Forbidden Desire

Chapter 16: His world, his rules

I had thought I’d seen luxury before.

The kind of luxury where hotel staff bowed so low it was almost uncomfortable, where you were offered champagne at eleven in the morning just because you looked like you needed it.

But stepping into Logan’s world was like stepping into another universe—one so dazzling it was almost blinding, yet threaded with an undercurrent that made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

The invitation had been vague: "Wear something that makes you feel powerful."

No location, no details. Just a time and the promise that a car would be waiting.

That car—a sleek black Bentley with windows so dark they might as well have been portals—slid up to my apartment at precisely seven. The driver, silent and suited, opened the door without a word. The scent inside was a mix of leather and something faintly smoky, like a campfire had been distilled into perfume.

I didn’t know where we were going until the car turned off the main road and approached a towering glass building that reflected the city’s night lights like a jewel. Inside, the lobby’s marble floors gleamed like water, and a crystal chandelier poured light in shimmering rivulets. The receptionist didn’t ask for my name—just offered a tight smile, pressed a button, and within seconds a private elevator appeared.

The doors opened directly into Logan’s penthouse.

It wasn’t a home—it was a stage.

Two-story windows stretched across the entire far wall, revealing the skyline like a painted backdrop. Soft jazz floated in the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. The living room was filled with people—beautiful people—drinking, laughing, leaning in close with smiles that never reached their eyes. Every one of them looked like they belonged in a glossy magazine.

And then there was him.

Logan stood at the center of it all, like a star around which every other planet orbited.

Dark suit, silk tie, the kind of watch that didn’t just tell time—it told you exactly how much you couldn’t afford it. He turned when he saw me, that slow, deliberate smile unfolding like it was meant just for me.

“Perfect,” he said, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that felt like both a compliment and a claim.

He offered his hand—not the casual, fingers-loose kind, but the palm-up, guiding kind. And as soon as my fingers touched his, I understood: here, he wasn’t just Logan. He was someone else. Someone in complete control.

The conversations at his gathering weren’t really conversations—they were negotiations. I noticed it almost instantly. The way a woman in a sequined dress leaned in just a little too close when she laughed. The way two men clinked glasses without breaking eye contact, both smiling, both calculating.

Logan introduced me to people in a way that made my role clear. I wasn’t “a friend.” I wasn’t “someone he knew.” I was with him.

“This is Ava,” he’d say, as if the name itself was enough. And for some of them, it was. Their eyes softened, their smiles widened. Others… their gaze lingered too long, assessing, deciding if I was a pawn, a prize, or a threat.

It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

There was an unspoken set of rules here—one I didn’t fully understand yet, but I could feel them pressing in. No loud laughter. No overly personal questions. Never interrupt when someone more powerful is speaking. Compliments were currency. Eye contact was a weapon.

At one point, Logan leaned in close, his breath brushing my ear.

“Notice anything?”

I glanced around.

“They’re not here to have fun,” I murmured.

His lips curved. “Exactly. Everything here is a transaction. The champagne is a prop. The laughter is a disguise. And the people? They’re just playing roles.”

I shivered, not from the temperature, but from the realization that Logan wasn’t just part of this world—he ruled it.

Halfway through the evening, Logan guided me to the balcony. From here, the city stretched endlessly below, its lights like molten gold scattered across black velvet.

“Rule one,” he said, resting his hands on the railing, his voice low. “You never let anyone see you doubt yourself. Even if you have no idea what’s going on, you act like you own the room.”

I raised a brow. “And rule two?”

He smiled faintly. “You never give more than you’re willing to lose.”

He turned to face me, the light from the city painting his features in sharp contrasts. “In my world, Ava, trust is expensive. Power is the only real currency. And loyalty—” he paused, his eyes locking on mine, “—loyalty is everything.”

It wasn’t just advice. It was a warning.

Later, I drifted from conversation to conversation, testing his advice. I smiled without revealing anything real. I let my eyes linger just long enough to suggest confidence, but not so long it could be mistaken for challenge. And I noticed something strange: the more I acted like I belonged, the more people treated me like I did.

But there was an edge to it all—a reminder that I was in a place where one wrong step could be costly. I caught snippets of talk that weren’t meant for me. Mentions of deals “off the books.” Quiet references to scandals that hadn’t yet hit the news.

These people operated above the city, but their games could crush anyone below.

By the end of the night, the crowd had thinned, leaving only a core group of Logan’s closest circle. They gathered in a private lounge just off the main living room—a room dimly lit, the walls lined with art I couldn’t name but knew cost more than my yearly rent.

Logan sat at the head of the low table, effortlessly commanding attention. Even in silence, people deferred to him. They spoke, he listened. They made suggestions, he decided. Every nod, every glance from him carried weight.

When someone—a sharp-eyed man in a navy suit—questioned one of Logan’s decisions, the air shifted. Logan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“James,” he said calmly, “in my world, my word is the final one. You’re welcome to speak freely. But remember—you’re still speaking in my house.”

The man laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The conversation moved on.

That was when I understood: Logan’s rules weren’t just about power. They were about survival.

When the last guest left, Logan walked me to the elevator himself. His hand rested lightly at the small of my back, a gesture that was both protective and possessive.

“What did you think?” he asked as the elevator doors closed.

“It’s… beautiful,” I said honestly, “and terrifying.”

His gaze held mine. “Good. You should be a little afraid. It keeps you sharp.”

The elevator stopped, and he leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper. “If you’re going to be in my world, Ava, you need to remember one thing: here, the rules aren’t made to protect you. They’re made to protect me. And if you follow them—if you play them—you’ll be safe. Mostly.”

The “mostly” hung in the air long after I stepped into the waiting car.

The city passed in blurs of neon and shadow outside the car window, but my mind was still in that glass tower, among those diamond smiles and calculating eyes.

I thought about his rules.

I thought about the way people deferred to him, even when they didn’t agree.

I thought about how easily I’d slipped into playing the part he wanted.

And that’s when the unease hit me—not because I didn’t belong in his world, but because, deep down, I realized I wanted to.