Semua Bab FORBIDDEN: HIS PLUS SIZE OBSESSION : Bab 771 - Bab 780

He wiped his face and let out a long, heavy sigh. "No baby... I wasn't offended. I mean, what you said made a lot of sense." He paused, running his hand through his hair. "But I can get you as many bodyguards as possible to take you to school and ensure no one's getting into your business." "The bodyguards will draw more attention than necessary," I said quickly. "They'll make me look like exactly what I am—Ricardo's spoiled daughter who needs protection from the real world. Then add to it being Silver Adams' girlfriend." I paused and sighed, the weight of my words settling between us. "I just really want to focus on my culinary skills. I want to learn how to perfectly temper chocolate, how to create the perfect soufflé, how to plate a dish so beautifully it brings tears to people's eyes, you know. I want to be percent in every one of those without people distracting me. I don't want to worry about everyone in the room staring at me or talking behind my back because we're dat

I couldn't stop staring at Tarzan's side profile.He was driving with one hand, the other firmly clasping my own hand—which had long since gone numb from being held in the same position for what felt like an eternity. But honestly? I couldn't complain. I watched him, utterly mesmerized. He was shaking his head slowly, jamming to whatever secret banger was playing through his ear pods, bobbing while navigating rush-hour traffic with the casual nonchalance of a spy in a high-speed chase. One hand on the wheel, one hand on me, and absolutely zero regard for the fact that we were mere inches from other mortal drivers. He must be feeling like the main character, and we were all just living in his cinematic universe. Every few seconds, he'd lift my hand to his lips and press a soft kiss to my knuckles, then flash me that devastating, lopsided smile. I'd melt—internally, of course—and smile back like a love-struck teenager, and he would return to his one-man concert, comp

TARZAN'S POV When we got to my place, Lena had that look on her face that immediately set every alarm in my chest ringing. Her usual brightness had dimmed; her eyes were distant, shadowed, and her shoulders carried a quiet heaviness that hadn’t been there on the drive over. “Is everything okay?” I asked softly, keeping my voice low so it wouldn’t startle her. She nodded slowly. But the wetness gathering in her eyes betrayed her. My heart skipped, tight and uneasy. I knew that nod was a lie. I took her hand gently and guided her to the couch, then sank down onto my knees in front of her so we were eye level. My palms rested lightly on her thighs, grounding her. “Babe… you can tell me anything. I can see you’re not happy. Did something happen? Did I do something on the way here that hurt you without realizing it?” She shook her head quickly. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… the last time I was in this place, you were unconscious. Walking into the living room just n

"I will believe you then, now let's see what this story is all about."Just as she opened the first page of the book, a single folded paper slipped free and fluttered toward the floor. I lunged without thinking, snatching it out of the air before her fingers could close around it. *Fuck,I forgot I put that inside the new book.* Lena’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Baby? What’s on that paper?” “Nothing. Just keep reading,” I said, already turning toward the spiral staircase that led up to the bedroom. She rose from the cozy chair. “I want to see what’s in it.” "It’s really nothing.” I replied quickly. I guess that made her more suspicious. “Give it. What are you hiding?” Her voice hardened as she started across the room after me. I veered sharply toward the far wall, putting the low coffee table between us. “Nothing!” She kept coming. “That’s not nothing. You grabbed it so fast—you’re definitely hiding something.” Her hand darted out. I twisted away, the pa

I took her hand and led her upstairs. She followed without a word, her fingers laced tightly with mine. At the door, I paused. "Close your eyes." She gave me a curious look but obeyed. I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and turned to face her. "Okay... open." She blinked, and then her breath caught. The room was filled with light from the tall window, dust motes drifting lazily through the air. But her eyes weren't on the easels, the scattered brushes, or the paint-stained rags. They were fixed on the wall. On her. Dozens of sketches and paintings covered every available space. She was everywhere—laughing at the café, staring out a rainy window, sleeping with her hair fanned across a pillow. But in the center, taking up the largest canvas, was the painting. She stepped closer, her hand rising to her mouth. "You draw all these from memory?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. I nodded, shoving my hands into my pockets. "It took me a day and some, took weeks to get