The Man I’m Not Allowed to Love

CHAPTER 1: THE NIGHT MY FATHER SOLD ME TO THE DEVIL The first time I realized I was in love with Ethan Carter, I was fifteen years old and stupid enough to think love would save me. It didn't. Love is a f*****g knife. And he's been twisting it inside me for five years. --- I'm standing in my father's dining room wearing a dress that shows too much collarbone and not enough shame. The silk clings to my skin like a second layer of sin. My mother picked it out. She thinks it makes me look "grown up." She doesn't know I'm wearing it for him. Ethan Carter sits across the table, pouring whiskey into a crystal glass like he's got all the time in the world. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His forearms are corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair that makes my fingers itch to touch. He doesn't look at me. He never looks at me. Not the way I need him to. Not the way I ache for him to. "Lily." My father's voice cuts through my fantasy like a blade. I drag my eyes away from Ethan's hands—those beautiful, ruinous hands that I've imagined inside me more times than I can count—and force myself to look at the man who gave me life. He's smiling. That's never a good sign. "Your mother and I have some news." My mother's fingers tremble around her wine glass. They've been trembling for years. Ever since she married a man who swallowed her whole and never bothered to spit her back out. I know that look in her eyes. It's the same look she had when she told me Santa wasn't real. When she said my goldfish "went to live on a farm." When she watched my father hand me over to Ethan like I was nothing. "News?" My voice comes out too sharp. Too desperate. I sound like a child begging for scraps, and I hate it. I hate how small he makes me feel. "What kind of news?" My father takes a sip of his whiskey. Slow. Deliberate. He's enjoying this too much. "We've been offered a job in Paris." Paris. France. Not here. My stomach drops through the floor. "Two years." My mother rushes in, her voice too bright, too brittle. "All expenses paid. It's a wonderful opportunity, sweetheart. We'll be able to—" "And me?" I cut her off. I don't mean to. But the words are out before I can stop them, sharp and ugly and afraid. "What about me?" My father finally looks at me. His eyes are cold. Calculating. Cruel. "You'll stay here." Stay here. Alone. Without them. The words hit me like a fist to the chest. My lungs stop working. My vision blurs. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the shame of wanting to scream, to cry, to break something. "With who?" My voice cracks. Silence. Thick. Suffocating. Cruel. And then— "With me." Ethan's voice is low. Rough. Like he's been swallowing broken glass. The world stops spinning. With him. With Ethan. With the man I've loved in secret since I was fifteen. My heart slams against my ribs. My skin burns. I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly, the same heat that's been there for five years, every time he looks at me, every time he speaks, every time he breathes. My father sold me to the devil. And the devil just said yes. --- "Ethan's agreed to take you in." My father says it like it's no big deal. Like he isn't handing me over to the man who's haunted my dreams for years. Like he doesn't know what he's doing. But he knows. He always knows. I look at Ethan. Really look at him. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His hands are fists at his sides. His eyes— His eyes are dark. Hungry. Terrified. He knows exactly what this is. And he's too honorable to say no. "It's no trouble," he says, but his voice is strained. Like he's lying through his teeth. Liar. It's everything. It's everything. "I'm fine with it." The words tumble out too fast. Too eager. I sound like an i***t. A desperate, pathetic i***t who can't hide her feelings for s**t. "I mean—it's great. I love Ethan's house. It's—it's nice." Nice? I said NICE? I want to crawl under the table and die. But then Ethan's eyes flick to mine—just for a second—and something passes between us. Something dark and dangerous and electric. He knows. He knows I'm not talking about the house. He knows I'm talking about him. --- The rest of dinner is a blur. My mother pretends to be happy. My father pretends to care. Ethan pretends to eat. I pretend I'm not falling apart. Two weeks. Two weeks until I move into his house. Two weeks until I'm alone with him. Two weeks until I'm his to ruin. When the meal finally ends, I excuse myself to the bathroom. I need air. I need space. I need to stop feeling like I'm going to explode. But when I step into the hallway, I freeze. Ethan is there. His back is against the wall. His eyes are closed. His chest is rising and falling too fast, like he just ran a marathon. Like he's trying to breathe through something that's suffocating him. I should walk away. I don't. "Ethan?" His eyes snap open. Dark. Burning. Desperate. He looks at me like I'm the last thing he wants to see. And the only thing he needs. "Go back inside, Lily." His voice is rough. Broken. Like he's been screaming but no sound came out. "Are you okay?" I take a step closer. Stupid. Reckless. Me. "Go. Back. Inside." "I just want to—" "Lily." My name on his lips is a warning. A threat. A prayer. I stop. We're standing in the hallway, inches apart, and I can smell him—cedar and coffee and something darker underneath. Something that makes my head spin and my thighs press together. His hands are shaking at his sides. I've never seen him shake before. "I know what you're doing," he says, barely a whisper. "What am I doing?" He takes a step closer. Then another. Now there's no space between us. I can feel the heat coming off his body. Feel the want radiating from him like a physical force. "You're playing with fire." My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "What if I want to burn?" His breath catches. For a second—just a second—I think he's going to kiss me. I can see it in his eyes. The hunger. The desperation. The war he's losing. And then— "I'm leaving." The words are a knife. "What?" "I'm leaving." His voice is dead. Hollow. "I can't—I can't do this. Not with you. Not like this." He pushes past me. His shoulder brushes mine. One second of contact. One devastating second of his heat on my skin. And then he's gone. The front door slams. --- I stand in the hallway, shaking, my eyes burning with tears I refuse to let fall. My chest aches like someone reached inside and ripped out my heart. Two weeks. Two weeks until I move into his house. Two weeks until he has nowhere left to run. I smile. It's not a nice smile. It's the smile of a woman who knows exactly what she wants. And intends to take it. --- That night, I can't sleep. I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of him. The way his hands looked wrapped around that whiskey glass. The way his voice cracked when he said my name. The way his body shook when he was close to me. He wants me. He's been wanting me for years. And now my father just handed me to him on a silver platter. I grab my phone. My thumb hovers over Ethan's name. I shouldn't text him. I know I shouldn't. But I've never been good at doing what I should. Lily: I know you can't sleep either. Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again. Ethan: Go to bed, Lily. Lily: Make me. The dots appear and disappear four times. Then nothing. I stare at the screen until my eyes burn. And then— Ethan: You have no idea what you're doing to me. Lily: Then tell me. Ethan: I can't. Lily: Can't or won't? Ethan: Both. Lily: Coward. Three minutes of silence. Then: Ethan: You're not wrong. I smile in the dark. Lily: Why are you running? Ethan: Because if I stay, I won't be able to stop myself. Lily: What if I don't want you to stop? Ethan: You don't know what you're saying. Lily: I've known what I've wanted since I was fifteen. The question is—when are you going to stop being a coward and admit you want it too? The dots appear. Disappear. Appear. Disappear. Ethan: I've wanted you for five years. My heart stops. Ethan: I've wanted you every single day. Every single night. Every single time you looked at me with those eyes and made me feel like I was burning alive. Lily: Then why— Ethan: Because you're young. Because I'm old. Because your father trusted me. Because I'm supposed to protect you, not— Lily: Not what? Ethan: Not want to ruin you. I stare at the words. Ruin you. He wants to ruin me. And I want him to. Lily: What if I want to be ruined? Ethan: You don't mean that. Lily: I've never meant anything more. Long pause. Ethan: We can't do this. Not tonight. Not ever. Lily: Then why did you say yes? When my father asked you to take me in. Why did you say yes? Ethan: Because I'm weak. Lily: No. You're not weak. You're scared. Ethan: Same thing. Lily: It's not the same. Being weak means you don't have a choice. Being scared means you have one—you're just too afraid to take it. Ethan: You're too smart for your own good. Lily: And you're too stubborn for yours. Ethan: Go to sleep, Lily. Lily: I'll try. But I'll be dreaming of you. Ethan: Don't. Lily: Too late. I've been dreaming of you for five years. Ethan: Lily— Lily: Goodnight, Ethan. Ethan: Goodnight, sweetheart. My heart stops. Sweetheart. He's never called me that before. I read the message ten times. Twenty. Until the words blur together. Two weeks. Two weeks until I'm his. --- The next morning, I find him in the kitchen. He's standing by the counter, drinking coffee, staring out the window like he's trying to escape through the glass. I walk in barefoot. My hair is messy. My shirt is too thin. I look like I just rolled out of bed. Because I did. He turns when he hears me. And his eyes go dark. "Lily—" "Don't." I walk toward him. He doesn't move. I stop in front of him, close enough to touch. "I'm not going anywhere," I say. "I'm moving into your house in two weeks. You can't avoid me forever." "I'm not trying to avoid you." His voice is rough. "I'm trying to protect you." "From what?" "From me." I reach up. My fingers brush his jaw. He flinches like I burned him. "Too late," I whisper. "I've been yours since I was fifteen. There's no protecting me from that." His breath catches. And then— "Lily, I can't—" "Yes, you can." "How do you know?" I step closer. My chest presses against his. My hand slides into his hair, pulling his face down toward mine. "Because I know you." And I kiss him. END OF CHAPTER 1