𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯

A week passes after that morning in Starbucks, and I don’t think about Aurora again.

Not intentionally, anyway.

But tonight, my friends drag me to a club in central Moscow—one of those places with dim lights, expensive champagne, and a crowd that pretends money can buy personality.

I hate these places.

But my friends insisted.

“Come on, Alex. You need to breathe. You’re turning into a machine.”

I’m here physically. Mentally, I’m counting the minutes until I can leave.

I take a drink—nothing strong. I never drink more than what keeps my mind sharp. The music pulses, people shout over it, and my friends talk about investments and vacations.

Normal noise. Annoying noise.

Then I see her.

Aurora.

Sitting alone at the bar, shoulders stiff, fingers wrapped around a half-finished drink. Another empty glass sits beside her.

She looks… wrong.

Not composed.

Not unreadable.

Not the version of her who could stare a judge down without blinking.

Her hair is tied back in a bun, as always. Her dark turtleneck covers her neck completely, like it always does. Her coat and Chanel purse sit on the stool next to her, untouched.

But her eyes—

They’re unfocused.

Tired.

Sad, maybe.

And she’s drinking again. Too fast.

A strange, tight feeling twists in my chest.

Before I can process it, someone—a man with too much confidence and too little awareness—walks up to her, says something she doesn’t seem to register, and takes her hand.

She barely reacts. She lets him pull her toward the dance floor, stumbling slightly.

No.

Something inside me snaps.

I don’t think.

I don’t hesitate.

I move.

Through the crowd. Past my friends calling my name. Straight toward the dance floor where the man has his hand on her arm, trying to get her to dance.

My voice comes out colder than Moscow’s winter.

“Let her go.”

The man turns, annoyed. “Relax, man. She’s fine.”

Aurora lifts her head, blinks at me. “Alex…?”

“You heard me” I say, stepping between them. “Let. Her. Go.”

The man scoffs. “She came with me—”

“She didn’t.”

My tone leaves no room for argument.

He drops her hand.

Aurora sways, and I catch her before she can fall. She doesn’t push me away. She’s too out of it for that. She just looks up at me, eyes glassy.

“Why are you here…?” she whispers.

“Apparently saving you.” I mutter.

She frowns, confused but not angry. At least not yet.

I grab her coat, her purse, sling both over my arm, and lift her gently—not in a dramatic way, just enough to help her walk without collapsing.

She leans against me, half-asleep, mumbling something I can’t hear.

Outside, the cold air hits her, and she shivers.

I open the back door of my car and settle her inside carefully.

She curls into the seat, eyes heavy, breathing slow.

For a moment, I just stand there.

Breathing.

Staring.

Confused at why I’m even doing this.

Then my eyes drift to her turtleneck again.

Always covering her neck.

Always hiding something.

I hesitate—just push the collar slightly, barely an inch—enough to see if she’s hiding jewelry or—

Her hand snaps up weakly, gripping my wrist.

Her eyes open just enough to look at me.

“Don’t” she whispers.

I freeze.

Not because she stopped me.

But because her voice—small, tired, afraid—doesn’t sound like the Aurora I’ve known all my life.

I step back immediately.

“Fine.” I say quietly. “I won’t.”

I close her door gently and get into the driver’s seat.

I don’t know her address by memory, but her last name is enough. I drive to the Williams mansion.

When I pull up the driveway, the front door opens almost instantly.

Her parents step out, smiling—too wide, too polished.

“Alex!” her mother calls. “What a surprise!”

Her father steps forward, hands clasped. “We didn’t know Aurora went out tonight. Thank you for bringing her home.”

They rush to her side as I help her out of the car. Aurora leans on them weakly, her head down.

“She was drinking.” I say plainly. “She didn’t seem okay.”

Her mother laughs softly. “Oh, Aurora overworks herself. Stress, you know how she is.”

Her father nods. “Yes, yes, she loses control sometimes. But we’ll take care of her. Thank you, Alex.”

They act like a perfect family.

Too perfect.

Something feels off.

I can’t explain it.

But I nod. “Take care of her.”

“We always do.” her mother says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

I watch them lead her inside.

Aurora doesn’t turn back.

She’s half-asleep, unaware.

I get into my car again, unsettled.

I don’t know why I feel like I just dropped her into the last place she should be.

𝐀𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯

The first thing I feel is the headache.

A sharp, heavy pulse behind my eyes that makes me groan before I even open them. My mouth is dry, my throat tight, and my body… tense.

I blink slowly.

I’m in my bed.

Still wearing last night’s clothes—the turtleneck, the trousers. My hair is still tied, my coat nowhere in sight.

I sit up carefully, holding my head.

“What… happened?”

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to force my mind to work. Everything is blurry—music, lights, a drink in my hand… a man pulling me toward the dance floor…

And then—

A voice.

Cold, familiar.

Stubborn in a way that only one person could be.

Alex.

My chest tightens.

Did he…?

Did he take me out of the club? I remember him standing between me and someone, his expression unreadable, his arm steady around me as I stumbled.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Did he see anything?

Did I say anything?

Did I do something stupid?

I can’t piece it all together, but the memory of him trying to shift my collar—

And me stopping him—

That part hits me like cold water.

I swing my legs off the bed, ignoring the dizziness, and stand.

I need to get downstairs before my parents decide I “overslept.”

The moment I enter the kitchen, I know it’s going to be bad.

My mother and father are already seated. Two servants clean up the counters quietly, pretending to blend into the background.

My mother looks at me, and her expression twists instantly.

“So you’re alive.” she says flatly. “Good to know.”

I swallow. “Good morning.”

My father's eyes narrow when he looked at my disheveled appearance. “You look like a whore.”

Before I could response, my mother slaps me across the face, making me stumble back.

“Shut up and sit down.” she pushes me roughly into a chair.

I sit silently, my head spinning from last night's events.

My father starts. “You must have slept with a man last night, didn't you?”

They always think like that even if I didn't had done that. I remained silent and my mother slaps me again, harder this time. My head snaps to side, hair falling across my face.

She grabs my chin roughly. “Answer your father. Did you spread your legs for some guy last night?”

My anger exploded.

I slammed my fist down on the table. “No! I didn't!”

My father's eyes widen in surprise, while my mother's face twists in anger.

“Don't shout back at us, you ungrateful bitch!” She shouts, grabbing a nearby vase and throwing it at me.

I barely duck in time, the vase shattering against the wall behind me.

My heart pounds in my chest.

“You embarrassed us” she hisses. “You walked into this house drunk. Alex Blackwood had to carry you. Alex. Do you understand the humiliation?”

Her voice is loud enough that the servants freeze in place.

I clench my hands. “I didn’t ask him to.”

“You shouldn’t have put yourself in a position where he needed to!” she shouts.

My father stands too, anger simmering beneath the surface. “We raised you better than this.”

No, you didn’t.

You raised me to survive.

My mother steps closer. The air between us tightens.

“And on top of that,” she continues, her voice rising, “you dare to talk back to us? After everything we’ve done for you?”

I remained silent, anger simmering inside me, but I don't let it show.

This house is hell.

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