10. Aurora
10
AURORA
TWO WEEKS LATER
I stare at my reflection, turning slightly to examine the pattern of bruises marking my body like a grotesque canvas.
Two weeks haven't done much to erase Kristofer's handiwork.
If anything, the sickly yellow-green edges bleeding into purple make them look worse now than when they were fresh.
"It's just photos," I whisper to myself, trying to quell the churning in my stomach. "Just photos for the documentary."
But my hands still shake as I button my blouse, leaving the top three undone to reveal the bite mark on my collarbone. The photographer will need to see it all.
"You okay in there?" Hannah's voice drifts through the bathroom door. "The photographer will be here in thirty minutes."
I open the door to find her standing in the doorframe, concern etched across her face. The cut on her cheek has healed better than my bruises, becoming just a thin pink line.
"I feel like I'm going to throw up." I press a hand to my stomach.
Hannah steps forward, placing her hands gently on my shoulders. "Hey. Look at me."
I meet her eyes reluctantly.
"You don't have to do this today if you're not ready."
"I'm ready." I swallow hard. "I'm just nervous."
"Aurora..." Hannah studies my face. "You're white as a sheet. When's the last time you ate something?"
"This morning. I had toast."
"Two bites of toast before pushing it away doesn't count."
I move to the bed and sit down, trying to control my breathing. "I just keep thinking about how many people will see these photos. How many people will see what he did to me."
"That's the point though, right? To show everyone what kind of monster he is?"
"I know. I know." I run my fingers through my hair, wincing when they catch on a tangle. "But the thought of strangers analyzing my body, seeing where his hands were, where his teeth were." My voice breaks. "It feels like he's violating me all over again."
Hannah sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Would it help if I stayed with you during the shoot?"
"Would you?"
"Of course. Whatever you need." She squeezes gently. "And Ruslan will be there too. You're not facing this alone."
The mention of Ruslan brings a flutter of warmth to my chest, momentarily breaking through the anxiety.
The way he looked at me these past two weeks, like I'm the strongest person he's ever met, not the broken mess I feel like.
It's been the lifeline I needed.
"I haven't told him how much this is scaring me," I confess.
"Why not?"
I shrug helplessly. "Because he's already worried enough. Because I don't want him to think I'm backing out. Because..."
"Because you're stubborn as hell and think you need to be brave all the time?"
A small laugh escapes me. "Something like that."
I take a shallow breath as Hannah leads me out of the bedroom. The polished marble floor seems to tilt beneath my feet, and I grip her arm tighter.
"Whoa, easy there," she whispers, slowing her pace. "We can take a minute."
Another wave of nausea overtakes me, stronger this time. I swallow hard, tasting bile at the back of my throat.
"No, I'm okay. Let's go."
We continue down the hallway, the sound of equipment being moved around growing louder with each step. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to break free. I focus on Hannah's steady presence beside me, on the feel of her arm under my fingers, on something real and solid to anchor me.
The door to the makeshift studio stands open. Inside, two assistants adjust lights while another tests the camera settings. A plain white backdrop hangs against one wall.
It's all so clinical. So exposed.
Ruslan looks up the moment we enter, his conversation with one of the crew instantly forgotten. He crosses the room in long strides, his eyes never leaving mine.
" Zarechka ," he murmurs, taking my free hand. His thumb traces gentle circles on my skin. "How are you feeling?"
"A little nervous, but otherwise fine."
He studies my face, seeing right through me. "You don't have to do this today."
"That's what I told her," Hannah chimes in.
"I want to," I insist. "I need to."
Ruslan nods, bringing my hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. "I'll be right here next to you the entire time. If it gets too much, just say the word and we stop. Immediately."
The tenderness in his voice nearly breaks me. I blink back tears, refusing to cry before we even begin.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He leads me to a chair positioned in front of the backdrop, his hand warm and steady against the small of my back. Hannah follows, positioning herself just off to the side where I can see her. The minutes tick by slowly as the crew finishes their preparations.
Then the door opens again, and the photographer walks in.
She's a slight woman with platinum blonde hair. Every step she takes carries a quiet confidence that seems misplaced against the heaviness in the room.
Her eyes flick over my bruised face, and I catch the briefest flash of sympathy before she masks it with professionalism.
"Hello, Aurora." She extends her hand. "I'm Natalie. Let's make this as quick and painless as possible, okay?"
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
Ruslan's gaze hardens as he turns to the assistants hovering near the equipment.
"Leave." His voice carries that unmistakable edge of command.
They exit without protest, and close the door behind them.
"Thank you," Natalie murmurs, adjusting a light. "I think we'll get more honest photographs with fewer eyes in the room." She steps back, camera in hand. "Whenever you're ready, Aurora."
My fingers tremble as I reach for the first button of my blouse. I focus on Ruslan's steady presence, on his golden eyes watching me with a mixture of tenderness and rage.
Not at me, but for what was done to me.
Button by button, I reveal myself. The cool air feathers my skin as the fabric falls away.
Hannah's sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence.
"Oh my God," she whispers.
The full map of violence is laid bare. Finger-shaped bruises on my hips and thighs, the bite mark on my shoulder, the larger bruise blooming across my ribs and breasts. Each mark tells the story of one terrifying moment after another in Vegas.
Yet despite the exposure, I feel strangely detached, like I'm floating somewhere above my body.
I stare straight ahead, my eyes locked with Ruslan's. The simmering anger in his gaze grounds me, reminds me why we're doing this.
"Turn slightly to the right, please," Natalie instructs quietly.
The camera rises, and my stomach clenches with instinctive panic. My breathing quickens.
Click.
The sound echoes like a gunshot in the hushed room.
Click. Click. Click.
"Chin up a bit. Now turn to show me the bite mark on your shoulder."
I follow instructions mechanically, a puppet on strings. Quarter turn. Half turn. Profile. Back. Each position showcasing a different horror.
The methodical rhythm of the shoot carries me along until Natalie lowers her camera, reviewing the images on her screen.
"Thank you," she says softly. "I think we've got what we need."
A wave of nausea crashes over me without warning. My vision tunnels, the room spinning wildly.
"I need—" I barely manage to choke out before doubling over, my breakfast spattering onto the floor as I vomit.
Ruslan's at my side in an instant. I feel the gentle weight of a blanket draping over my bare shoulders, his warm hands gathering my hair away from my face. But before I can thank him, I retch again, my body convulsing.
Shame floods through me as fast as the nausea.
"I'm—"
"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble against my ear. "I got you, zarechka ."
"I'm sorry." My stomach clenches again and I gag on the words.
"Don't apologize," Ruslan says firmly. His hand makes slow, comforting circles on my back. "You did nothing wrong."
Through tear-blurred eyes, I catch sight of Natalie hovering awkwardly by her equipment, clearly unsure whether to help or give us privacy. The blanket slips from my shoulder, and Ruslan carefully tucks it back around me, shielding me from exposure.
"Hannah," Ruslan commands without looking away from me, "go get some water. Now."
I hear Hannah's footsteps hastily retreating. My fingers clutch desperately at Ruslan's sleeve as another wave of nausea rolls through me.
"I didn't think—" The words dissolve into another violent heave.
There's nothing left in my stomach now, just painful dry spasms that leave me gasping.
"I've got you," Ruslan whispers, his lips against my temple. "I'm right here. You're safe."
His voice wraps around me like armor, keeping the broken pieces of me from falling apart completely. I focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, trying to match it with my own.
"You'll be alright, Aurora," he continues, his thumb brushing away tears I didn't realize were streaming down my face. "I have you. I won't let go."
Hannah rushes back into the room, water bottle in hand. She kneels beside me, uncapping it and offering it to me with worried eyes.
I take the water bottle from Hannah with trembling hands, struggling to grasp it firmly. The cool plastic slips against my sweaty palms, but I manage to take a small sip, swishing it around my mouth to clear the acidic taste before swallowing.
"Take it slow," Hannah murmurs, keeping her hand on my back.
The water soothes my raw throat, and I take another careful sip before attempting to stand. My legs feel like jelly beneath me, but Ruslan's steady grip on my arm keeps me from collapsing.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his golden eyes searching my face with such intensity that I have to look away.
I nod, clutching the blanket tightly around my shoulders. "I'm okay now. I think."
Ruslan turns toward Natalie, who's been quietly packing up her equipment. "Thank you for your discretion," he tells her. "We appreciate your professionalism."
"Of course," she replies, closing her camera bag. "I'll have the preliminary edits ready by tomorrow."
As Natalie gathers the last of her things and prepares to leave, Ruslan keeps one arm protectively around my waist, guiding me toward the door.
"I'll speak with the kitchen," he says once we're in the hallway. "See if they've done something wrong with breakfast."
"I don't think it's something I ate," I tell him, leaning against his solid warmth. "Nobody else is getting sick."
Hannah walks alongside us, her face pinched with concern. "It's probably just nerves. That was intense in there."
Ruslan nods thoughtfully. "I'll have the kitchen fix something light and bland for you. Some toast, maybe a light soup."
We make our way to the dining room, the motion of walking helping to settle my stomach. Ruslan gives my hand a gentle squeeze before heading to the kitchen.
The dining room isn't empty as I expected. Vera sits at the far end, delicately cutting into what looks like an omelet. She glances up as we enter, her expression shifting from neutral to concerned.
"Everything alright?" she asks, setting down her fork.
I sink into a chair across from her, still holding the blanket tightly around myself. "I just threw up during the photo shoot. Nerves, I guess."
Vera's eyes narrow slightly as she studies my face. Her gaze is disconcertingly perceptive, reminding me again that she's survived in this world far longer than I have.
"When was your last period?" she asks bluntly.
"My last period?" I start to answer automatically, then stop, my mind racing through the calendar.
Wait. When was my last period?
It was supposed to start last week. I'm always regular. Punctual to a fault.
But it didn't come.
Oh.
Hannah stands abruptly, her chair scraping back against the floor. "I'm going to talk to Daria about getting a pregnancy test."
My head spins at the word.
Pregnant.
My hand automatically moves to my stomach as I try to count back the weeks.
When was the last time Ruslan and I had sex?
Our wedding night. That single tender moment when everything felt right while the world was crashing down all around me. That was five weeks ago already?
"Is it even possible to know this early?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Vera's expression softens. "Every woman is different. Some know early on, and others don't. But I thought it was odd that your bruises are taking longer than normal to heal." She gestures toward me. "I know I had problems with bruising early on when I first found out."
A different horrifying thought crashes through me like a tidal wave.
If I'm pregnant, if that's really what's happening here, then I was already carrying Ruslan's child when Kristofer took me.
When he forced me onto that hotel bed, when his hands were all over me, when he nearly…
My body starts shaking uncontrollably, violent tremors I can't control.
"No, no, no," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself.
Vera moves quickly to my side, taking my ice-cold hands in hers. Her touch is surprisingly warm and steady.
"Listen to me," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "That monster didn't. He tried, but he didn't. Your baby, if there is one, is safe."
I try to focus on her words, on the pressure of her hands grounding me.
"He hurt you, yes. But not your baby."
Heavy footsteps approach from behind us, and Vera straightens slightly but doesn't release my hands.
"What's going on?" Ruslan's deep voice fills the room. I turn to see him standing in the doorway, a tray with toast and soup in his hands, his brow furrowed with concern.
I take a shaky breath, meeting his golden eyes.
"I might be pregnant," I tell him.
There's no use in trying to hide this information.
The tray trembles slightly in his hands and then falls from his fingers.
His expression shifts through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Shock, confusion, then something that looks like cautious wonder before settling into fierce protectiveness.