Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 3

**Twilight Carves Destinies by George Orwell**

**Chapter 3**

Without a moment’s hesitation, I tucked my phone away, feigning nonchalance. “A lawyer friend sent it to me, seeking my thoughts.”

At that, Ethan visibly relaxed, a small smile creeping across his face as he handed me a crumpled paper bag. “How about we check out tomorrow’s photography exhibition together?”

The following day, as I entered the gallery, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement and chatter, the air thick with anticipation. I found myself walking in, linked arm-in-arm with Ethan, who seemed to radiate enthusiasm.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, a wave of realization washed over me—the entire exhibition was a tribute to Victoria.

There she was, captured in a myriad of forms; some images were mere silhouettes, while others showcased her in innocent, direct gazes that radiated an almost palpable youthful energy. Each photograph seemed to pulsate with life, a stark contrast to the more somber, large-scale works Ethan had previously collected.

It felt like an unspoken proclamation, a clear message that Victoria was an untouchable muse, a paragon of beauty.

Around us, hushed whispers floated through the crowd, laced with derision aimed squarely at me:

“Her husband must think she’s too unattractive to photograph,” one voice sneered.

“Yet look at Victoria! The whole gallery celebrates her! Who knows how many intimate shots he’s taken of her when no one is watching?”

A chilling memory struck me like a bolt of lightning—an audio clip Victoria had once sent my way, her voice dripping with disdain: “Ugh, seeing her gives me no inspiration whatsoever. Anything I capture would be utter rubbish, tarnishing my reputation as a brilliant photographer.”

The photographs of Victoria surrounding me seemed to smirk, their glossy surfaces gleaming as if they were mocking my very existence. Anguish bubbled just beneath the surface, and I fought the urge to lash out, to shatter those images into a thousand pieces.

But as I turned to seek comfort in Ethan’s presence, I discovered he had vanished.

Not far off, a throng had gathered at the entrance of a side room, their energy crackling with anticipation.

“They’re definitely about to unveil the finale piece!”

“I can’t wait!”

Her words twisted my stomach into knots. In a moment of defiance, I reached for the knife resting on the nearby table, offering it to her with a cold smile. “Be my guest.”

She stared at the knife, her expression a mix of feigned vulnerability and hesitation, as if weighing her next move.

Then, without warning, a powerful shove sent me reeling, and the knife plunged deep into my abdomen.

The blade sliced through flesh and muscle, pain exploding within me like fireworks.

In that dimly lit room, Ethan’s fury erupted as he looked down at me, his expression a tumult of anger and disbelief. “I brought you here out of kindness, and this is how you repay me? Your jealousy has spiraled out of control—you even tried to kill someone!”

My hand pressed against the wound, growing slick with warmth, each pulse of pain a reminder of my reality. “It hurts so much…” I gasped, the world around me fading in and out.

“Stop pretending! You’re the one turning the tables here!”

Believing I was merely putting on a show, Ethan rushed toward me, his hands tearing at my clothes in a frantic attempt to expose the truth. “Since you crave photos so desperately, today you’ll get your wish!”