5. Aurora
5
AURORA
The moment we're through the doors, the pounding music hits me with a physicality I didn’t expect. Even with Ruslan's protective aura around me, I feel the bass vibrating through my chest. My eyes instinctively scan the floor and look to see if there are any other exits besides the door we just walked in through.
"Mr. Dragunov!" A tall, model-gorgeous woman with a sleek black bob materializes in front of us. "So good to see you tonight. Your suite is ready."
"Thank you, Alina." Ruslan's hand moves to the small of my back, guiding me forward.
We follow Alina through the throng of beautiful people. No one bumps into us; instead parting like the Red Sea wherever Ruslan walks.
We climb a curved staircase to a second level, then a third. Each floor is more exclusive than the last. With every step upward, the pulsing bass of the club diminishes by a few decibels. By the time we reach our destination, the powerful pounding bass has become nothing more than a murmuring rumble beneath our feet.
Alina unlocks a frosted glass door that leads to a secluded section overlooking the entire club.
"Will there be anything else?" Alina asks, her eyes flickering curiously to me.
"We're fine for now, thank you."
She nods and slips away, closing the door behind her.
This space is nothing like the chaos below. Plush leather couches, a private bar, and floor-to-ceiling windows. All of it designed to offer a panoramic view of the pulsing dance floor below in comfort.
I place my hand on the cool glass and feel it vibrate with the bass from below. The soundproofing is impressive. Through the glass, I can see the writhing mass of bodies beneath us, and wonder: will they be able to see us too?
If the soundproofing is any indication, there's a good chance the glass is also one-way.
I've never been more invisible.
I've never felt more free.
"Everything okay, zarechka? " Ruslan's voice comes from right behind me, close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck.
In a flash, I picture Ruslan pressing me against the glass, my back arched as he takes me from behind. His large tattooed hands peeling away my clothes with every thrust.
I can scream as loud as I want, and nobody will hear me.
I can be me.
And nobody will find me.
Heat rushes through me like wildfire. I jerk my hand away from the glass.
"Fine," I manage, my voice betraying me with a slight tremor. "Just... taking it all in."
He chuckles, a deep rumble that I feel more than hear. "Quite the view, isn't it?"
I'm not sure if he's talking about the club or me, and I'm not brave enough to ask. Instead, I move toward one of the leather couches, needing to put some distance between myself and both the window and this man who makes me think things I shouldn't.
"This place is..." I trail off, searching for the right word.
"Excessive?" Ruslan offers, following me but maintaining a respectful distance.
"I was going to say impressive, but excessive works too."
He smiles, that same knowing smile from earlier that makes my insides twist with anticipation. "Would you like a drink?"
I nod, suddenly desperate for something to occupy my hands and cool the heat that seems to radiate from within me. "Whiskey please."
As he moves to the private bar, I take a deep breath. What am I doing here? With him? In this place that screams money and power and everything I've been avoiding for seven years?
And why, despite all my better judgment, do I want to stay?
He pours two glasses and hands one to me. When I accept it, our fingers touch again and a familiar electrical heat passes between us.
"So." Ruslan takes a sip. "Help me solve the enigma that is Aurora Castellanos."
I look away, watching the dancers below as I mull over his words. Then, I take a breath. "It's complicated."
"Complicated is good," he says, his voice wrapping around me like velvet. "Straightforward is boring."
"Spoken like someone who's never had to deal with anything truly complicated in his life." The words slip out before I can stop them.
He raises an eyebrow, amusement playing at his lips. "You think my life isn't complicated, zarechka ?"
"I think anyone who has a private section in a club like this has the kind of money that simplifies a lot of problems."
"Money creates just as many problems as it solves." He moves closer, and I catch his scent again. "But we're not talking about my complications. We're talking about yours."
I take a long sip of my drink, feeling bold. "Do you bring all the girls here? Wow them with the opulence and wealth up here in your sanctuary above the masses, and then slowly pick apart their secrets?"
His laugh is rich, filling the space between us.
"All of them? No." He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine. "Only the complicated ones holding secrets close to their heart."
I'm hyperaware of how close we are now, how the distance between us has somehow shrunk without either of us seeming to move.
His fingers brush against mine on the couch, a touch so light it could be accidental. Except nothing about him feels accidental. "I think there are other secrets hiding beneath that careful exterior of yours."
I find myself leaning toward him, drawn by some invisible force. "And what if there are?"
"Then I'd very much like to discover them." His voice drops lower. "All of them. One by one."
Before I can respond, Ruslan's mouth finds mine again.
This time, there's no honking car to interrupt us. No outside world to remind me of all the reasons I shouldn't be doing this. Up here, sealed away from everything and everyone, I feel a strange freedom washing over me.
His hand cups my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone as he deepens the kiss. The restraint from earlier in the car is gone. Now there's only heat and hunger and need.
A voice in the back of my mind whispers warnings.
This is dangerous, you're exposing yourself, what if he finds out who you really are?
Jamie Fields would never do this. Jamie Fields would be hiding, watching her back, afraid of the shadows.
For once, I silence her.
Jamie Fields is dead. She's been dead for seven years.
Aurora Castellanos, on the other hand, is alive. And Aurora wants this man with an intensity that frightens and thrills me.
My hands find their way to Ruslan's chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath expensive fabric. He tastes like whiskey and something uniquely him—something I've been craving since our first encounter in the alley. His stubble tickles my skin as he deepens the kiss, and I part my lips willingly, inviting him in.
Ruslan's hands slide down my sides, settling at my waist to pull me closer. I press into him, a soft moan escaping me as his tongue dances with mine. The sound urges him forward, and his grip tightens just enough to make me gasp.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathing hard, my lips tingling. His golden eyes are darkened with desire as my body hums with anticipation.
"What do you think?" He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me where our bodies touch as he asks the same question he asked me in the car. "Have you reached your quota for being bad this year?"
The challenge in his voice ignites something in me. Something I thought had died with Jamie Fields.
"Not even close," I breathe, pulling him back to me.
Through the layers of our clothing, I feel the unmistakable hardness of his arousal. But instead of dread or hesitation, all I feel is a thrill rushing through me.
I'm doing this to him. Me. Not because I'm being pressured, not because I'm trying to appease someone else, but because I want to.
"I thought you were a good girl," Ruslan murmurs against my lips, his hands finding the zipper of my dress.
"I never said I was," I whisper back, my heart racing as I feel the fabric loosening around me.
The dress slides down inch by inch, cool air kissing my newly exposed skin. I shiver, but not from cold. It's intoxicating.
The last, no, the only time I'd been with someone.
I felt small.
Used.
But here, with Ruslan, even as he slowly undresses me, I'm the one in control.
My hand traces down his chest, feeling the bands of hard muscle beneath his shirt. I'm surprised by my own boldness, by how much I want this.
How much I want him.
The dress pools around my waist now, his hands exploring the newly revealed skin of my shoulders, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. Each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake.
"Still want to say I'm a good girl?" I breathe, meaning it in a way I never have before.
My hand reaches its destination and cups him through his pants. Ruslan groans in response, and the sound sends satisfaction coursing through me.
I feel powerful, wanted, and above all else…
Safe.
"Never," he praises, his lips capturing mine again.
I grip him more firmly, relishing his sharp intake of breath.
A loud, insistent knock at the door shatters the moment. We break apart, both breathing heavily.
I pull my dress back up as Ruslan stands up with an annoyed grunt. My fingers fumble with the zipper, heart racing from both desire and panic.
Ugh!
Of all the times for an interruption...
Ruslan straightens his shirt, runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, and strides to the door. The second he cracks it open, a blur of gold sequins and perfume shoves past him.
"Mr. Dragunov." The security guard looks uncomfortable. "I apologize for the interruption, but?—"
"But I insisted." A woman slides past him, her gold sequined dress catching the light. Even slightly disheveled, there's no mistaking Sienna Voss. Her face has been on every magazine cover this year.
"Ruslan." Her voice is controlled but her eyes are hard as they move from him to me, assessing and dismissing in one practiced sweep. "Your security has become very obstructive these days. Almost as if they've been ordered to keep me away."
"Sienna." Ruslan stands, putting himself between us. "We've discussed this. Any professional matters need to go through?—"
"Professional matters?" She laughs, the sound brittle. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Her gaze shifts to me, a predatory smile forming. "And who's this? Another 'professional matter'?"
"Enough." Ruslan's voice drops to a dangerous register. "You're drunk, Sienna."
"Observant as always." She pulls out her phone, her movement casual and fluid.
Before any of us can react, she snaps a photo, the sound of the shutter as loud as a gunshot.
"How precious." She smiles, examining the screen. "I'm thinking this would make an excellent Instagram story. 'Ruslan moves on quickly.' Or should I tag you instead?" She looks at me. "What's your handle, sweetie?"
My blood turns to ice. "Delete that," I manage, my voice strangled.
"Or what?" She raises an eyebrow, thumbs already moving across the screen.
I lunge forward, reaching for the phone. Sienna steps back, surprised by my reaction.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, little bitch?" She snaps at me.
"Please," I plead with her, panic seeping into my voice. "Delete that photo."
"No, I don't think I will." Her smile turns nasty. "In fact, I think I'll post it right now."
"Sienna, you know the rules here," Ruslan's voice is iron hard now in a tone that brooks no argument. "Delete it. Now. Or you'll never work another day in this town again."
"You think these threats of yours mean anything?" Sienna doesn't respond. Instead, she walks to the bar and snatches up an unopened bottle of champagne. The bottle dangles from her manicured fingers.
My stomach twists with dread.
"Fuck you, Ruslan!" Sienna's face contorts with rage as she looks at both of us. "And as for you, little bitch, there's going to be a day when you regret ever meeting him."
Before anyone can react, she hurls the champagne bottle straight at the floor-to-ceiling window. The impact is deafening. Glass shatters in a spectacular spray as the bottle and shards cascade down toward the club below.
The music stops abruptly, replaced by screams and shouts of surprise. Two broad-shouldered men in black suits materialize instantly. Ruslan gestures toward Sienna.
"Take her downstairs." His voice is steel. "Now."
One of the men takes Sienna firmly by the arm and she shrieks. "Don't you dare fucking touch me."
Ruslan turns to me, his expression softening as he sighs.
"I am so sorry about this. Please wait here. I need to handle this situation, and I'll be right back."
Without waiting for my response, he follows the security team as they escort a still-laughing Sienna out. I'm left alone in the VIP room, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I step toward the broken window, careful to avoid the glass shards crunching beneath my feet, and look down.
The moment I do, my blood freezes.
The club has transformed. The sea of dancing bodies has become a crowd of upturned faces, all staring at the broken window.
At me.
Between the furious pounding of my heart, my brain replays the sound of Sienna's phone-camera shutter clicking.
She took a photo.
Of me.
Look what you made me do.
Panic surges through my veins. She's going to post it! It's going to be online!
Searchable. Findable.
Kristofer.
"No, no, no," I mutter, stumbling backward, almost tripping over my dress. I rush to the frosted glass door and yank it open.
Alina is standing outside, looking concerned. "Excuse me, Mr. Dragunov asked that you?—"
"I need to go downstairs. Now." My voice doesn't sound like my own.
"Mr. Dragunov specifically requested?—"
"I don't care what he requested!" I snap, then take a breath. "I need to leave. Now!"
Something in my voice or my expression must have convinced her. "This way," she says reluctantly. "We can take the service elevator."
My face feels hot, then cold, as everyone's eyes are trained on me. Murmurs of gossip buzz around me like a hive of angry bees speculating about who I am and what I did to offend Sienna Voss. The room spins. Panic chokes my throat.
As soon as we reach the main floor, I break away from Alina, pushing through bodies, desperate to find an exit. I spot a door marked "Restroom" and dive for it.
Inside, I lock myself in a stall, breathing hard. This can't be happening. After seven years of careful anonymity, I've just exposed myself in the most public way possible.
I spot a small window high on the wall. Without thinking twice, I climb onto the toilet, push the window open, and hoist myself up. It's tight, but I'm skinny enough to squeeze through.
I tumble out into an alley, scraping my palms and knees on the rough pavement. I don't care. I scramble to my feet and start running.
"What were you thinking, Aurora?" I hiss between breaths.
But I know exactly what I was thinking.
I was stupid enough to let my guard down for just a single night.
I was stupid enough to fool myself into believing that Jamie Fields could ever stay dead.