MidReal Story

Mountain Hearts: Forbidden Bonds

Scenario: Tiernan de Haas doesn't care about anything anymore. The only child of a film producer and his starlet wife, she's grown up with wealth and privilege but not love or guidance. And when her parents suddenly pass away, she knows she should be devastated. But she's always been alone, hasn't she? Jake Van der Berg, her father's stepbrother and her only living relative, assumes guardianship of Tiernan. Sent to live in the mountains of Colorado with Jake and his two sons, Noah and Kaleb, Tiernan quickly learns that these men now have a say in what she chooses to care and not care about anymore. As the men take Tiernan under their wing, she slowly finds her place among them. Because lines blur and rules become easy to break when no one else is watching. One of them has her. The other one wants her. But he's going to keep her. Genres: Romance novel, Erotic literature, New adult fiction, Coming-of-age story
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Tiernan de Haas doesn't care about anything anymore. The only child of a film producer and his starlet wife, she's grown up with wealth and privilege but not love or guidance. And when her parents suddenly pass away, she knows she should be devastated. But she's always been alone, hasn't she? Jake Van der Berg, her father's stepbrother and her only living relative, assumes guardianship of Tiernan. Sent to live in the mountains of Colorado with Jake and his two sons, Noah and Kaleb, Tiernan quickly learns that these men now have a say in what she chooses to care and not care about anymore. As the men take Tiernan under their wing, she slowly finds her place among them. Because lines blur and rules become easy to break when no one else is watching. One of them has her. The other one wants her. But he's going to keep her. Genres: Romance novel, Erotic literature, New adult fiction, Coming-of-age story
I learned early in life not to care.
My parents have made it easy for me.
I was born to a film producer and a starlet, which sounds like a beautiful love story, except for the fact that both of them were married when they conceived me.
They managed to keep it out of the tabloids until after they were wed and I was born, but it was still the scandal of the year.
Yet they never let it define them.
They were two of the most beautiful people in Hollywood and they were adored by fans everywhere.
Growing up, I was the daughter of a power couple.
I was the epitome of privilege and wealth, but the one thing money couldn’t buy me was time.
They never had time for me.
My father was always on set, my mother was always at a premiere, they were always somewhere but never here with me so my care fell to the housekeeper or whichever nanny they could convince to take care of me.
There have been several over the years but I never grew attached to any of them because they never stayed long enough.
My parents’ lives revolved around their careers and their social circles; I was just an accessory that came along when they needed me for a photo op or when their publicist told them that they needed to be seen doing something “family” related because it had been too long since they’d been seen with me.
When I’d first started school, my parents showed up for all the parent/teacher conferences, but after my third-grade teacher made the mistake of mentioning that she thought I might be depressed, my parents had stopped coming in favor of just sending their assistant, Mr.
Harris, in their place.
Mr.Harris had become my constant.
He was who I looked for when I needed someone: someone to talk to or someone to show up when my parents forgot to pick me up from school or from a friend’s house.
He was who took me shopping when I needed new clothes or school supplies.
He was who I turned to when I needed anything.
As an adult, he was still the one I turned to, but now it was because he was the one who signed off on my credit card.
He’d made sure that all the cards in my wallet were connected to an account that he oversaw so that no matter where I was, there would always be enough on there for me to buy what I wanted.
He also made sure that there was always a personal shopper available at any of the stores that carried the designer labels my mother loved so much.
I would show up at the store, the clerk would pull out a card that had Mr.
Harris’ name on it, and whatever clothes or accessories I wanted would be signed for and delivered to my room later that day.
It was a system that worked well for us.
After my third-grade teacher had raised concerns about me, my parents had set up appointments for me with a child psychiatrist who had told me that I was just old enough to understand that my parents didn’t really want me around.
That there was something wrong with me that made me difficult for them to love.
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Being fifteen, I realized that the doctor was right.
I never blamed my father because he’d never pretended that he loved me.
He’d only married my mother because she was pregnant and it was what his publicist had suggested he do in order to save his reputation.
It was my mother who hurt the most because she was the one who I’d always wanted to love me.
She was beautiful and elegant, and she exuded confidence in everything she did; whereas I felt like a fraud every time I smiled at the camera knowing that she’d just chastised me in the limo ride over because the dress she’d picked out didn’t look quite right or my hair wasn’t perfect.
I tried so hard to be what she wanted, but nothing I did seemed to make her care about me or want to spend time with me.
When I was fifteen, my father threw another one of his infamous parties and as usual, it lasted late into the night.
I’d been bored and looking for something to do so I’d wandered down the hallway towards my room, but then decided to take a different route back towards the guest wing where my room was located.
As I passed one of the guest rooms, I heard my mother’s voice.
I knew I shouldn’t listen to her private conversations, but I couldn’t resist.
I’d never heard her sound like this before.
I’d never heard her sound so needy or wanton.
I’d never heard her sound like she actually wanted something.
I pushed the door open just a little bit and peeked inside and saw my mother’s arms wrapped around the neck of another man.
Her eyes were half closed and her lips were slightly parted as she whispered to him.
His hands were on her ass and he was grinding against her as they stumbled backwards towards the bed.
She was wearing the dress she’d worn to the party, but it was now unzipped in the back and falling off her shoulders.
The man’s hand reached up and cupped my mother’s breast, squeezing it as she moaned in pleasure.
They stopped and he bent his head and kissed her.
His hands were everywhere, holding her and gripping her as his mouth moved over hers.
I knew I shouldn’t be watching.
I knew I should leave, but I was frozen in place.
And then my mother’s hand moved down the front of the man’s pants and I was horrified to see how large he was.
She rubbed her hand over his erection as she began to unbutton his pants.
And then he turned her around and bent her over the bed.
He yanked her dress up and pulled her panties down and then I saw him push himself inside my mother.
It was horrifying and disgusting to see her like that.
To see how desperate she was for him.
To see how much she wanted him.
And then he started to thrust and she moaned and I saw the pleasure on her face as she closed her eyes and threw her head back.
It was the only time I’d ever seen her look so alive.
I was so shocked by what I’d seen that I stumbled backwards and tripped on the first step leading downstairs and fell.
My ankle was twisted and my head was spinning as I lay on the floor in pain, trying not to scream so someone would come and help me.
But no one ever came.
My mother’s moans continued as they grew louder and more desperate, drowning out any sound of my cries from the room.
The pain in my ankle was excruciating, and my head throbbed as I lay there, tears falling from my eyes as I tried to process what I’d seen.
I’d always known that my mother didn’t really love me, but I’d never realized just how little she cared about me.
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I was good at hiding my pain and keeping it inside.
I’d had years of practice.
Years of pretending and smiling and pretending I was happy.
But this time it was harder than usual because my ankle was so swollen and turning black.
And when I’d woken up, I found that not only did I have a twisted ankle and a bruise on my head, I had a black eye as well.
I’d been so upset by what I’d seen the night before that I’d cried myself to sleep and when I’d woken up the next morning my face was swollen and sore.
I knew my parents would be upset if they saw me like this, so I’d put on a pair of sunglasses and tried to hide it as best as I could.
But they’d still noticed.
“Oh darling,” my mother had said when she saw me at breakfast with the sunglasses on.
“Tiernan, take those glasses off.
You look ridiculous.”
I’d taken them off and my father had winced when he saw my face.
“How did this happen?”
he asked as he reached out and touched the bruised skin around my eye.
“I tripped and fell down the stairs,” I said.
I sounded so calm and nonchalant as I said it, but inside I was anything but calm.
“I twisted my ankle and hit my head as well.”
My father glanced at my mother and his assistant, Mr.
Harris, who were both sitting at the table with us and then he said, “Well, darling, you need to be more careful.
You’re a young woman now and you need to learn how to take care of yourself.”
My mother nodded.
“This is what happens when we aren’t here,” she said.
“We can’t be with you all the time to protect you, Tiernan.
You need to be more careful.”
I nodded and said I would try to be more careful in the future and then I’d finished my breakfast and gone back to my room.
But it hurt so much to walk because of my ankle and my eye hurt so much that it was watering constantly and I couldn’t stop myself from crying occasionally.
My parents had noticed and Mr.
Harris had noticed as well and I’d thought that he might tell someone what was wrong with me, but he hadn’t.
He hadn’t told anyone at all as far as I could tell.
I think he knew how much trouble I would be in if anyone found out and he was trying to protect me as much as he could.
So he’d come up to my room later in the day when he was supposed to be going through some papers with my father and he’d iced my ankle for me and put some cream on my face to try to take the swelling down as best as he could.
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It was only a tiny thing, but it made me so happy that someone actually cared about what happened to me for once.
It was such a little thing, such a tiny act of kindness, but it meant so much to me because no one ever did anything nice for me or cared about me in any way.
I’d always known that my parents didn’t really love me or care about me that much, but I’d never realized just how little they cared until this happened.
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