All Chapters of Forbidden Hearts: Collections Of Forbidden Romance : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Chapter 1: One Hell Of A Wedding My steps are slow. Everyone thinks it's because my wedding gown weighs a fortune. It does, but the real culprit is the ache between my legs. I shouldn't be recalling what happened last night. I should be focusing on the man on the altar, my soon-to-be husband, but I can't help it. I can't stop my mind from reminding me of last night. Of the warmth of that stranger's strong arms that wrapped around my body. Of his low, husky voice that asked me one last time if I was certain. Of the amber eyes that holds mischievousness. My heel catches my dress, making me stumble but I catch myself on time before I hit the floor. Gasps rip through the crowd. But I continue forward, thankful that my veil hides my flaming cheeks. The soft sound of my heels against the marble aisle gets buried under the low, melodic sound of the instruments playing in the background. Hundreds of guests rise to their feet, smiling as they watch me as though I'm the happiest

Claire~ It's an unknown number. The message is a gif. My brows furrow as I tap it open, waiting for the gif to load. Standing in front of a bathroom mirror, drenched in water that trails down his toned abs, is the man I have been trying so hard for days to forget about. He looks sinfully handsome. No, breathtakingly alluring. His dark hair is still damp and disheveled. Water beads cling to the sharp line of his jaw before disappearing down his neck. A white towel is wrapped loosely around his V line, revealing just enough to make the picture feel deliberately provocative. He wears the same wicked smirk as he stares at me through the lense. One hand reaches below his waist. Although what his hand is doing isn't captured, but with the slow movement of his hand, my mind claims to know what he is doing. My core stings and tingles as memories of that night sends heat all over me. My cheeks flush from the sheer embarrassment when I realize just how much control his action has

Arthur~ She ends dinner before everyone else and excuses herself. The moment the floor-to-ceiling dining room doors close behind Claire, the illusion of a happy family shatters. I set my cutlery down with a soft click, wipe my mouth with a fresh napkin the maid provided, then toss it onto the table. "Nothing tastes right anymore after she left." He knows who I meant. Unfortunately for him... not the person he thinks I'm talking about this time. The words land exactly where I intend them to. Because, my dearest father stiffens almost imperceptibly beside me. His grip on the knife tightens and his jaw ticks. For several long seconds, he says nothing, choosing instead to slice another piece of steak with that infuriating composure of his. "Are you going to do the same to this one too?" I grab my glass cup, twirling it softly with a curl of my lips. "...Your tiny, little wife?" Finally, he speaks without looking up. "Control yourself, Young man." A humorless lau

Claire~ "Arthur, please.." I whisper into the phone before I can even see his face. His handsome face fills the screen a second later, but there's nothing gentle about the look in his eyes. Behind him, I recognize the dimly lit hallway outside my bedroom. He wasn't bluffing. He was really standing outside the door! A chill races down my spine. Outside, I hear the bedroom door opening. "Ma— Sir, madam always has her jar filled with water before bed. I forgot to bring it earlier." It was one of the maids. My pulse pounds so loudly I can barely hear anything else. Robert's calm voice follows. "Leave it there." "Yes, sir." A few seconds pass. Then bedroom door closes again. I release the breath trapped in my lungs, but only for a moment before I turn to face to screen. Arthur hasn't taken his eyes off me. He has that smile dangling on his lips again. "Why are you doing this?" My voice breaks. Arthur lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Doing what?" "You know exact

Claire~ The hot shower wash away the sweat from another sleepless night, but it couldn't rinse away the heaviness sitting in my chest. Nearly two hours later, I finally step out of my room, dressed in a cream-colored midi lace dress that hugs my waist before flowing softly past my knees. The fabric is expensive. Softer than anything I've ever owned. One of the maids had picked it out for me. Apparently, everything in my wardrobe had been replaced overnight to more fitting outfits for a billionaire's wife. I stand before the full-length mirror for a moment. The woman staring back at me doesn't look like Claire Evans Davenport. She looks matured, refined, and breathtaking. Like a younger version of a woman who belongs beside Robert Westhall. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Because no amount of expensive clothing can make me forget the troubles on my shoulders. Robert didn't leave my room until this morning. And Arthur had been suspiciously silent. I wonder what t