บททั้งหมดของ A Pucking Lesson in Forbidden : บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

​Dahlia’s POV​The bell for sixth period had rung ten minutes ago, but the second-floor hallway near the library wasn't empty.​Students were standing in quiet, whispering clusters near the display cases, their eyes darting toward the stairwell every time a door swung open. The news of the fight in the athletic wing had spread through Bellmont Academy like grease on a fire. By lunch, everyone had heard a different version of the story like…that Ethan had landed a right hook that broke Vincent’s jaw, that Vincent had put Ethan through the glass boards, that the police were on their way, that the Carrington family lawyers were already in the main office.​Nobody knew the real reason it happened. But looking at the way people cleared a path when I walked past, I knew they were putting the pieces together.​My fingers were locked so tightly around the strap of my portfolio case that my knuckles were entirely white. Every breath I took felt shallow and thin, my throat so tight I could bare

Dahlia’s POV​The taste of rain and cold metallic blood lingered on my lips long after Vincent pulled away.​His thumb smoothed over my bottom lip one last time, a heavy, quiet promise before he stepped back, leaving me cold against the wooden slats of the bench. He didn't say another word. He just grabbed his bag, tossed it over his uninjured shoulder, and disappeared around the edge of the bell tower into the fog.​I sat there for five long minutes, my knees trembling so hard I couldn't stand. The rain started up again, thud time, it had a slow, persistent drizzle that soaked through the wool of my blazer and plastered my hair to my neck. By the time I forced my legs to move and walked back into the school building to retrieve my things, the main hall was practically deserted.​The gossip had already moved past the athletic wing. It was everywhere now.​I could feel eyes tracking me from every classroom door as I walked toward the exit. People didn't laugh or point, it was worse tha

​Dahlia’s POV​The heavy brass latch clicked into place with a sound that reverberated straight down my spine.​I sat bolt upright on the edge of my mattress, the duvet tangled around my waist, every nerve in my body fire-alarm bright in the suffocating stillness of the dark.​The door swung open just enough to let a thin blade of warm amber hall light slice across the hardwood floor, cutting straight to the edge of my white rug. Then a shadow crossed it.​Vincent stepped into the room.​He didn't make a sound as his bare feet hit the floorboards. He pushed the heavy oak door shut until the mechanism engaged again with a quiet, lethal thud, sealing the two of us inside the heavy darkness of my bedroom.​He was bare-chested. The navy-blue jersey he’d worn back from the rink was gone, leaving only the pristine, harsh white of athletic tape pulled impossibly tight around his ribs and midsection. But the tape wasn't white anymore. Right over his left side where Ethan had slammed his stick

Dahlia’s POVThe space beside me was cold.I stared at the empty pillow, tracing the dent Vincent had left. He was gone before light even broke through the blinds.My stomach pulled into a tight knot. The urge to pull the duvet over my head and stay in bed hit hard. Bellmont was going to be brutal today. The fight between Vincent and Ethan was all anyone talked about yesterday, and now that my mom and Robert were back, the walls were closing in.I rolled onto my back, watching dust motes float in the dim room. I just couldn't do it today. I couldn't deal with the whispers, Isobel's looks, or Sarah asking questions I didn't have answers to.The door clicked open and Vincent walked in. He was already fully dressed in his Bellmont uniform. You’d never guess he had split knuckles and a busted lip under there, or that he'd been sneaking into my room hours ago like a ghost.He stood near the foot of my bed, hands jammed in his pockets."Get up," he said. His voice was low, rough from sleep,

Dahlia’s POVI stared at my reflection in the glass, my tongue tracing the faint taste of the pill I’d just swallowed.He doesn't love you, I told myself. I needed the words to stick, to burn into my head like a warning label. This isn't love. It's control. It's possession.I remembered the way he'd treated me when I first moved into this house. The cold shoulder, the brutal games, the deliberate ways he made sure I knew I didn't belong. He wasn't doing this because some soft, tragic feeling had suddenly bloomed in his chest.He was doing it to tear me down. He was doing it because he couldn't stand the idea of Ethan having something that belonged to him, even if that something was me.I gripped the edge of the vanity, my knuckles turning white. I couldn't forget who Vincent Carrington actually was, no matter how good his hands felt on my skin.The bedroom door opened without a knock.Vincent walked back in, completely put together now. Fresh shirt, blazer buttoned, hair damp but comb