His Forbidden Flame

Chapter One: The Wrong Kind of Man

The first time Achieng saw him, she was balancing a tray of drinks in heels two sizes too small.

The rooftop bar buzzed with Nairobi's elite-men in tailored suits, women in sleek dresses, the air thick with money, cologne, and scandal. She didn't belong here, and everyone knew it. Especially the man in the navy-blue suit with eyes that seemed to strip her bare from across the room.

He looked like sin dipped in silk.

"Table seven," her supervisor hissed behind her. "That's Mr. Mwangi. Don't mess this one up."

Achieng swallowed. Of course he had a name. Of course he was the kind of man who didn't need to ask for attention-it simply bowed to him.

She walked over, heels clicking, knees threatening to buckle.

"Your whiskey, sir," she said, carefully placing the glass down.

He didn't reach for it.

Instead, he looked at her.

No-through her.

And then he smiled. Lazy. Dangerous.

"What's your name?" His voice was deep, velvet-wrapped trouble.

"Achieng," she replied, too quickly.

"Achieng," he repeated, tasting her name like it was something exotic on his tongue. "Beautiful name... for a beautiful woman."

She froze.

This wasn't part of the job.

Flirting with customers was against the rules. Getting involved with a client-especially a man like this-was more than forbidden. It was social suicide.

Still... something in her chest fluttered.

"I-I have other tables," she stammered, stepping back.

His smile didn't waver. "Don't worry. I'll wait."

She turned and walked away, but she felt his gaze clinging to her like Nairobi heat-slow, heavy, and impossible to escape.

And in that moment, Achieng knew one thing:

She was in serious trouble.

The next few days were torture.

Achieng tried to avoid him. She made sure to steer clear of table seven whenever she could, finding solace in the chaos of the other tables. But Mr. Mwangi was persistent. Every time she approached him, he was there-leaning back in his chair with that dangerous smile, his eyes never leaving her.

Each encounter was the same. He'd ask her name again, his voice low, teasing. "Achieng," he'd say. "How's your night been?" He always made it seem like she was the only person in the room, as if no one else mattered, as if the world had narrowed down to the space between them.

The worst part? She didn't want to resist.

One evening, as she approached his table, tray in hand, her heart beat a little too fast, and her palms were too sweaty. She could feel his eyes on her long before she reached him, could feel the pull of his gaze like gravity.

"Back again," she said, trying to sound casual, even though the air between them was charged, thick with something she couldn't name.

He raised an eyebrow, that same lazy smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I'll always be here when you come. But tell me, Achieng, why do you avoid me?"

The question stopped her in her tracks. She wasn't prepared for this.

"I-" She stumbled, trying to find the right words. "It's... complicated."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower. "It's simple, actually. You want to be near me. And I want to be near you."

Achieng's pulse quickened. She should walk away. She should keep things professional. But every instinct in her body told her to stay.

She couldn't fight it.

"I have to go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned, but as she did, she heard him call out.

"Achieng." His voice was like a command, pulling her back. She stopped but didn't turn around.

"I'll be waiting for you, when you're ready."

And then he was silent. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel the weight of his words pressing against her back. They lingered in the air, suffocating her.

Achieng couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change. And deep down, a part of her-one she hated-welcomed it.

Achieng had made up her mind. She couldn't afford to be entangled with someone like him. Mr. Mwangi was a man of power, the kind of man who made rules, not followed them. She had no place in his world.

But as the days wore on, she found herself unable to stay away. Every night when she entered the bar, her eyes instinctively sought him out, watching him from across the room. His presence loomed over her, an invisible force that tugged at her, urging her closer.

It was on a particularly slow evening when she saw him again. The bar was nearly empty, the dim lights casting shadows over the polished furniture. Achieng had just finished serving a round of drinks when she felt a presence behind her.

"Are you avoiding me, Achieng?" His voice was a low, almost intimate whisper. She didn't have to turn around to know it was him. The air around her shifted, thickened.

She swallowed hard, pretending to be busy with wiping down a nearby table. "I'm not avoiding you."

His laugh was a dark, seductive sound. He stepped closer, so close that she could feel the heat of his body at her back. "I think you are."

A warm breath brushed against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand lightly grazed her arm as he reached for the drink she was cleaning, his fingers barely touching her skin but enough to make her pulse race.

"You can't hide from me forever," he murmured.

Her breath caught. "I'm not hiding."

He stepped even closer, his chest nearly pressing against her back now. She could feel the strength in his body, the undeniable presence of a man used to getting what he wanted. His lips were just inches from her ear. "You're a terrible liar, Achieng."

His fingers brushed the side of her neck, sending a jolt of heat through her. She gasped, her hands shaking. "I shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, the words a lie even as they left her lips.

"Then don't," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerously soft tone. "But you want me. Don't you?"

Achieng's heart raced. She couldn't deny it-every fiber of her being screamed to turn around, to give in to the pull between them. She could feel the tension crackling in the space between them, thick and irresistible.

His hand slid lower, brushing against the curve of her waist. She sucked in a breath, her mind clouded with desire.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. "But I will. I'll make you crave me, Achieng. You already do."

She could feel the heat of his words seeping into her skin, making her tremble. Her body was betraying her, responding to him in ways she couldn't control. She had to step back, had to create distance. But the weight of his presence, the raw intensity of his touch, made it impossible to move.

"Achieng..." His voice was a dark promise. "I don't think you realize how much power I have over you."

With every touch, every word, she felt herself unraveling.