All Chapters of A Lesson In Forbidden Love: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Dahlia’s POV"This one, Dahlia. Look at the lace detailing on the bust—it screams understated elegance, which is precisely what the Black family expects from a bride."My mother’s voice washed over me in a smooth, practiced hum, perfectly suited for the pristine white walls of the high-end bridal boutique. She stood beside the mannequin, smoothing down a floor-length gown with her manicured fingers, acting for all the world as if we were planning a fairy-tale celebration rather than arranging a corporate transaction disguised as a wedding.I sat on the plush couch in the center of the private fitting suite, staring blankly at my own reflection in the tri-fold mirrors.My reflection looked hollow. Shadows pooled beneath my eyes, my skin pale against the rich mahogany interior of the boutique. Around us, racks of silk, tulle, and satin shimmered under warm chandeliers, but to me, the room felt like a gilded cage. Every dress hanging on those polished racks felt like another steel bar be

Dahlia’s POVThe silk of the bridal dress felt heavy against my ribs like a suit of armor I never asked to wear. I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror of the holding room, watching my own chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven gasps. The veil pinned to my hair dragged at my scalp.A soft knock sounded at the door."Dahlia? They’re ready for you downstairs," my mother called out, her tone smooth and devoid of any real warmth.I took a breath and turned away from the glass. "Mum... tell them I need five minutes. I need to speak to Alexander. Privately."There was a brief pause on the other side of the door before her heels clicked away down the hall. A minute later, the brass handle turned, and Alexander stepped inside. He looked ridiculously handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, his hair neatly styled, holding a small velvet box in his hands. But when his eyes met mine, his smile faltered slightly."Dahlia? Is everything okay?" he asked, shutting the door behind him. "Yo

Vincent’s POVFive years.Five long, hollow years of ice and silence.The roaring crowd at the arena had faded into the background hours ago, replaced by the ambient hum of the upscale hotel lounge in downtown Manhattan. My firm’s inaugural regional scouting showcase had been a complete success—three high-caliber prospects locked into early contracts, millions of dollars in future talent secured under the Sports Management. I was no longer just the former golden boy who walked off the draft stage with broken bones; I ran the goddamn show now. I built an empire out of the ash my father tried to bury me in.I leaned back against the plush booth, swirling the amber liquid in my glass of neat bourbon.The bar was packed with high-end clientele, but my table remained an isolated island. Women in tailored dresses and sleek silk heels hovered near the edge of the VIP section, casting lingering, inviting glances my way, silently competing for my attention. It was a familiar ritual.I picked

Dahlia’s POVThe grey London rain beat a steady, relentless rhythm against the floor-to-ceiling glass of my corner office. From the top floor of the Mayfair design studio, the city looked cold, muted, and completely distant—exactly the way I liked it.I was reviewing a stack of print proofs for an upcoming autumn line when the door clicked open without a knock.Sarah, my head administrator and closest friend since my second year in London, walked in holding a steaming mug of black coffee and a sleek leather folder. Her eyes were narrowed slightly, a sight that usually meant bad news."You're not going to like this," Sarah said, setting the coffee on my glass desk before sliding the folder toward me.I set my pen down, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored silk blouse. "Try me. Did the silk supplier delay the shipment again?""No. Worse," Sarah sighed, leaning against the edge of the desk with her arms crossed. "The sports firm in Manhattan. The Sports Management. They sent the proposal b

Vincent’s POVThe glass door of the gallery clicked shut behind us, cutting off the sharp hum of the London rain, but the silence inside the private dining room of the restaurant down the block felt ten times louder.I sat across from Dahlia in the dimly lit corner booth, my hands resting heavy against the dark mahogany table. I had booked out the entire back section of the restaurant the second we stepped off the gallery floor—I wasn't about to let a single soul witness the fragile, raw nerve exposed between us.God, she was breathtaking.Five years had sharpened her beauty into something lethal. The soft girl from the Carrington estate was gone, replaced by a stunning, composed woman sitting in a fitted black silk dress that hugged every curve of her body. Her platinum hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, catching the warm amber glow of the candlelight. But behind those cool, clear eyes, I could see the faint shadows of exhaustion and grief—shadows I had caused.A waiter set