Lahat ng Kabanata ng LUST ZONE : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Since Antoine married my mom, he’s made it clear he has no intention of ever moving back to Paris—back to my dad’s side of the family, back to the life we left behind. Paris feels like another world now, distant and fading. But the company there still needs someone to take charge, and Antoine decided that someone should be Julian.He broke the news to us one evening over dinner, casual as if he were talking about the weather. “Julian’s going to head to Paris for a while. Take over operations, get everything running smoothly. Four months, tops. Then he’ll be back.”Julian had no real choice. He nodded, jaw tight, but didn’t argue. He just looked across the table at me for a long second—long enough that my chest squeezed so hard I could barely breathe.Four months.The words echoed in my head like a countdown already ticking. Four months without him here. Four months of empty hallways, quiet nights, no stolen glances or secret touches. I excused myself from the table quickly, mumbling s

I couldn’t believe it when Julien finally came back. He’d kept his return a complete secret from me, but somehow my mom and Mr. Antoine knew all about it. There was no way he was supposed to arrive today—it was a total surprise. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I was holed up in my room, deciding on a whim to bleach my hair. I’d always wanted to try a bolder look, something edgy to match the whirlwind of emotions I’d been feeling since he left for Paris. I mixed the chemicals carefully, following the instructions on the box, and applied the thick, pungent paste to my hair. The smell of ammonia filled the air, sharp and biting, making my eyes water a little. I wrapped my head in plastic wrap and a towel, setting a timer on my phone for 30 minutes. I paced around my room, glancing at myself in the mirror, wondering if this change would make me feel renewed or just ridiculous.That’s when the door burst open without a knock. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat, and there he

The house smelled like vanilla and cinnamon from the cake Mom had baked herself—triple layers, chocolate frosting, the same recipe she’d used every year since I could remember. Balloons bobbed against the ceiling in the living room, silver and navy, catching the late-afternoon sun that poured through the big windows. Music played low from the Bluetooth speaker on the mantel—some old-school R&B playlist Mom loved, the kind that made her sway her hips while she set out plates.I’d come home for this.Not because I had to. I live with Grandma most of the year—her quiet house on the edge of town, the one with the creaky porch and the garden she tends like it’s therapy. It’s peaceful there. Predictable. But when Mom called three weeks ago, voice soft and a little hopeful, asking if I’d come celebrate turning eighteen “at home,” I said yes before she finished the sentence.I wanted to see her face light up.I wanted to see her.Sophia arrived just after four, carrying a wrapped gift and a b

Mom left for the work conference early that Monday morning—three days away, she said, maybe four if the meetings ran long. She hugged me quickly at the door, reminded me to eat something other than cereal, then turned to Sophia with that familiar look: the one that said you’re in charge, keep him out of trouble. Sophia nodded, arms crossed, already in work-from-home mode—oversized sweater, hair in a loose knot, laptop open on the kitchen island.“Be good,” Mom told me, half-teasing, half-serious.“I always am,” I muttered.She laughed and was gone, suitcase wheels clicking down the driveway.The house settled into a different quiet after that. Sophia worked most of the day with her noise-canceling headphones on, occasionally glancing up when I passed through the kitchen for water or a snack. We didn’t talk much. Not like before. The air between us felt careful, like we were both waiting for the other to break something.Tuesday morning I woke up to an empty kitchen and the same note o

That night in the living room felt like my actual first time.Not because I’d never touched anyone before, but because nothing had ever felt this real, this consuming. Every second replayed in my head on loop: the way Sophia’s breath hitched when I first slid inside her, the way her nails dug into my shoulders like she was afraid I’d vanish, the broken little moans she made when she came—my name on her lips like it was the only word left in the world. The guilt was there, a low hum in the background, whispering that this was wrong, that Mom would never forgive us, that we were crossing lines families don’t come back from. But the pleasure was louder. The way she looked at me afterward—soft, unguarded, a little scared—made the sin feel holy. I was already in too deep. I’d fallen for her completely, stupidly, irreversibly.After we finally peeled ourselves apart and cleaned up, I went back to my room alone. The house was silent except for the occasional drip from the gutters outside. I