Forbidden Love

Chapter One Ding Dong The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house like a warning. Or maybe like destiny. I froze halfway down the staircase, my fingers tightening around the wooden rail. I didn’t need to look at the clock to know who it was. He always came on Thursdays. 7:00 p.m. sharp. Never late. Never early. “Amara!” my dad called from the kitchen. “Can you get the door?” Of course. Because why wouldn’t the universe have a sense of humor? I inhaled slowly, willing my heart to calm down. It didn’t. It only beat harder, faster like it was trying to escape my chest before I did something reckless. This is ridiculous, I told myself. He’s your father’s best friend. He’s off limits. He’s untouchable. He’s The doorbell rang again. Ding dong. I walked the remaining steps, each one feeling heavier than the last. My palms were slightly damp as I reached for the handle. For a second, I considered pretending I wasn’t there. But that would be cowardly. And I am not a coward. I opened the door. And there he was. Ethan Cole. Tall. Calm. Collected. Wearing that familiar dark button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms. His hair was slightly messy, like he had run his fingers through it one too many times on the drive over. His jaw was sharp, shadowed just enough to make him look unfairly attractive. And then his eyes. Those deep, steady eyes that always seemed to see more than they said. They softened when they landed on me. “Amara,” he greeted, voice warm and smooth. “Hey.” Just one word. Just my name. But somehow it felt like more. “Hi, Ethan,” I replied, praying my voice didn’t betray me. He gave a small smile. The kind that wasn’t flashy. The kind that lingered. “Your dad home?” “Yes,” I managed. “He’s in the kitchen.” He nodded and stepped inside. And that’s when it happened that brief, electric moment when our shoulders brushed. It was nothing. It was everything. A spark shot up my arm, quick and undeniable. I sucked in a breath before I could stop myself. He paused. Just for half a second. Long enough for me to notice. Long enough for him to notice that I noticed. Then he kept walking. I closed the door slowly, my mind racing. This has to stop. But it hadn’t even started. Ethan had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. Growing up, he was just “Dad’s friend.” The man who brought expensive chocolate from his business trips. The one who fixed things around the house when my dad was too busy. The one who laughed the loudest at my dad’s terrible jokes. Back then, he was safe. Distant. Just another adult. But somewhere between childhood and now… something shifted. Maybe it was the day I came home from university for the holidays and saw him standing in our living room, sleeves rolled up, looking less like “Dad’s friend” and more like a man. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me that day. Not like a child. Not like someone’s daughter. But like he had suddenly realized time had moved forward. And so had I. --- Dinner was loud. My dad and Ethan were deep in conversation about business, investments, and “the good old days.” I sat across from them, pretending to focus on my food. But I was hyperaware of him. The way he leaned back in his chair. The low sound of his laugh. The way he listened really listened when someone spoke. At one point, I glanced up. And he was already looking at me. Not accidentally. Not casually. Looking. Our eyes locked. Heat crept up my neck. I quickly looked down at my plate. Dangerous. This is dangerous. “Amara, how’s school?” Ethan asked suddenly. I looked up again, forced to meet his gaze. “It’s good,” I replied. “Busy.” “What are you focusing on this semester?” His tone was normal. Polite. Safe. But there was something underneath it. Interest. “I’m working on my research project,” I said. “It’s… intense.” “I don’t doubt it,” he said softly. For a moment, the conversation around us faded. It felt like we were the only two people at the table. And then my dad cleared his throat. “You know,” he said with a chuckle, “Ethan was just saying he might start mentoring young professionals. Maybe you could give Amara some career advice.” My fork nearly slipped from my hand. Mentoring? Absolutely not. Ethan’s expression shifted just slightly before he masked it. “If she’d like that,” he said carefully. If she’d like that. My dad smiled. “Of course she would.” I forced a small laugh. “We’ll see.” But my pulse was racing. Because the idea of being alone with him? Terrifying. Tempting. Wrong. --- After dinner, I stepped out onto the balcony to get some air. The night was cool, Lagos humming softly in the distance. City lights blinked like secrets waiting to be told. I gripped the railing and exhaled. What is wrong with you? This isn’t a crush. Crushes are light. Harmless. This felt heavy. Complicated. And dangerously real. The balcony door slid open behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “You okay?” Ethan’s voice asked gently. Too close. I swallowed. “Yeah. Just needed air.” He stepped beside me, keeping a respectful distance. Close enough to feel his presence. Far enough to pretend it meant nothing. “Your dad talks about you all the time,” he said. “Oh?” I tried to sound casual. “He’s proud of you.” That softened me. “I know,” I whispered. Silence fell between us. Not awkward. Just charged. “You’ve grown up,” he said quietly. There it was. The shift. My heart pounded. “I guess that happens,” I replied. He gave a small, almost amused exhale. “Yeah. It does.” Another silence. Then his tone changed barely but enough. “Amara…” The way he said my name this time was different. Careful. Cautious. Like he was standing at the edge of something. “We should be careful,” he said. The words hit me harder than I expected. Careful. So he felt it too. My throat went dry. “Careful about what?” His jaw tightened slightly. “This.” The air between us thickened. “We’re not doing anything,” I whispered. “Aren’t we?” That question hung between us, fragile and explosive. I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t trust myself to. He looked away first, running a hand through his hair a rare crack in his composed exterior. “This can’t happen,” he said quietly. More to himself than to me. And yet neither of us moved. Neither of us walked away. Feelings can’t be ignored, can they? The balcony door slid open again, my dad’s voice cutting through the tension. “Ethan! Come see this article!” The moment shattered. Ethan stepped back immediately, the distance returning like a wall. “I should” he started. “Yeah,” I finished. He hesitated for one second longer. Then he went inside. I stayed on the balcony, my heart still racing. This can’t happen. But it already is. And something tells me… This is only the beginning.