บททั้งหมดของ A Pucking Lesson in Forbidden : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

​Dahlia’s POV​The heavy oak doors of Bellmont Academy swung shut behind us, cutting off the lingering chatter of students heading toward the parking lots and athletic fields. He had waited for me to finish reading without even bothering to leave. I stayed there, waiting as he had said he would ride me home. I stood at the top of the stone steps, the chilly afternoon air cutting straight through my navy uniform sweater, holding my heavy wooden portfolio case tightly against my chest.​Down the main walkway, Ethan’s silver sedan pulled away from the curb. He had looked back once before getting into the passenger seat, not without giving me a quiet, hurt look that made a dull, heavy knot of guilt twist deep in my stomach. I was still his girlfriend, and he was being as supportive and gentle as any guy could possibly be, but stepping into his car today had felt like suffocating under a blanket of protection I didn't know how to handle.​A low, guttural rumble echoed through the courtyard

​Dahlia’s POV​The silence hanging between us in the dim living room was so thick it felt physical, heavy enough to choke on.​His forehead was still pressed against mine, his hot, erratic breath ghosting over my lips. My heart was slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird, each thud echoing in my ears above the distant hum of the rain beating against the high arched windows of the estate.​"Tell me to stop," Vincent had rasped, his voice raw, broken, and dangerously low. "Tell me you don't feel this, Dahlia.” The words kept echoing in my head.​My mind was screaming at me to say the words. To name Ethan. To mention the boyfriend who had bought me warm tea three hours ago, the guy who genuinely cared about me, the guy who was Vincent’s assistant captain and former best friend. I wanted to tell him that we were living under the same roof, that our parents were across the ocean planning a wedding that would link our names forever, that this was complete madness.​I opened my mouth to

Dahlia’s POVVincent handed me my phone, and it was already in my hand before I could think. The screen lit up with Ethan’s name, the soft blue glow painting the sharp lines of Vincent’s face as he stayed on his knees between my spread thighs. His bare chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. The butterfly bandages across his ribs looked almost fragile against the hard muscle beneath them. His dark eyes never left mine.“Call him,” he repeated, voice low and rough. “Right now.”My thumb hovered. Every rational part of me knew this was reckless, cruel, dangerous. Ethan had driven me to school that morning. He had brought me tea. He had kissed my cheek and told me to call the second I got home. And now I was sitting on a console table in the empty Carrington living room with Vincent Carrington’s hands already sliding up the insides of my thighs, pushing the soft fabric of my lounge pants higher. I pressed the call button. The line rang once and again.Vincent’s palms smoothed hi

​Vincent’s POV​The shrill blast of Coach Harrison’s whistle sliced through the freezing air of the arena, cutting right to the bone.​"Carrington! Vance! Front and center!" Coach barked, his clipboard slapping hard against his thigh as he stood by the glass. "Two-on-one rush drill. Vance, you’re on defense. Vincent, you’re taking the puck down the left wing with Marcus. I want full speed, no soft gliding. Move!"​Ethan didn't say a word. He skated backward toward the defensive zone, his navy helmet tucked low, his stick planted firmly on the ice. His posture was perfect and clean. He was playing the honorable captain's assistant, the guy who followed every rule, while I stood at the blue line feeling like a caged animal ready to tear through the chain-link fence.​"Vincent," Marcus muttered beside me, lining up for the pass, his breath puffing in white clouds. "Keep it clean, man. Look at Harrison. He’s watching you like a hawk. If you hit Ethan high, he’s putting you on the bench fo

Ethan's POV ​The truth of it hit me like a physical blow.​She looked back.​That was the knife that went straight through my heart. It wasn't just Vincent taking what he wanted, the way his father Richard Carrington took companies and properties. It wasn't just a possessive, dark game. Dahlia had chosen him. She had stood in that dark living room, with his hands on her skin, and she had chosen to stay silent while my voice came through the speaker of her phone.​"She lied to me," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "She looked me in the eye when I gave her that jacket. She smiled at me when I brought her tea."​"She was trying not to hurt you, Vance," Vincent said quietly, though there was no softness in his eyes, only a cold, absolute possessiveness that made my blood run cold. "She knows you're a good guy. She knows you did everything right. But being good doesn't change what this is."​"And what is this?" I spat, taking another step closer, my chest almost touchi