My Forbidden Husband

MY FORBIDDEN HUSBAND FORBIDDEN HUSBAND SERIES BOOK ONE SHAYNE FORD Copyright © 2023 by Shayne Ford All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, organizations and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners and have been used without permission and in an editorial fashion only, with no implied endorsement. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with, approved of or sponsored by the trademarks owners. This book is for entertainment purposes only. The author and publisher disclaim any and all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly in relation to this book. This book is intended for mature audiences only. Written by Shayne Ford www.shayneford.com Twitter:@ShayneFordBooks Cover design by Shayne Ford The image on the cover is a licensed stock photo, and it is used for illustrative purposes, any person who may be depicted on, is a model. Created with Vellum CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Also by Shayne Ford About the Author 1 ISABELLA New York. The beginning of September. The wind blows in my face as I tilt my gaze up and scan my surroundings, relishing the stunning view of Manhattan on a glorious autumn day. My eyes move slowly over the iconic facade of Grand Central station, the busy 42nd street, historic buildings on Park Avenue––an architectural marvel––and human river and car traffic flooding the streets. Built on steel beams and concrete slabs, the skyscrapers are decked out in sheets of glass reflecting the sun. It’s perfect. And it already looks like an unforgettable day, although it’s not even eight o’clock in the morning. With a cloudless sky, New York City has never looked more alive. Standing in the shadow of a building, with my phone clutched in my hand and the strap of my shoulder bag gripped by my tense fingers, I take it all in. “It’s amazing…” I murmur to myself, a crisp breeze blowing through my hair. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” It’s hard to believe I’m here in New York trying to strike on my own after a long feud with my family and against my mother’s wishes. The matriarch has never approved of my idea. Even my father, had he lived, would’ve sided with her just to spare himself the headache. My adult siblings share my mother’s values and don’t approve of me either, except for Missa, the youngest, who keeps blabbering at the other end of the phone line, frustrated that she isn’t here with me while I set myself in motion, looking for a cab. Like me, she’s inherited the wanderlust from our nana on our father’s side. And I truly feel for her. It’s taken me a long time to muster the courage to plan out my escape. It wasn’t that much of an escape or a plan, for that matter. I’d left home for college and never returned to live there again. After struggling to find a job after graduation, I boarded a plane from Atlanta to New York, and here I am. Mara, my best friend from college, offered me a place to stay and helped me find a part-time job in a clothing store. I started working immediately, fully knowing my job would only be temporary. So today, I’m headed to a big career event, looking for a full-time position that ideally would cover my living expenses and allow me to rent a place of my own. I’m thrilled at the prospect, optimism flowing through my veins, giving me a much needed boost of energy. My sister keeps talking while I jump into a cab and give the driver directions, my hand clamped over my phone. Within minutes, I arrive at the hotel where the event takes place. Sharply dressed men and women carrying briefcases push through the glass doors and vanish inside. “Okay, Missa. I’m here,” I say, paying the fare and climbing out. “Don’t tell anyone I’m in New York. I need all the luck I can get, so I don’t want to jinx it.” “I’m not talking to anyone. And no one is talking about you anyway,” she mumbles. “Heartwarming,” I murmur, making a beeline for the entrance. She keeps babbling while I pull up to the doors and stop in front of the entrance to wrap up our conversation. My gaze trails down, my attention wavering when voices dripping with testosterone resonate behind me. I say goodbye to Missa and end the call, spinning around simultaneously and not paying attention to my surroundings when I accidentally clip a man’s elbow, my phone becomes airborne, and I crash into another man’s hard chest. I lose it for a moment, my mind going blank as several designer suits rustle, shoes shuffle, and a few hard bodies surround me in a swift, smooth move. My first instinct propels me forward to recuperate my phone when my bag slides off my shoulder, landing at someone’s feet. This couldn’t get more embarrassing even if I tried. One of the men picks it up and hands it to me while the others step back in a choreographed move. The man I’ve bumped into doesn’t move as the one collecting my