𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯

The dining room feels too bright, too warm, too full of voices pretending everything in this house is normal.

My aunt and uncle sit across from me, laughing at something my father said. Their joy is light, genuine. The kind of ease that never belongs here.

I force a smile when they look at me. I’ve learned to stretch my lips at the right times, nod at the right moments, pretend I’m part of their cheerful conversations.

“You’ve grown into such a stunning woman, Aurora” my aunt says warmly.

I smile again. Automatically. “Thank you.”

“You must be doing extremely well at the firm” my uncle adds, his voice filled with pride my own parents have never offered.

“I manage.”

A safe answer. A practiced answer.

Daniel slips into the seat beside me, flashing his usual overconfident grin. My cousin—older by two years and twice as annoying—leans a little too close.

“Haven’t seen you in months” he murmurs. “You look… different.”

The tone makes me stiffen. I shift slightly away, pretending to adjust my chair. He chuckles softly like it’s a game.

Conversation continues around the table. The adults laugh. Glasses clink. My father talks about business. My mother nods and smiles as if she’s the picture of grace.

Daniel leans in again.

“Aurora” he whispers near my ear, “you should visit more often.”

I straighten, my jaw tight. “Sit properly, Daniel.”

But he doesn’t listen. His hand drops onto my leg under the table—light, subtle, but enough to send a cold rush of anger up my spine.

I grab the edge of my chair to keep myself steady.

“Daniel,” I say quietly at first, “remove your hand.”

He smirks. “Relax. No one can see—”

“Remove. Your. Hand.”

The words tear out louder than I intend, sharp enough to cut through the chatter.

Every head turns toward me.

My mother’s smile freezes.

My father’s eyes narrow.

My aunt and uncle go silent.

Daniel jerks his hand back like he’s been burned. His face reddens with embarrassment.

“Aurora, sweetheart…” my aunt whispers, confused and worried. “What happened—?”

“Nothing” I say quickly, standing from the table. “I’m done here.”

I push back my chair before anyone can question me again. I don’t look at Daniel as I walk out. I don’t want to see his expression—or my parents’.

An hour later, the house is quiet again. The guests have left with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes. My father disappeared into his study. My mother into her room.

I sit in the living room, a small plate of food balanced on my lap. I eat slowly, mostly because I didn’t eat at dinner. Mostly because I’m exhausted.

The sound of heels clicking sharply across the marble floor makes me stiffen.

My mother steps into the living room, her eyes already cold.

That look — the one that promises trouble — makes my stomach drop.

“So” she says tightly, “that was quite a scene you caused.”

I set my plate down gently. My heart is beating too fast.

“I didn’t cause anything. Daniel crossed a boundary.”

Her eyes flash with irritation. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. He was being friendly.”

My breath catches. “Friendly? He—”

“Stop talking.”

The sharpness in her voice slices through the room.

She steps closer, her anger simmering just beneath her controlled exterior.

“You embarrassed this family. You embarrassed me. And for what? Your mood? Your attitude?”

Her tone rises, controlled turning into something harsher.

“Your cousin’s family came here out of respect, and you—”

Her hand lashes out—not toward me, but at the plate I placed on the coffee table.

It crashes to the floor, food scattering, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

I flinch at the suddenness of it.

My mother’s voice trembles with fury.

“Look at the mess you make everywhere you go.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight.

This house always finds a way to break me a little more.

𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅'𝘀 𝗣𝗼𝘃

Mornings in Moscow are colder than they need to be.

Even inside Starbucks, the air carries that sharp bite that slips in every time the door opens.

I take my coffee and move to the window seat—the one spot where people tend not to bother me. I prefer it that way. I can work, watch the street, and drink in silence.

I check my watch.

Still early. Good.

I’m halfway through reading an email when the door swings open again, letting in a gust of winter air… and someone familiar.

I look up—more out of instinct than interest.

Aurora Williams.

She walks in like she owns the entire room, dressed in a dark blue suit and black turtleneck, her bun perfectly tied, heels clicking sharply against the floor. Controlled. Calm. Straight-backed.

She has always been like that.

Unshakeable. Annoyingly composed.

But every time I see her, there’s something else that catches my attention—her neck, always covered. Turtlenecks, scarves, high collars. Even in summer.

I’ve known her since childhood, and still… I never understood that part of her.

Today is no different.

She doesn’t see me. She goes straight to the counter, ordering her coffee in a clipped tone while scrolling through her phone.

Then she turns.

And walks directly toward the table beside mine—still speaking into her phone, voice low but firm.

“…Yes, I’ll be at the courthouse by nine. No delays.”

She drops into the chair, still facing my direction without realising I’m here.

I could ignore her.

I should ignore her.

But something makes me look up again.

She notices.

Her eyes lift, and suddenly our gazes lock—sharp, surprised, electric.

Her posture straightens instantly.

“Aurora.” I say, neutral.

She ends her phone call mid-sentence. “Alex.”

No smile. No greeting. Just my name, delivered like a warning.

Classic.

I stand, intending to leave, because lingering around Aurora Williams at seven in the morning is not how I planned to start my day.

But she speaks first.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Her tone is cool, professional, the same tone she uses in court.

I shrug lightly. “I come here every morning.”

She lifts her coffee. “Good for you.”

The edge in her voice is familiar. Predictable.

But there’s something different in her eyes—tiredness? Stress? I can’t place it.

For a moment, I consider asking her how she’s been.

But Aurora and I don’t have those kinds of conversations.

So instead, I nod once. “Don’t be late for court.”

She arches a brow. “Don’t trip on your ego on the way out.”

I bite back a smirk.

Same Aurora.

Same fight in her.

I move past her table without another word, but I still feel her gaze on my back until I reach the door.

And as I step outside into the cold morning air, one thought lingers longer than it should:

Why does she always look like she’s hiding something?

Author's note- Thank you for reading till here. I hope you're enjoying the story till here. Drop your reviews in comments 💓

New chapters will drop every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Follow me on Instagram for more updates: @inz.writess