All Chapters of A Lesson In Forbidden Love: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Dahlia’s POV"I'm not looking to rehash the past over the phone, Dahlia," Alexander said, his voice as smooth and calculated as the tailored suits he used to wear when we were dragged to those high-society dinners five years ago. "There’s a quiet corner at Le Petit Maison. Eight o'clock. Let’s have a drink."My fingers tightened around the receiver until my knuckles turned white."Alexander, I’m buried in work. The studio is preparing for an international rollout, and my schedule is completely booked...""Dahlia," he interrupted gently, though the underlying authority in his tone remained razor-sharp. "You handed back my ring five years ago and vanished on a night flight without a single explanation. I think you owe me at least an hour of your time. I won't take no for an answer."A heavy silence stretched over the line. I closed my eyes, letting out a long, quiet sigh that rattled in my chest. He was right about one thing. I had left him standing at the altar of our arranged alliance

Vincent’s POV"Hold still for just a second, sir," Bruce murmured, combing through the back of my hair.I sat in the velvet armchair before the grand mirror in my dressing room, staring at my reflection while Bruce trimmed the sides, leaving the dark locks on top slightly longer, just the way Dahlia used to like running her fingers through them."You're quiet this morning, Sir. Vincent," Bruce noted, setting down the comb. "I take it your thoughts are still three miles away in Soho?"I leaned back against the headrest and sighed. "I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope Bruce. One right move, and I feel like I have her back in my arms. One wrong step, and she puts that ice-cold wall back up and slips right through my fingers."Bruce chuckled softly, smoothing down the back of my hair."Love is rarely a straight road, Vincent. Especially when two people have spent half a decade carrying the weight of unsaid words and old wounds.""Did it ever get this complicated for you?" I asked, look

Dahlia's POVGlass exploded inward, showering my face and neck with sharp shards.A heavy, gloved hand shot through the shattered window, its fingers grabbing the collar of my coat. My head snapped back against the leather headrest as I was dragged toward the broken frame."Get her out! Grab the bitch!" a rough voice bellowed over the rain."Let go of me! Help!" I shrieked.Adrenaline surged through my veins. I kicked with both feet, slamming my heels into the attacker's forearm. He cursed, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist free.I scrambled over the center console and tumbled into the back seat, desperate to put some distance between myself and the men outside.Clang! CRASH!The steel tire iron struck the rear passenger window, cracking the reinforced glass. Another blow rattled the roof, shaking the entire car."My phone!" I gasped, frantically searching the floor between the front seats.My cell phone lay on the front passenger carpet, glowing with a notification, comp

Vincent’s POV"Pull up the secondary angle. Zoom in on the license plate," I growled, leaning over the dark mahogany desk in my private Mayfair study.The screens in front of me displayed high-definition security footage gathered by my private intelligence team over the last six hours. On the center monitor, the blacked-out SUV pulled out of a Soho alley, followed Dahlia’s coupe, and sped away moments after the assault.My head of security, Marcus, tapped a few keys on his tablet, enhancing the image of the vehicle’s side panel."We ran the partial plate through our contacts in traffic enforcement, sir," Marcus explained. "The vehicle was dumped in an industrial lot near the docks two hours after the incident. It was set on fire to destroy any physical evidence.""And the registration?" I demanded, gripping the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles whitened. "Vehicles like that don't just materialize out of thin air.""It belonged to a private logistics firm registered under the name A

Dahlia’s POVThe medical tape tugged at the fine hairs on my temple as Sarah carefully peeled away the gauze dressing.I studied the fading bruise on my cheekbone and the thin red line near my hairline in the dressing-room mirror. Five days had passed since I left St. Jude’s Hospital against the doctor's advice.My head still ached when I moved too quickly, but the gallery showcase at the end of the week mattered more."You don't have to push yourself this hard, Dahlia," Sarah murmured, placing a clean strip over the wound. "The showcase can be postponed. Everyone knows what happened, and nobody would blame you for recovering first.""No," I replied, my voice carrying a quiet, unyielding edge. "If I postpone the rollout, they win. Whoever sent those men to shatter my car wants me cowering in a hotel room, waiting for the next plane back to Manhattan. I won't give them the satisfaction."Sarah sighed but continued smoothing the edges of the dressing."I know you're determined to prove