Forehead Touching Novels & Stories

Christmas Eve was meant to be the culmination of seven years of long-distance longing—the day Lorenzo finally slid an engagement ring onto my finger. Instead, a sudden emergency surgery chained me to the operating table. The patient wasn't just suffering from a premature delivery and catastrophic hemorrhaging; she was riddled with infections, the biological fallout of a reckless, hedonistic lifestyle. The girl on the table spat out orders with a venomous entitlement that made my blood run cold. "My husband is the head of the Corleone family. He’s second to none, and this entire city bows to him. If you can’t save my baby, you’re all dead." My mind went blank. There was only one head of the Corleone family: Lorenzo. "You’ve got the wrong man," I said, my voice wavering despite my frown. "The news said he’s already engaged to a woman from a rival family for a strategic alliance." The girl looked at me as if I’d just told a pathetic joke. She surveyed me with a mocking sneer. "Oh, he’s mentioned that woman. He said she’s like a cold corpse—that even touching her makes him sick to his stomach. She doesn't provide him a fraction of the pleasure I do." She smirked. "He heard something happened to the baby. He’s en route from Sicily right now with his personal detail." She flicked her phone screen open. There it was: a photo of her and Lorenzo, locked in a suffocatingly intimate embrace. I froze. A second later, a notification from Lorenzo vibrated against my palm. “Darlin’, something urgent came up tonight. I’m skipping the engagement dinner. I’ll make it up to you later.” Since they were so utterly in love, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I dialed a number that had been silent for three years—the number of the true mastermind of the underworld, Don Sebastian. "Does your proposal from three years ago still stand?"

My husband was working over the holidays, again. He’d been sent out of town to oversee one of the Family’s dock operations and a string of gambling houses.. I decided to buy a ticket and surprise him. Only business class was left. Staring at the five-figure price, I gritted my teeth and spent a year’s worth of savings. Then I couldn’t even figure out how to pull down the damn tray table. The socialite seated next to me let out a cold laugh. “Never flown business class before?” I forced an awkward smile. “My apologies. You must be… important. You have that aura.” “Oh, me? No. The man who keeps me is important. He’d charter a private jet if I asked. Business class is practically slumming it.” I blinked. “A… keeper? That’s rare.” “Not really. I’m his secretary. I mess up a lot. Cost him a fortune. He yells at me until I cry. And then, well… crying leads to other things.” She winked. “You know how it is.” “Funny,” I said, my voice tight. “My husband has an assistant who helps him manage accounts for the docks. She’s always messing things up too.” “You’re married?” She looked me over, head to toe. “My man has a wife about your age. Says he’s sick of her. That touching her is boring. Says I’m more exciting just brushing my hair out of my face.” She leaned closer. “I told him I wanted to see him for New Year’s. So he told the wife he had to work.” The diamond on her finger caught the light. It was identical to the wedding band I’d lost. My body went cold. No. Matteo was just a low-level enforcer. A foot soldier the Family occasionally trusted with small operations—dock shipments, backroom gambling, nothing more. When did he become a Don?

On the first day of my position as the branch manager of the branch company, I tell my assistant, Derek Mahoney, to not follow me around, seeing as I want to scope out the actual situation at the company in advance. After entering an elevator, I notice that a male colleague has his hands full because of a box he's carrying, so I help him jab the button of the floor he wants to visit. Before I can even retract my arm, the female colleague next to me is quick to slap my hand off the panel. "Where do you think you're touching? Are you trying to get cozy with him just because he's a guy?" The male colleague is stunned, to say the least. He quickly spoke to her in a lowered tone, "Are you nuts, honey? That lady was just lending me a helping hand!" The woman merely pinches the colleague furiously before hoisting me by the collar. "Lending you a helping hand, huh? She's already rubbing up on you and trying to help you out in every way possible even though I'm around. Does that mean she'll start seducing you outright if I'm not here?" I frown at the woman's logic and try to be reasonable with her. "Ma'am, please show me some respect. I'm the new—" "You're new?" The woman cuts me off with a scoff. "How dare you seduce my husband on your first day here! You really think I don't exist at all, huh?" Seeing as the elevator has reached my floor, I don't want to waste my time on the crazy woman any longer, so I try to leave. Mistaking my reaction for one of guilt, the woman quickly grabs my collar and yell, "Now you're trying to leave after stirring shit up, hmm? A minx like you isn't permitted to stay in the company! You must get fired immediately!"

Cornton playboy Justin Swanson openly declares that he only keeps girlfriends around for one month at a time and never falls in love. Women hoping to marry into wealth line up from one side of the city to the other. After all, when he is in a good mood, he rewards them with a villa. Even when he isn't pleased, there is still a million-dollar breakup payout. I am a joke to everyone in Cornton. They say I'm the most humiliated rich man's wife in all of history. They all assume I will put up with him forever. That is, until Justin brings home a college goer named Kayla Holt. She looks pretty ordinary, yet she becomes the first woman to make him break away from his vow of only having one woman as a girlfriend for a month. Justin gives me two choices. The first is to accept an open marriage and let Kayla stand on equal footing with me. The second is to divorce him, take half the assets, and walk away with no strings attached between us. His friends stand nearby, enjoying the show. They are convinced I will stay and keep playing the patient, long-suffering wife for the money. But I choose the second option without hesitation. In my previous life, I choose to tolerate Justin's infidelity, only for Kayla to become more and more demanding. She forbids Justin from touching me, and she forbids him from giving me any property. In my old age, I can only watch with envy as Kayla is surrounded by children and even grandchildren. When Justin dies, his will does not mention me a single time. All of his inheritance goes to Kayla. I spend my entire life clinging to the title of Mrs. Swanson, only to end up completely alone. After getting a second chance at life, I am no longer hung up on him. I understand clearly that I should take the money and leave. From now on, he and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.

"You let another man touch what belongs to me?" Lucian’s hand, a possessive vice, encircled her throat. "How dare you? You're mine. The next man who lays a finger on you will beg for death." Lyra’s bitter laugh filled the silence. "Since when do you care? Wasn't I your 'land whale'? Your 'disgusting she-hippopotamus'?" CRACK. His fist splintered the plaster beside her head. "I. FUCKING. CARED. You were always MINE." "I counted every breath you took in his arms," Lucian whispered, his lips grazing the scar he’d given her. "Now he'll count his as I carve them out." Lyra stood unyielding. "You discarded me like trash. He picked up the pieces." The mirror shattered as he hurled her against it. "I WAS SAVING YOU." From what? The forced marriage? The night she miscarried, utterly alone? Lucian’s "care" came too late. Lyra never wanted this marriage—a gilded cage to a billionaire who systematically broke her. But with her mother’s life hanging by a thread, she sold herself to the monster who devoured her soul. Lucian crushed her, made her beg for scraps of dignity. Then, his best friend offered everything Lucian withheld—gentle hands, tender words, a love that didn't wound. Lucian returned. Now, he's a shadow, everywhere: watching her with hungry eyes, touching her with possessive hands, swearing this time will be different. He pleaded, on his knees, for her heart. But Lyra knows better. She’s uncovered three explosive truths: Lucian's first wife wasn't just gone; she was murdered. Her sister didn't disappeared. And the most dangerous lie of all? She's been sleeping with it. Game over? Or game just beginning? As Lucian's obsession escalates and the past claws its way back, Lyra will choose between revenge, accept or reject.

The Don of the Vito family, Damiano Vito, has broken his wedding vows by cheating on me with the daughter of the rival mafia family, Bianca Sorace, while I'm still pregnant with his heir. He ends up executing Bianca with his own hands in order to reassure me as well as provide my family, the Cappas, with a satisfactory answer. My parents advise me, "Now that Damiano has returned to your side, you mustn't kick up a fuss for the sake of both families' interests." But since then, I've developed an obsession over cleanliness. Any form of physical contact is capable of making me dry-heave out of discomfort. Since I can't take any medication at all, I can only spend my days venting my stress by demanding that everything be disinfected before touching me. Damiano, who's known for having a violent temperament, is willing to keep disinfecting himself repeatedly for my sake. If he needs to make physical contact with me, he'll wear gloves. Whenever he enters my room, he has to change into a biohazard suit. No matter how hot and stuffy it gets under the suit, he doesn't utter a word of complaint. "It's fine. I was the one who broke the wedding vows first, anyway." Finally, the moment I command Damiano to wash his hands yet again, he loses control of himself before me. He even goes so far as to shatter the ashtray right before my eyes. "That's enough! All I did was make the mistake every man is capable of making! Must you humiliate me to this degree? How does that make me a filthy man?" Damiano deliberately allows his subordinates, who are drenched in blood, to throw a party in the estate, thinking that it serves as a punishment for my obsession over cleanliness. He intends to force me to yield to him by threatening the baby in my belly. Thanks to the nonstop aggravation, I feel intense pain flaring from my abdomen. Soon, blood keeps oozing down my inner thighs beneath my skirt. But at the same time, I feel a sense of relief that I've never felt before. "Let's get a divorce, Damiano."

Whenever they played Truth or Dare, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Clara would deliberately dare him to pull the same prank on me, and Ronan would always willingly play along: he would pretend to propose to me. The last time, I fell for it. I joyfully held out my hand, but a mechanism inside the ring snapped shut, and I cried out in pain. Ronan and Clara doubled over with laughter, ignoring my finger, which had been pinched purple. Afterward, Ronan pinned me against the wall and swore that this year, he would give me a real proposal. So when his bodyguards brought me to the private club where we first met, I changed into an expensive white silk gown, styled my hair, and applied my most exquisite makeup. I even played the touching scene out in my head, imagining myself nodding and saying yes. But as I pushed open the door to the VIP room, my heart pounding, someone threw a full glass of deep red wine in my face. It streamed down my chin and onto my gown. A woman's laughter erupted from the crowd. "I told you Aurora would show up, didn't I? Ronan, you lose!" Ronan walked over, looking resigned. He gently dabbed at my face with a napkin, his tone as soft as ever. "Dressed up just for me? A shame to ruin a good dress." "Clara dared me to bet on whether you would have the guts to come to our turf tonight. I bet that you would. The wager was this: if you didn't, I'd propose tomorrow. If you came, we'd have to wait another year." "Sorry, baby. Since you showed up, I guess we can't get married this year." The wine trickled down my collarbone, cold and sticky. I shivered. Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. Our anniversary meant nothing compared to one of their pranks. Just like me. I could never win against Clara, his childhood sweetheart. I unclasped the simple silver bracelet, the one I'd worn for six years, from my wrist. "This is over. We're breaking up."