𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯

Morning light spills through the curtains before I’m ready for it.

I blink awake slowly, my muscles tightening on instinct. For a second, I forget why my body feels so sore—then the memory settles like a weight on my chest.

I push myself upright and exhale through the sting that pulls across my skin.

I don’t look right away. I never want to.

But I force myself to stand and walk to the mirror anyway.

I lift the sleeve of my nightshirt just enough to see the marks blooming faintly across my arm. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would draw suspicion from anyone who doesn’t bother to look closely. But I know exactly how each one happened—what I said wrong, how my father’s voice rose, how my mother didn’t even glance up.

“Because you never learn, Aurora.”

That was last night’s reason.

I drop the fabric quickly. Staring too long only makes it harder to breathe.

I remind myself of the rules I’ve perfected over the years:

Stay quiet. Stay sharp. Stay out of the house as long as possible.

That last one is the easiest.

I shower, letting the water hide whatever emotions want to rise, and then dress in my usual armor—a crisp suit, dark blazer, hair pulled back neatly. In the mirror, I look exactly how I need to: composed, unreadable, professional.

No one outside this mansion ever knows what happens inside it.

And I intend to keep it that way.

I sling my briefcase over my shoulder and step out of my room. The halls of Williams Mansion are quiet, but not in a peaceful way. More like the silence before something unpleasant.

I keep my footsteps light as I make my way to the dining room. My parents are already seated. My mother scrolling through her tablet. My father reading the newspaper. Neither notices me enter—not until I pull out a chair.

“You’re late” my father says without looking up.

“I’m early for work” I answer, keeping my tone steady. “I have a morning meeting.”

He finally lifts his eyes, studying me with mild irritation. “Of course you do.”

My mother glances at me for the briefest moment before returning to her screen. “At least she’s useful for something” she murmurs.

The comment stings, but I’ve grown used to it. I pick at the toast on my plate, my appetite nonexistent as usual. The clock on the wall ticks too loudly, each second reminding me I’m still here, still trapped in this house I’ve wanted to escape since I was a child.

I sip my coffee and keep my eyes down.

When my father folds the newspaper, I tense without meaning to.

“Aurora” he says, “you’ll come home early tonight. We have guests.”

My stomach tightens. “I have a late case review. I might not—”

“You’ll be here” he cuts in sharply.

I nod once. “Fine.”

He returns to reading. Conversation over.

I wait exactly thirty seconds—just enough not to seem like I’m running—then stand and push my chair back.

“I’ll see you tonight” I say.

Neither of them responds.

I walk out of the dining room, my steps quickening the moment I’m out of sight.

The mansion feels colder behind me with every step toward the door.

Work isn’t just my job.

It’s the only place where I can breathe.

And today, like every day, I leave as early as possible—hoping the world outside can make me forget the one I keep waking up in.

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯

My alarm buzzes at five, the same as every morning.

I switch it off before it can ring twice. Routine is the only thing that makes sense in a world full of people who don’t.

I get out of bed and walk across the quiet penthouse, the city still half-asleep beneath the glass walls. I prefer it like this—no noise, no expectations, no one asking anything from me.

Thirty minutes in the gym.

Cold shower.

Suit.

Coffee black.

Nothing more, nothing less.

My phone lights up with notifications—emails from departments across Blackwood Industries, meeting reminders, projections for the week. I scroll through them with the same detachment I always have. Work isn’t exciting; it’s necessary. Predictable. Clean.

People complicate things.

Emotions complicate things.

I don’t have time for either.

My driver arrives exactly at six thirty. He doesn’t speak. I don’t either.

At the office, employees straighten when they see me pass, offering polite greetings. I nod once—acknowledgment without invitation. I don’t need to be liked. I need efficiency.

In my office on the top floor, the skyline stretches endlessly beyond the glass. I drop into my chair and open my laptop.

Meetings, calls, decisions, contracts.

Business is simple. People aren't.

And by seven, I’m already buried in numbers and strategies, exactly how I prefer my mornings.

No disruptions.

No drama.

No one close enough to cause either.

At least, not yet.

Author note- Thank you for reading. New chapters post on every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Stay tuned 💓