Forbidden Rose

The fathers arrival

On September 22, the Rivers mansion was transformed. From early morning Mrs. Gray was commanding the staff: silver was polished to a mirror shine, carpets were steam-cleaned, vases were filled with fresh roses from the greenhouse. Even the air felt cleaner — all the windows were thrown wide open to let in the cool autumn breeze.

Richard Rivers Sr. was arriving at five in the evening.

Arina had been working nonstop since morning. She knew: today everything would be decided. For the past three days Daniel had barely spoken to her — only brief, pained glances in the corridors, full of promises. At night he hadn’t come once. She lay alone, her body aching from the absence of his touch, her heart from fear.

Victoria was radiant. She had chosen a champagne-colored dress — silk flowing over her body, deep neckline, back almost completely bare. Hair styled perfectly, makeup flawless. She moved through the house like its mistress, giving orders to the staff, and every time she passed Arina she flashed that sharp, cutting smile.

At four o’clock a black Maybach pulled up at the entrance. Richard Rivers stepped out — tall, graying, with the same gray eyes as his son, but colder, like steel. Three-piece suit, Patek Philippe watch, the posture of a man accustomed to the world bending to his will.

Daniel met his father at the door. They embraced briefly, man to man.

Arina stood off to the side holding a tray of champagne — she had been assigned to serve the guests.

Richard glanced at her briefly — an appraising, contemptuous look. She felt naked under that gaze.

Dinner was served in the grand dining room — a long table for twelve, but only four were seated: Richard at the head, Daniel and Victoria on either side, Mrs. Gray standing by the wall.

Arina brought in dishes, poured wine. Every time she leaned near Daniel, he tensed — she could see it in the clench of his jaw.

Victoria steered the conversation masterfully: New York, charity galas, future plans for the company. Richard listened with approval.

After dessert he leaned back in his chair.

“Daniel, we need to talk. Alone.”

They went into the study.

Arina was clearing the table when she heard voices through the half-open door — loud, angry.

“…this is a disgrace to the family! A servant! A girl from some backwater! Have you lost your mind?”

Daniel’s voice — cold but firm: “I love her. And that’s not up for discussion.”

“Love? You’re f*****g her, that’s all! This is a summer fling. Victoria is your future. The engagement is announced in October. It’s decided.”

“I’m not marrying Victoria.”

Silence.

“Then you won’t get the company. I’ll disinherit you. Simple as that.”

Arina froze, plate in hand. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought they would hear it.

Daniel answered quietly, but she caught every word:

“Then disinherit me. I choose her.”

The door opened. Daniel walked out — face like stone. He passed her without looking.

Victoria was sitting in the living room, smiling.

Richard came out after him. He stopped beside Arina.

“You. Girl.”

She turned.

He looked her over slowly, from head to toe — humiliatingly.

“You’ll be paid. A good sum. You leave tomorrow. And you forget my son.”

Arina lifted her chin. “I’m not for sale.”

He gave a cold chuckle. “Everyone is for sale. It’s just a matter of price.”

He left.

That night Daniel came to her — for the first time in a week.

He entered without knocking, closed the door, pinned her against the wall so hard it stole her breath.

“I told him,” he whispered hoarsely. “I told him everything.”

His lips crashed into hers — hard, desperate. His hands tore at her clothes — he ripped her nightgown in half.

He took her right there against the wall — lifted her, legs wrapped around his waist, thrust in deep with one motion. Hard. Deep.

Arina cried out — from pain, pleasure, tears.

He f****d her furiously — every thrust like a blow. The wall creaked. Her back scraped against the plaster.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Forever. No one will take you away.”

She came first — hard, convulsing. He followed — deep inside, filling her.

Then he lowered her to the floor but didn’t let go — held her tightly, face buried in her neck.

“I’ll leave the company. I have my own money. We’ll go away. Wherever you want.”

Arina was crying. “And if you change your mind?”

He lifted her face, looked into her eyes. “Never. You’re everything.”

They lay in her small, narrow bed. He held her all night, never letting go.

In the morning Richard summoned Arina to the study.

Daniel was there. So was Victoria.

Richard placed a check on the desk — one hundred thousand dollars.

“Take it. Leave today. And don’t come back.”

Arina looked at Daniel.

He stepped forward. Took the check — tore it in half.

“She stays. With me.”

Richard’s face turned purple. “Then you’re no longer my son. Not a cent. Not the company. Nothing.”

Daniel nodded. “Fine.”

Victoria stood up. “Daniel, you’ve gone insane. Over this… w***e?”

He turned to her — gaze like ice.

“One more word and you’ll regret it.”

Victoria went pale.

Richard stormed out — slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.

Victoria followed soon after — an hour later her car was gone.

Only they remained.

Daniel walked over to Arina and embraced her.

“Now we’re free.”

But Arina knew: this was only the beginning of the fight.

The money would run out. Society would judge. The family would turn away.

Yet in his arms she felt: it was worth it.

They made love all day — in his bedroom, openly, without fear of being caught. Slowly, tenderly, then hard. He took her on the bed, on the desk, by the window — showing the whole world that she was his.

In the evening he said:

“I’ll sell my shares. It’ll be enough for a fresh start. We’ll go to New York. Or wherever you want.”

Arina nodded.

But deep inside, the fear remained.

Love had defeated money.

But for how long?