Forbidden Cravings
Chapter 56: The Guilt & Fancy Flat

Chapter 56: The Guilt & Fancy Flat

Back at home, Aeri stood in the kitchen, the clock ticking past 8 p.m, the room warm with the smell of sizzling food—some stir-fry she was whipping up, veggies popping in the pan, a pot of rice bubbling soft on the stove.

Music played from a little speaker on the shelf and she hummed along, her voice soft and happy, swaying her hips a little as she stirred the pan with a wooden spoon.

She glanced at the clock above the sink—8:03 p.m.—the red digits blinking steady, and paused, her spoon hovering over the pan. "Where’s Ezra?" she muttered to herself, her brow creasing a little, her humming fading out. "He should be home by now..." She tilted her head, picturing me walking through the door, kicking off my boots, grinning at her cooking like I always did and she sighed soft, turning back to the stove.

*Ring*—her phone buzzed loud on the counter, my name lighting up the screen—*Ezra*. She smirked, setting the spoon down with a soft *clink*, wiping her hands on a towel slung over her shoulder. "Speak of the little devil," she said, her voice playful, reaching for the phone quick as she picked it up.

"Hello, Ezra—where are you?" she asked, her tone light but curious, holding the phone to her ear with one hand, the other resting on the counter.

"Hey, Aeri," I said, my voice crackling through the line, a little forced but steady. "Actually, I’m at the office with Jonathan—some urgent work came up, so I won’t be coming home tonight." I kept it smooth, casual, leaning against a wall somewhere far from her.

"Ohh... I see..." she said, her voice dipping soft, a little sad creeping in. She always got like this when I was out late.

"Yeah... I’m sorry," I said, my tone softening, guilt gnawing at me as I gripped my phone tighter. "Please eat and sleep on time, okay? Don’t wait up or anything." I tried to sound caring, normal, like I wasn’t hiding a damn thing.

"Oh, okay, I will," she said, her voice picking up a bit, brushing off the disappointment like she always did. "Don’t worry about me," she added, then raised her tone sharp, like a mom scolding a kid. "And you—eat properly, alright? Don’t overwork yourself, Ezra, I mean it." She pointed a finger at nothing, her spoon back in hand now, waving it like I could see her through the phone.

"Yes, yes, I will," I said, laughing soft—*hehe*—trying to keep it light, her voice warming me up even through the lie. "Well then, goodbye," I said, my thumb hovering over the end button.

"Yes, goodbye—take care," she said, her voice gentle again, a little smile in it as she set the phone down slow *beep*. She stared at the screen for a sec then turning back to the stove, the music picking up where she’d left off, her humming starting again, quieter now.

On my end, I hung up and just stood there, staring at my phone screen—her name fading out, the time blinking 8:05 p.m., the dark sky pressing in around me. My boots scuffed the ground—wherever I was, it didn’t matter—my hand gripping the phone too tight, guilt flooding me hard. I sighed long, the weight sinking deeper, the night stretching out cold and heavy ahead.

"If you’re done with that call, hold the bags already—my hands are tired," Sara said, her voice sharp but playful, stumbling a little as we stood in the basement of some fancy tower. Her boots scuffed the concrete, her arms full of shopping bags—six of them now, dangling heavy.

I sighed hard, my breath puffing out, the guilt from Aeri’s call still sitting heavy in my chest. "Yeah, fine," I muttered, grabbing the bags from her—"Let’s go inside already," I said, nodding toward the glass doors ahead.

We shuffled into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft *ding*, and Sara leaned forward, jabbing the button for floor 32 with her thumb. The panel lit up, all sleek and silver, and she stepped back, humming some random tune, her phone already in her hand as she scrolled.

The elevator hummed quiet, shooting up smooth and fast—way too fast for 32 floors, I thought, my brow creasing as I shifted the bags in my grip. *How does this thing move like that?*

She found her keys from her jacket pocket, the metal jangling as she unlocked her door—big, white, shiny—and pushed it open, stepping inside

*Flash*—she hit the lights, and the whole place came alive, a huge hall sprawling out in front of me. My jaw dropped a little, my boots pausing on the threshold as I took it in—pink, white, and yellow dim lights glowing soft from the ceiling, a tall fish tank smack in the center, bubbling quiet with bright little fishes swimming around.

The floor was polished wood, the walls lined with fancy art, and a massive couch sat against one side, all creamy leather and cushions. Compared to me and Aeri’s row house—cozy but little smaller even for a row house and this is just a flat.

"Damn... you sure are rich," I said, my voice flat but honest, stepping in slow, the bags still dangling from my hands as I looked around, my eyes catching on a sleek TV mounted high, a glass table sparkling under the lights. It smelled like lavender.

"Hehe, thanks—my dad gave it to me," she said, giggling light as she kicked off her boots one by one. She shrugged off her jacket next, tossing it onto the sofa.

Then she flopped onto a huge bed pushed against the far wall—pink sheets, fluffy pillows—her whole body sinking in deep, the mattress swallowing her like a cloud.

"Ahhhhh... so relaxing," she said, stretching out long, her maroon dress riding up her thighs, her arms flung wide as she sighed loud, her dark hair out around her.

I set the bags down by the couch—*thud*—the plastic rustling as I dropped them, my arms finally free, and sank into a chair nearby, the cushion soft under me, molding to my weight.

It was nice—too nice, almost—and I sighed hard, my boots tapping the floor, my hands resting on my knees.

"Fancy place," I muttered, glancing at her sprawled out, then at the fish tank, the little orange fish zipping around like they didn’t have a care.

"Glad you like it, puppy," she said, rolling onto her side, propping her head on her hand, her smirk lazy but sharp as she watched me.

"Make yourself at home—mi casa es su casa," She giggled again, kicking her legs a little, the bed creaking soft under her, her eyes glinting like she was already planning the next move.

"Yeah, sure," I said, my voice dry, leaning back in the chair, the cushion sinking deeper, my hands brushing my jeans as I tried to settle, the weight of the day—and her—pressing down hard.

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