Page 1 of Forbidden Passion

Chapter 1

"What do you mean?" Princess Ciara gasped, her eyes widening as she locked gazes with her older brother. "I can't stay in that hotel!"

Ramit al Qadar, Sheik of Ditar, reclined in his leather chair, a deliberate calm in his gaze as he observed his younger sister's reaction. "Why wouldn't you stay in The Lustor? It's one of the best hotels in Switzerland." He tilted his head, a subtle challenge in his expression. "Is there something about the hotel that you don't like? You've stayed there several times before."

A vivid image of a darkly handsome, obnoxiously arrogant face flashed through Ciara's mind, a ghost she vehemently banished. She wasn’t thinking about him! Not today!

With a slight lift of her chin, she replied, "No, the service at the hotel is impressive."

The air between brother and sister crackled with unspoken tension, each word weighed with unspoken resentment. Ciara struggled to rein in her temper, acknowledging Ramit's brilliance as a strategist. However, the mere thought of Sheik Falk bin Alon kindled her temper. Avoidance was mandatory!

Ramit’s eyes narrowed and Ciara wondered if he knew what she was thinking.

A split second later, miserable memories of her vicious nanny pinching her, slapping her thigh, or ordering the servants to take her food away when Ciara didn’t obey flashed through her head. It took her several moments to remind herself that her brother wasn’t that old biddy. Ramit wasn’t trying to bend Ciara to his will, he just wanted more information.

Ciara met her brother's gaze, noticing the subtle change in his gaze. Ramit was a master puzzle-solver, and she knew he sensed something beneath the surface. "So, what's the problem?" He took a leisurely sip of his coffee, studying her reactions over the porcelain rim. "If there's a legitimate reason you can't stay there, I'll call Falk and let him know there's an issue with his staff.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Would it bother Zayed if he were to discover that you were staying at a hotel that Falk owns? Is that the problem?”

Falk. The nonchalant mention of his name by her older brother sent her heart into an embarrassing and dangerous flutter.

She had no reaction at all to the mention of Zayed, her fiancé. The man was tall and handsome, but…no flutters. Was that why she hadn’t set a date for their wedding? She’d been betrothed to Zayed ten years ago when she’d been only seventeen. At the time, she’d been happy, even relieved, by the arrangement. The question of her future had been decided. As a member of the royal family, her future marriage had been a major stress-point for her.

That was before she’d met her brother’s other friend; Falk.

Ciara could feel her frustration rising as her brother kept pressing for an answer. She forced herself to keep a calm exterior, but her patience was wearing thin. "Ramit," she said through gritted teeth, her voice tight with barely concealed anger, "there's nothing wrong with the hotel." She paused, her words sharp and deliberate. "I just prefer to stay somewhere else for this conference."

He nodded slowly, rubbing his thumb against his chin. "You want to spend your money at other hotels. Sort ofspreading the wealth? Perhaps bring attention to some of the lesser known resorts?"

Though not her original sentiment, the excuse sounded plausible. "Exactly." The drama of concealed emotions played out beneath the surface, a delicate dance between siblings simmering between herself and her brother.

Ciara looked away, wondering if she was hiding her anger well enough and calculating how much longer she’d have to sit here in her brother’s office. But a new sound brought her gaze right back to her older brother.

Had Ramit just stifled a chuckle? Was there some secret comedic issue she was missing?

Before Ciara could decipher the brotherly smirk, he leaned forward and pressed a button. Immediately, his personal assistant stepped into his office. “Yes, Your Highness?” Hamud inquired politely.

“Could you inform the travel office that Princess Ciara would like to change her hotel accommodations? She won’t be staying at The Lustor during her visit to Switzerland tomorrow.”

Hamud immediately bowed. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he replied, then turned and walked out of the office.

“You’ll call Falk and explain the reason why you’re changing hotels?” Ramit asked. “He’s one of my best friends and a close ally, so you’ll need to present your change in accommodations carefully so that he isn’t offended. I’ve heard that he will also be attending the economic conference tomorrow.”

Ciara stood, her relief almost overwhelming, as if a weight had lifted off her chest. "Absolutely," she said, her voicelighter now. "I’ll have my assistant call as soon as I get back to my office."

Ramit rose beside her, walking in sync with her steps. His familiar presence brought both comfort and irritation. "Not good enough, and you know it," he shot back, slinging his arm around her shoulders. The warmth of his teasing gesture clashed with the sudden pressure of his words. "You need to make the phone call personally."

Ciara inwardly groaned, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She'd sensed he was going to drop this diplomatic bomb. Of course, he would. Her inner rebel wanted to stomp its feet and scream at the injustice of it all. She wasn’t a puppet to be manipulated into handling every uncomfortable situation herself. And yet, despite the storm swirling inside, she couldn't deny the truth in his words. Deep down, she knew he had a point—it was a bitter pill she didn't want to swallow, but had to.

Calling Falk personally shouldn't be a big deal, right? It was just a professional courtesy, nothing more. After all, she wasn’t engaged to the guy. She chuckled dryly to herself at the absurd thought. No, what she felt for Falk was far from affection. In fact, she could only describe her feelings toward him as "hate." Yes, that was the word—Ciara despised him with a passion so intense it could rival a thousand fiery suns. The very idea of making a polite phone call to Falk felt like cosmic cruelty, as if the universe was having a laugh at her expense. If given the chance, she'd rather toss the man into a pool of piranhas—or maybe a pack of hyenas! She smiled wickedly at the mental image, feeling a brief surge of satisfaction.

Of course, she didn't actually want him hurt, much less dead. She wasn't cruel, just... deeply irritated by his existence. Her growing hatred for the man was irrational, she knew that,but it was real. Which was exactly why she had no desire to stay in the hotel Falk owned. And why she absolutely loathed the idea of making this call.

But Ciara, the reigning champion of the avoidance Olympics, knew she had to face this head-on. She'd already won the battle of the hotel—dodging the luxurious trap of Falk’s five-star establishment felt like a small triumph. All that was left now was this one final hurdle: a conversation she’d rather avoid, but couldn't. She just had to talk to him, keep her emotions under control, and, most importantly, not reveal her internal victory dance at escaping his hotel for the weekend.

As she strolled back to her office, the sense of calm she’d clung to wavered. Once inside, she sank into her desk chair and stared down at her phone as if it were some sort of sentient being, capable of understanding the tumultuous swirl of emotions inside her. Falk. The name alone made her pulse quicken, though not from any sense of anticipation. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath as if channeling her inner zen master. Bracing herself, she reached for her phone, knowing that no amount of meditation could truly prepare her for this.

Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Ciara picked up her phone and punched in the dreaded number, annoyed at how she'd unwittingly committed it to memory. She had purposefully avoided saving the man’s number as a contact. Something about that felt too intimate, too permanent—like she was somehow inviting Falk into her life in a way that went beyond their forced professional interactions.

"Not today, Satan," she muttered under her breath.

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