Taboo

Prologue

AMELIA

Rain lashes the attic windows, a restless drumbeat that syncs with the wild thump of my heart.

It’s near midnight, the world outside is cloaked in a storm’s fury, but up here, in this purple-painted haven Max made for me, it’s warm and cozy.

Fairy lights twinkle along the slanted ceiling, casting a soft glow over the cluttered space—my books, my paints, the photos we pinned to the walls.

The air smells of cedar and turpentine, mingling with the faint musk of Max’s skin as I straddle his hips, my knees pressing into the rug beneath us.

His lips are fire against mine, hungry and possessive, each kiss pulling me deeper into a dream I never want to awaken from. My fingers tangle in his dark hair, and I breathe him in. My whole body is alive with the thrill of his touch.

Three months ago, Max was just the housekeeper’s son, a stranger with a guarded smile who’d come to stay for the summer.

I tried to match his chill with my own, but somehow, we ended up here—lost in each other, every moment a spark that’s set my world ablaze.

His warmth, his strength, the way he sees me: it’s everything I never knew I needed.

Suddenly, Max’s phone rings, sharp and insistent, slicing through our haze of passion. It takes a little while longer, but eventually Max pulls back, his sapphire eyes clouded with reluctance as he snatches the phone.

I groan, leaning in to steal another kiss, my lips brushing his jaw. “Nooo ... I don’t want to stop.” My hands slide down his chest, feeling his heart galloping under my palms.

“It’s your father,” he says, his voice still rough with the same need coursing through me.

A chill seeps into me, dousing the warmth.

Max might not see it, but I’ve noticed the storm brewing in Dad’s eyes lately.

His gaze lingers when Max and I are together.

We’ve tried to keep this secret. We spun a story about Max tutoring me for SAT math—his perfect score was the perfect excuse.

But we’ve spent too many hours up here alone, reading poetry, mixing paints, baking pastries in the kitchen—things I’d never done before.

We’re inseparable, living under the same roof, and Dad’s the sharpest man I know. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed.

“Don’t answer, Max,” I warn.

“It’ll only piss him off if I don’t,” he says, catching my wrists gently. “Let’s see what he wants.”

My hands fall limply to my sides as he takes the call.

He listens quietly, then says, “Yes, sir. We’ll be there.” Then he ends the call and tosses the phone down.

“He wants to see us now in the library,” he mutters,

My father wants us both in the library, not just me. My stomach twists. “This smells like trouble,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rain.

Max gently holds my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Probably not.”

I try to kiss him again, desperate to hold onto this moment, but he stops me, his grip firm. “Amelia, let’s go and get it over with. Whatever it is.”

I stare into his fearless eyes, and terror claws at me, a whisper that’s haunted me since we started—the dread that I could lose him. “Do you have any idea at all why he’s calling us?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Do you think he’s noticed … us?”

His gaze holds mine, steady and sure. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll handle it together. I’m not giving you up, no matter what.”

“Promise me we won’t be separated,” I say, my eyes searching his. I don’t say it outright, but we both know Dad won’t approve of a union between the housekeeper’s son and his only daughter. I need Max to feel the weight of the situation, to be ready.

“I promise,” he says, his voice softening. “It’s probably just about your studies. You're still a bit shit at math."

A teasing smile tugs at his lips, and I laugh nervously, the tension easing just a fraction. "Well, how can it be my fault if my teacher spends more time watching me undress than actually tutoring me?"

"Watching you undress is entrancing and illuminating," he says gravely, but his eyes twinkle like blue stars. "I can't blame me either."

I slide off him, offering my hand to pull him up.

He takes it, rising with that easy grace that makes my chest ache.

As we move toward the attic door, his head grazes the low ceiling with a soft thud.

We both freeze, then burst into laughter, the sound bright against the storm’s roar.

His hand settles at the small of my back, warm and strong, as he guides me out.

The magical fairy lights fade behind us, and the attic stairs creak under our weight as we descend into the shadowed house.

My pulse hammers, each step toward Dad’s study tightening the knot in my chest. The rain’s rhythm follows us, a reminder that the world outside is as unsettled as the one we’re walking into.

I sneak a look at Max, and he smiles at me.

I take it as a promise that we'll both be resilient enough to face whatever waits beyond the heavy library door.

Max

The corridor to the library stretches before us, a dim tunnel of polished wood and shadowed portraits, our anxious footsteps echoing like a countdown. Amelia’s a half-pace ahead, her shoulders tense, her green eyes fixed on the floor.

I’m trying to keep my cool, to bury the dread twisting my insides, but it’s clawing up, raw and relentless.

This summons screams trouble. I told her it is probably about her studies, but the words felt hollow even as I said them.

John Fitzwilliam’s not the type to call us to his study at close to midnight for a chat about SATs.

Something’s wrong, and the dread presses heavier with every creak of the floorboards.

This house doesn’t help—a sprawling monument to wealth that I can’t wrap my head around.

Growing up in a cramped Utah shack, sharing a room with my uncle, and living off the money Mom sent from her job here, I never imagined I’d see the inside of a place like this. Marble floors, gilded frames, furniture that looks like it belongs in a museum.

It’s old money, the kind that makes you feel small.

When I first arrived, I pegged Amelia as the princess of this palace, a pampered brat who’d never even glance my way.

But then I saw her—really saw her. Her quick laugh, her gentle teasing, the way she humbles herself to make others shine.

She’s not just kind; she’s generous and caring in a way that pulls you in.

And I fell hard, despite every warning I gave myself.

I knew I was playing with fire. She is the daughter of a very rich and powerful man, and I’m a nobody, the housekeeper’s kid crashing in the servants’ quarters for the summer. I told myself to keep my distance, but when she kissed me, her lips soft and hungry, I was done for.

Now, as we near the library, my chest aches with the fear that it’s all about to implode. Amelia’s been careless—her giggles in the kitchen, the way she brushes against me when she thinks no one’s watching. The staff talk, and her father’s got eyes everywhere. His worry is not baseless.

I am hopelessly in love with his daughter and intend to make her mine.

My boots feel leaden. Amelia’s steps falter, and I can’t stand it anymore—the distance, the pretense.

If this is the end, I need something real to hold onto.

I’ve always kept us hidden, but right now, I almost don’t care who sees.

I reach for her hand, my fingers curling around hers, and the warmth of her skin hits me like a shot.

Her eyes flick to our joined hands, then to me.

A quiet smile curves her lips, soft and trusting, and it’s a knife to my heart.

We stop at the study door, its carved surface looming like a warning. Amelia knocks, her knuckles barely making a sound, and Mr. Fitzwilliam’s voice rumbles through.

“Come in.”

The door swings open, revealing a room of dark paneling and leather-bound books, and lit by a single lamp that casts long shadows.

The air is thick with the scent of wax and old wood.

Her father is settled behind his desk, solid and unyielding, and his hair stark against his pale face.

His frown is deeper than usual, etching lines that make him look older, harsher.

I step as far away from Amelia as I can without it looking awkward, but it is crucial in this moment to keep space between us. If this isn’t about us, then I most definitely do not intend to tip him off. Not yet. I have big plans. One day, he will be proud to have me as a son-in-law.

Amelia offers a tight smile, and her posture and manner are stiff and awkward.

John’s eyes sweep over us, sharp and unreadable, before he comes straight to the point. “Max, have you ever met your father?”

The question catches me off guard, and my mind starts racing with confusion.

Why the hell is he asking about my father?

Mom never speaks of him, and the one time I asked, she told me it was a one-night thing while she was on holiday in Mexico.

For one crazy instant, a flicker of relief sparks in my chest—maybe this isn’t about Amelia and me after all.

Then suspicion tightens my chest like a vice. What’s his angle?

“No, sir,” I say slowly.

He exhales slowly, and his gaze becomes heavy with something like regret. “I hoped I’d never have to say this, but your… involvement with my daughter forces my hand. For both your sakes, I can’t stay silent.”

Both Amelia and I glance at each other, as dread surges back.

The air seems to turn cold. Even the room feels like it is shrinking around us.

I step forward, words spilling out before I can stop them.

I try not to jump the gun, but at that moment, sheer panic takes over.

It’s either fight or flight, and I’m fighting. With everything I’ve got.

“Sir, I know I’m not what you’d choose for Amelia. My background is nothing. But I’ll work harder than anyone to deserve her. I swear it. Just... Please, give me a chance.”

John’s eyes narrow, shifting to Amelia, then back to me. “This isn’t about your background, Max. Not entirely, at least.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my tone sharp, frustration bleeding through.

He leans forward, his hands braced on the desk.

“Years ago, I made a painful choice, and it has returned to haunt me. Your mother and I agreed to keep our secret buried, for everyone’s good.

But now, I see no other way.” He pauses, the silence suffocating.

“You can’t be together. This relationship should never have started.

I should’ve seen it sooner. It’s an abomination. ”

Amelia’s voice cuts through, trembling but fierce. “An abomination? What are you talking about?”

My heart is pounding as my eyes find hers for a split second, her fear mirroring mine. We both know now that whatever he’s about to say, it’s worse than my lack of status. We turn back to him, bracing for the impact.

He stands, and his voice is flat, final as he sticks the blade straight into my beating heart.

“Max, you’ve never met your father because I am your father.”

The words slam into me, stealing my breath. The room tilts. His face blurs as my mind reels.

Amelia gasps. “You’re... you're lying. It’s not true.” Her voice cracks with desperation and horror, but I’m mute, shock locking my throat. This can’t be real. It’s impossible.

John presses on, clinical and cold. “It was a mistake, years ago, with your mother. She told me about you later, so I made sure you always had what you needed. When she asked if you could stay here, I thought it’d be a chance to get to know you, quietly.

I never imagined the two of you would get involved. ”

Amelia is shaking. “So you’re saying Max is my half-brother?” Her voice is so small, she sounds like a child.

“Yes,” John says, unflinching. “He is your half-brother. So this thing between you ends now.”

“Why?” Amelia’s voice trembles. “Why didn’t you tell us? How could you let us—”

“Enough,” John snaps. “It got this far because you decided to conduct your… relationship in the dark. I didn’t know what you were up to until now, Amelia.

You weren’t supposed to get this close. Max was here to help you with your studies, nothing more.

If there’s blame to be had, it’s on both of you.

But now you know, and you’ll stop this unnatural perversion immediately. Be grateful it hasn’t gone too far.”

My head’s a haze, grief and rage colliding. Amelia’s sobs are a quiet torture, and every instinct screams at me to hold her, to deny this nightmare, but my body’s frozen. Her father reaches into his desk and pulls out a check, and slides it across. I glance down—$200,000.

“What is this?” I ask, my voice low and venomous.

He replies as calm and cold as an ice lake when he has just tilted my world in a way I'll never recover from. “Take it and leave right now. Use it to build your future. This is the best I can do for you."

What? Just like that? He erases us?

Amelia’s crying, her face crumpled, and the sight rips me apart. I want to touch her, to promise we’ll fight, but the word half-sister is a chain, binding my hands. If I reach for her now, I might never let go.

My jaw clenches, and disgust curls my lips as I glare at the check, then at my father. Without a word, I turn, my boots slamming against the floor. The door crashes shut behind me, and I’m gone, my heart a shattered wreck.