Forbidden Romance🚫❤

Arrival At Paris

CHAPTER 1 — THE PARIS ARRIVAL

Paris in December looked like something hand-painted by winter itself. Snow dusted the rooftops of the 7th arrondissement like powdered sugar, coating the balconies, iron railings, and cobblestones in a soft silver glow. Car horns were gentler here, footsteps quieter, the air sharper but filled with the warm promise of pastries baking in cafés.

Inside the black SUV that had just pulled up to Hôtel Lumière Royale, the Lancaster family sat in their usual unbalanced dynamic.

Hannah Lancaster pressed her forehead against the cold window as the car slowed to a stop. At eighteen, she carried the posture of someone both delicate and quietly rebellious. Her dark hair fell down her back in soft waves, and her eyes—wide, gentle, curious—never stopped searching for something beyond the luxury she had been raised in.

Her parents, however, lived in a different world.

Her father, Alexander Lancaster, one of Europe’s most powerful real-estate magnates, sat beside his wife scrolling through work emails even during a family holiday.

Her mother, Marianne, elegant as always, adjusted her sable coat and murmured about the “underwhelming Christmas decorations” despite the hotel looking like something out of a royal winter ball.

And then there was Joyce, Hannah’s sixteen-year-old sister, who nudged her elbow.

“You’re sighing again,” Joyce whispered.

“Am I?” Hannah forced a smile.

Their younger brother, Caleb, only ten, was asleep on the opposite seat.

The hotel staff opened their doors, and instantly a gust of icy air rushed in. Paris greeted them.

Cameras flashed from nearby tourists who recognized Alexander Lancaster. He raised a hand, smiling with the confidence of a man born into legacy.

Hannah stepped out last.

And that’s when she saw him for the first time.

A young man, also around eighteen, wearing a simple waiter’s uniform from the hotel café, was pushing a cart of pastries across the entryway. A gust of wind knocked off his cap, and he bent to pick it up, revealing soft brown hair and striking eyes—warm, attentive, quietly intense.

Their eyes met.

Only for a second.

But Hannah felt something shift inside her.

He looked away first, professional and composed—but not before she noticed the faint surprise in his eyes. Not admiration. Something else. Something unreadable.

She had no idea that moment would change the course of her life.

She had no idea that the boy she’d just seen was already studying her family.

Already memorizing her routines.

Already preparing for a mission more dangerous than she could imagine.

His name was Eric Moreau, and though he looked like any other hotel staff…

Nothing about him was ordinary.

Not his life.

Not his past.

And certainly not his intentions.

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CHAPTER 2 — THE FIRST COLLISION

The Lancaster suite took up an entire floor of the hotel—crystal chandeliers, velvet lounges, sweeping windows with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Hannah wandered toward the balcony after they settled in, her fingers brushing the icy railing.

Paris felt…different.

Alive.

Freeing.

Open in a way her gilded life never was.

A soft knock came from the suite’s hallway.

“Hannah?” Joyce peeked in. “Mom says dinner in an hour.”

Hannah nodded. “I’ll get ready soon.”

But her mind was elsewhere—back at the entrance, replaying the moment she saw the waiter. There had been something in his gaze. Not flirtatious. Not shy. More like… recognition?

As if he’d known she was coming.

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DOWNSTAIRS – HOTEL CAFÉ

Eric stood behind the counter wiping the same glass over and over again, though it was already spotless.

“Hey, Moreau,” said his coworker Damien. “You keep rubbing that thing, it’ll disappear.”

Eric didn’t laugh.

He was thinking about her.

He had been trained not to get distracted. The instructions had been clear:

observe the Lancaster family, identify vulnerabilities, follow the timeline.

And the daughter—Hannah—was the key.

He hadn’t expected her to look like that.

He hadn’t expected her to look at him like that.

Damien nudged him. “Dude, are you okay?”

Eric blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But fatigue wasn’t the issue.

He felt something dangerous forming—a hesitation he wasn’t allowed to have.

Just then, the café doors opened.

It was her.

Hannah walked in alone, brushing snowflakes from her coat. Her presence seemed to alter the room’s temperature; even the café’s soft jazz seemed to fade.

Eric’s pulse tightened.

She approached the counter, smiling gently.

“Hi,” she said. “Do you happen to know where the scenic reading lounge is?”

Her voice was soft, warm, too sincere.

Eric swallowed. “Second floor. Past the curved staircase, then left.”

“Thank you.” She paused, then— “Have we met before?”

His heart stalled.

She felt it too.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

She tilted her head slightly. “Strange. I thought I recognized you.”

Then she left, her hair swaying behind her like a quiet wave goodbye.

Eric exhaled slowly once she was gone.

This was going to be a problem.

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CHAPTER 3 — THE FIRST SECRET MEETING

The hotel’s reading lounge looked like a private palace library—floor-to-ceiling shelves, warm fireplaces, cushioned leather chairs, and wide arched windows overlooking the city.

Hannah sat near the window, trying to read, but her mind kept drifting.

To him.

She had never reacted to someone that quickly before. She had grown up surrounded by wealthy, polished boys from elite schools—rich, arrogant, predictable.

But the waiter…

He had something else.

Something unspoken.

She didn’t know his name yet.

But she wanted to.

After half an hour, she stood to leave—and froze.

He was standing in the doorway.

They stared at each other.

Eric stepped inside, clearly hesitant.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said.

“You’re not,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

He approached slowly, keeping a polite distance.

“I’m actually off duty for ten minutes,” he said quietly. “I came to apologize for earlier. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

Hannah smiled. “You weren’t. I just… felt like I knew you.”

Eric’s throat tightened. “Maybe we’ve crossed paths before.”

“Maybe.”

There was a silence—comfortable, surprisingly.

Then she asked, “What’s your name?”

Eric hesitated…

…then gave the only answer he was allowed to give:

“Eric.”

“And I’m Hannah,” she said softly.

“I know,” he nearly said.

But he bit his tongue.

“Nice to meet you,” he said instead.

Another silence.

This one warmer.

Then Joyce’s voice echoed from the hallway: “Hannah? Are you here?”

Hannah stepped back quickly, her face flushing. “I should go.”

Eric nodded, expression unreadable.

As she hurried out, she glanced back at him.

And found him already watching her.

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CHAPTER 4 — THE WATCHFUL EYES

Evening settled over Paris like a velvet curtain sprinkled with golden stars. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, sending soft flashes across the hotel windows.

Hannah stood at the balcony railing of the Lancaster suite, hugging her sweater closer around her. Her family was inside—Joyce scrolling on her phone, her mother correcting the chef’s menu, her father still reading emails—but Hannah needed air.

Down below, the icy courtyard of Hôtel Lumière Royale glowed beneath warm lamps.

And there he was.

Eric.

He stood beside the café’s side entrance, half in shadow, speaking quietly to Damien. His posture was calm but purposeful, like someone trying to blend into the darkness. His breath formed pale puffs of fog in the cold air.

Hannah wasn’t sure how long she stared before he seemed to sense her gaze.

He looked up.

Their eyes connected across four floors of space.

But he looked away quickly, almost sharply, as if doing anything else would be dangerous.

Hannah exhaled softly.

She didn’t know why she cared.

She didn’t know why her chest felt tight.

She didn’t know why her heart reacted like this whenever she saw him.

But she did know one thing:

She wanted to talk to him again.

She wanted to understand what she saw in his eyes.

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DOWN IN THE COURTYARD

Eric didn’t dare look up again.

He could still feel her gaze like a warm flame burning against his skin.

“Yo, why are you tense suddenly?” Damien asked.

“I’m fine,” Eric muttered.

But he wasn’t.

He had been trained to notice shadows, routes, blind spots—everything.

Not emotions.

Not hearts.

Not a girl with eyes too soft and too sincere.

He forced himself to breathe evenly.

“She’s watching you,” Damien whispered with a grin.

Eric froze. “Who?”

“The Lancaster girl. The older one.”

Eric’s jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter.”

Damien nudged him. “Dude… it kinda does. She keeps glancing at you.”

Eric turned away. “I can’t get involved.”

Damien raised a brow. “Why? She’s clearly into you.”

Eric closed his eyes briefly.

If only Damien knew.

If only anyone knew.

He had a mission. And that mission didn’t allow feelings.

He wasn’t supposed to care about Hannah Lancaster.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything when she smiled.

He wasn’t supposed to want her to look at him again.

But he did.

And that was dangerous.

Very dangerous.

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CHAPTER 5 — COLLISION OF PATHS

The next morning, the hotel buzzed with Christmas energy. Staff prepared wreaths and garlands; guests in fur coats sipped hot chocolate by the fireplace.

Hannah wandered down to the café, telling her family she wanted a simple breakfast.

Joyce raised a brow. “The café? Really?”

Hannah shrugged casually. “I wanted to read somewhere warm.”

Joyce smirked. “Uh-huh. Warm.”

But Hannah ignored her sister and stepped into the café, her heart beating unreasonably fast.

Eric was there.

He stood behind the counter, arranging cups. His hair was slightly messy, as if he’d rushed through the morning. He looked exhausted. But when he saw Hannah, something flickered in his eyes—like recognition fighting against fear.

She approached the counter.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Eric swallowed. “Good morning.”

She hesitated. Then—“Can I sit here for a bit? Or is it a bad time?”

He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decide something important.

Then he nodded. “You can sit. It’s not busy yet.”

She smiled and took a seat near the counter.

He brought her a cup of hot chocolate without her asking.

“You looked like someone who’d like this,” he said.

“Do I?” she asked, amused.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

Their eyes held—warm, intense, a little confused on both sides.

And for the first time since coming to Paris…

Hannah felt seen.

Not as a Lancaster.

Not as the daughter of wealth.

Not as the heiress with expectations.

Just… as herself.

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