Jia_Syzelle

In the 1920s, Mary, the quiet daughter of the town mayor, lives by strict rules—until she meets Isabelle Hart, a bold and flirty jazz singer. Drawn to Isabelle’s fire, Mary begins to question everything she’s ever known. But in a time where their love is forbidden, their greatest enemy becomes everyone—family, friends, and society itself.

Will they accept themselves and how will they fight the society?

Will there always remain forbidden?

Forbidden Dream 1920

Mary's Room – Midnight Stillness

The door clicked softly behind them.

Only the moonlight lit the space now, painting Mary's pale nightgown in silver and shadow. Her breath caught slightly in her throat as Isabelle took a slow step forward, her eyes focused, unreadable—but burning with something Mary had felt only in dreams.

Isabelle's lips curled into a half-smirk. "You made me wait too long, Mary Whitmore."

Mary swallowed, her hands nervously brushing down her sides.

"I… I didn't mean to," she whispered. "It wasn't easy."

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "You mean to say making me jealous wasn't part of the plan?"

Isabelle took another step forward, her voice low and teasing. "You mentioned another man in your letters. A certain Thomas. Had me wondering if I was being replaced by a polished future husband."

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She simply looked away, smiling softly, shyly.

"You didn't deny it," Isabelle said, stepping closer now—so close Mary could feel her warmth through the air between them. "Don't I deserve something for all that suffering?"

Mary's breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. "What… what do you want?"

Isabelle leaned in, slowly, deliberately. Her eyes never left Mary's—steady and intense.

She reached up gently, brushing a stray curl from Mary's face before tilting her chin ever so slightly.

And then she pressed her lips to Mary's neck. Soft. Delicate. Reverent.

Mary let out the tiniest gasp—surprised, but not resisting.

Her hands, at first trembling, found their way to Isabelle's waist, holding her as though something inside had finally let go.

Then Isabelle leaned in close, her lips brushing the edge of Mary's ear, her breath warm and full of certainty.

Mary stood there, frozen for a heartbeat. The room held its breath with her.

Then—quietly, fiercely—Mary nodded against her shoulder.

"Yours," she whispered back. "Even if the world says I shouldn't be."

"That's the only truth I care about."

YOU ARE MINE