The Forbidden Heat
Chapter 3
Amelia took her first steps outside the house into the stillness of the night.
The cold air brushed against her face,
and she kept glancing behind and ahead, uncertain of where to go.
It was the first time she had ever stepped out at such an hour -
the first time she truly felt free, yet utterly lost.
She sat on the nearest bench she could find,
pulled out her phone, and stared at the screen,
but her fingers froze -
there was no one she could call.
No one who would care.
On the other side of the city,
Ethan sat in a dimly lit lounge,
a glass in his hand and a woman curled in his arms.
Her laughter was soft, her perfume intoxicating,
and yet, his mind was far away -
every time he looked at her,
her face blurred and reshaped itself into Amelia's.
Every movement, every glance, every sound -
all he could see was her.
The girl who had somehow become the pulse of his existence.
She was getting closer and closer to him until he grabbed her so violently that he imagined her as his lover, then he pounced on her lips as if to punish her for her attempts to seduce him.
Then his phone rang.
He frowned, picked it up, and listened.
A few quiet words from his bodyguard -
and his entire expression changed.
His jaw tightened; he gripped the phone until his knuckles turned white,
then ended the call abruptly and stood up.
The woman looked at him, confused.
"So... the night's over already?" she asked, her voice laced with irritation.
Without a word, he tossed a handful of bills onto the table,
brushed past her, and left.
Moments later, the sound of his car engine roared through the silence.
He drove fast - too fast -
barely seeing the road ahead.
He didn't care.
All he could think about was reaching her.
He would rather die than arrive too late.
Meanwhile, Amelia sat quietly in the small park,
her eyes growing heavier with each passing minute,
until exhaustion pulled her into a deep sleep.
When Ethan arrived, he stepped out of the car in haste,
his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the night itself.
Questions swirled in his mind -
Would he finally see her up close?
Would he hear her voice?
Would she be as beautiful as the image he had painted in his mind?
"Inside, sir," his bodyguard whispered.
"We cleared the place the moment she arrived."
Ethan walked forward slowly, hesitantly -
one step closer, one step back -
until his gaze finally fell on her.
There she was.
Asleep on the bench, her head tilted slightly to the side,
like a child who had cried herself to rest.
He froze in place, unable to look away.
When she stirred suddenly and began to slip,
he rushed forward and caught her just in time,
his hand supporting her head before it could strike the edge of the seat.
For a moment, he simply stood there,
watching her - the steady rhythm of her breath,
the innocence of her features,
the faint sadness still resting on her lips.
He gently lifted her into his arms,
carried her to his car, and drove through the night in silence.
He didn't know the cruelty she had endured that evening,
nor the tears that had driven her from her home.
All he knew was that he couldn't leave her there.
When they reached her house,
he entered quietly,
placed her carefully on her bed,
and leaned down to look at her face.
She was even more beautiful than he had imagined.
His hand trembled as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
Then, unable to stop himself,
he bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips as he closed his eyes and enjoyed her in a way he had never felt before.
The warmth of her skin burned through him,
forcing him to step back quickly,
as though fleeing from a fire he could not control.
He looked at her one last time,
then turned and walked away in silence -
his heartbeat echoing louder than his footsteps.
A new day began.
Amelia stirred beneath her blanket, stretching softly as she opened her eyes.
She covered her mouth with one hand, yawning,
unaware of what had happened the night before.
Her mind felt clouded,
as though her memories were slowly crawling back to her through a thick fog.
She lifted her hands to her face -
there was a faint scent clinging to her skin,
warm, masculine... unfamiliar,
yet strangely comforting.
Her fingers lingered over her lips,
as if trying to calm the restless beating of her heart.
Gradually, fragments of the previous night began to resurface.
She remembered leaving home... sitting in the park...
and then - nothing.
Darkness. Silence.
Sitting up suddenly, she glanced around.
Everything seemed untouched.
Her bag lay beside her,
the room was the same.
She pressed her palms to her head,
trying to force her mind to remember,
but her thoughts slipped away like smoke through her fingers.
Then something caught her eye -
a glimmer on the floor beside the bed.
She reached down and picked it up.
It was a keychain.
Confused, she turned it over in her hands,
then froze as she opened the small locket attached to it.
Inside was a picture -
a picture of her, taken months ago
at her best friend's wedding.
Her breath hitched.
Why was this here?
How did it end up in her room?
She lifted it closer,
inhaling the same scent that had lingered on her hands.
The same fragrance.
The same presence.
A chill ran through her,
and a realization struck her like lightning -
someone had been with her last night.
Panic seized her.
She looked down at herself,
checking her clothes, her body -
everything was fine.
No harm, no sign of intrusion.
She exhaled shakily,
then clenched her fingers around the keychain,
her voice trembling with determination.
"I'll find out who you are... no matter what."
Suddenly, her door burst open.
Stella stormed into the room, fury blazing in her eyes.
Her gaze landed on the keychain in Amelia's hand.
Without hesitation, she snatched it away, shouting,
"Where did you get this? Who was with you, you filthy girl?!"
Amelia froze,
her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Her mind went blank - she couldn't even defend herself.
Stella stepped closer,
her tone dripping with venom as she looked between the bag on the floor and Amelia's trembling figure.
"So it's true, isn't it?
You spent the night with a man, didn't you?"
Then the blows began.
Slaps, shoves, curses - each one cutting deeper than the last.
Stella hurled the keychain at her face, screaming,
"I don't want to see you here again!
Get out of my house, you disgrace!"
She flung Amelia's bag toward her,
and the girl bent down, sobbing,
her hands trembling as she clutched her belongings to her chest.
Her hair was disheveled,
her cheeks red and swollen from the assault,
her tears mingling with the sting of humiliation.
She stepped outside,
the keychain still clutched tightly in her hand,
her sobs breaking the morning silence.
Where would she go now?
And who... who was the man who had touched her life in the dark?
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