you, Eric.""Don't mention it."I made my way back to the makeup room, bottle in hand, ready to finally deliver it. But when I pushed the door open, Tarzan wasn't there. The makeup artist was packing up her brushes, and the chair sat empty.My heart dropped. Where is he?Eric appeared behind me again, reading my panicked expression. "I think he's at the photography section. Taking personal shots. Come on, I'll take you."We walked through more winding hallways until we reached a large, brightly lit studio. Cameras surrounded a white backdrop, and in the center stood Tarzan—completely

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The photoshoot stretched on for nearly six hours.From elaborate fantasy backdrops to high-fashion editorials, Tarzan cycled through outfits, hairstyles, and accessories with effortless professionalism. Between each set, he remained focused, speaking only when necessary.As his manager, I found myself in constant motion—checking schedules, coordinating with stylists, confirming wardrobe changes, and making sure everything stayed on track.I even had to put my hair in a pony , however all thanks to Eric..who was directing me on how to do this managing job.Before I knew it, the photographer lowered his camera."That's a wrap!"A wave of applause rippled through the studio."Excellent work, everyone!"The studio lights dimmed, and my feet were screaming from standing in heels for hours. Crew members began packing equipment while assistants wheeled clothing racks toward the dressing rooms.I let out a long breath. We'd actually made it through the day.Then, the bad joke I'd made hours a

Backstage, I watched the interview unfold on one of the production monitors alongside the rest of his team.Honestly, I couldn’t help but watch him with growing admiration.The host joked about the heels, but the interview flowed effortlessly afterward. The man who barely spoke outside of work transformed completely in front of a live audience. Every answer came without hesitation, his dry humor drawing genuine laughter from the crowd more than once.A quiet swell of pride filled my chest as I watched him excel in this new world—far removed from the shadows of his past in the Mafia.The host lobbed playful questions at him about his career, modeling gigs, interest in acting, high-profile fashion campaigns, and even the wild rumors that swirled online. Tarzan handled each one with remarkable ease. When the host teased him, he teased right back, sparking fresh waves of laughter. I found myself smiling too.*He’s actually good at this.*No wonder so many brands fought to have him.By the

The ride continued in quiet intensity.A few minutes after the injection, he reached into another small case. His fingers trembled slightly as he tapped a fine white powder onto the back of his hand—too much at first, some of it spilling onto his trousers. He didn't seem to care.He brought it to one nostril and inhaled sharply, his whole body jerking with the force of it. The effect was immediate—his pupils dilated into darker shade, his jaw unclenched, and then a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. He shit his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, exhaling a long, shaky breath, like he'd just surfaced from deep water.I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white.How stupid was I not to see it earlier? That wasn't medicine, or some vitamin shot, or an allergy remedy. He wasn't sick—he was feeding an addiction.The realization settled like a stone in my stomach. What made it worse was knowing my hands were tied.I wanted to stop him. I wanted to