Chapter Nineteen Aurora
Chapter Nineteen
Aurora
Another night of pretending that the girl in the mirror is me. Short black skirt, too tight. Blouse that wouldn’t stay buttoned high enough. A name tag that caught the light whenever I moved.
The uniform of the Mute Angel.
I’m not even mute, let alone an angel.
I fastened the clasp on my heels and tried not to look at the envelope sitting on the dresser. Tried… but failed. The thin white rectangle glared at me, quiet but loud all the same.
His money.
It might be ridiculous that all customers give me tips, but I refuse one. Yeah, but—but I knew him, and it was humiliating. It was degrading, more degrading than it already was. And this money? It just made everything worse.
The mute angel, a girl who was passed around to everyone, was also being passed to him.
I rubbed my palms on my thighs, fighting the urge to crumple it, tear it, do something. Instead, I picked up my phone. The screen’s glow hit my face, cold and blue.
My thumb hovered over his name. Lockhart.
I shouldn’t. He was probably celebrating, surrounded by people. He’d just finished a match, a win. And me? I was standing in a too-tight blouse with shaking hands, about to go to a job I hated.
Still, I typed.
Me: Hey.
Me: Are you busy?
Me: Can you come down to floor eleven? Just for a second?
I stared at the messages, heart hammering so hard I could hear it.
The phone stayed silent.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
No dots. No reply. Just my reflection staring back from the black screen.
Of course. He was busy. Why did I even wait? It was stupid to think he’d come. He slammed the door in my face twice the other night. He probably knew—knew that all I wanted was to get this money back to him. That’s why he’s ignoring me.
Well… I’m sure he would either way. He doesn’t like me, so what was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t.
I slipped the phone into my bag, heart heavy, and picked up the envelope. The edges were soft now from how many times I’d touched them. I pressed it flat with my fingers, took a slow breath, and headed out, shoving it into my tote bag.
Maybe he’ll change his mind later.
The corridor was quiet except for the click of my heels on the marble floor, each step echoing too loudly. I pressed the elevator button and waited, staring at the glowing numbers as they climbed down from the higher floors.
Then the doors slid open.
And there he was—
Joshua.
Wearing black jeans with a tight-fitted white shirt, hair kind of messy, breath just slightly uneven like he’d been moving fast. The smell of cologne and alcohol clung to him, sharp and strong. His phone was still in his hand.
For a second, neither of us moved. The air felt thick, humming between us.
He didn’t text back.
He came instead.
I blinked, mouth parting, words caught somewhere deep in my throat. My hand tightened around the envelope inside my bag.
He looked at me, really looked at me. From the heels to the skirt to the low neckline, the nametag that glinted under the hallway light. His jaw clenched once, hard.
He stepped out of the elevator, closing the distance until he was standing right in front of me. And for a heartbeat, the whole world felt suspended between that text that never got an answer and the fact that he came, anyway.
The elevator doors slid shut behind him, leaving only the low hum of the lights and the sound of my own pulse. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. Joshua Lockhart stood in front of me, tall enough that I had to tilt my chin up just to meet his eyes.
Something in me thudded so hard against my ribcage at the sight of him like this, messy hair, skin glistening from sweating, his cologne, and I hated that I couldn’t get it under control. Or look away.
Which I probably should—
I clutched the strap of my bag with one hand and reached inside with the other. My fingers brushed the envelope. When I pulled it out, my hands were shaking.
His gaze flicked to it instantly, and I noticed it right away—the way his jaw flexed, the way he held his breath as if to try to calm himself down from blowing up at me.
I tried to make it easy. I held it out between us, like a peace offering. Like an apology.
He didn’t move.
My arms trembled under the weight of something that shouldn’t have been heavy. My throat worked, but no sound came. I wanted to explain. It’s not about the money. I just can’t owe you. I don’t want you to think I’m—
But the words stuck like glass.
I pushed it closer, pleading silently, eyes begging him to take it so I could breathe again.
He didn’t. He just stood there with an expression where I couldn’t tell if he was angry or in disbelief. His hands stayed at his sides, fists curling. His stare was intense, burning through every layer I had left.
Please.
That’s what my eyes said.
He exhaled, sharp and low, like the sound hurt to make. His head dropped forward for a second, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Then, when he looked up again, his eyes softened just barely, just enough to notice.
“Campbell, stop.” His voice came out, not soft but not rough either. It was just him. The normal voice he used when he wanted to get his point across.
The voice he used when he was giving orders to his teammates, one that he used to ground people in a serious situation. The calm under pressure tone.
I shook my head and—I didn’t know why, or where the confidence came from—grabbed his hand and lifted it up before placing the envelope in his hand, closing his fingers up so he could just take it. Just take it already.
He scoffed and looked me right in the eyes before flipping his hand, letting the envelope drop on the floor. A loud thump echoed through the quiet walls as it just sat there between us.
Something in my chest sank.
“Leave it for the rats to nibble on then,” he said before turning around to press the elevator button.
My heels clicked on the marble as I stepped back to pick it up. I clutched it tightly, the envelope now pressed to my stomach.
The elevator door opened with a sharp creak, and he stepped into it. There was a long pause until another creak from the metal door came again, along with his voice.
“Stay safe tonight.”
That was it. Stay safe tonight. It was quiet, barely audible, but I caught it. What he said and how he said it, it was like he didn’t want to, but it forced its way out anyway. And I didn’t understand why.
Does he care? About me?
I shook my head, hair flying frantically in my face as I mentally scolded myself for thinking such a thing. Rich people have money to spare, and he just happened to bump into a charity case on a random Friday night.
I exhaled before taking a step towards the buttons on the wall, pressing down. Waiting. Work. Focus on work.
I shoved the envelope back into my bag, feeling completely defeated. He won’t take it back, and he made it clear twice, well thrice, because he slammed the door in my face two times that night, and I still didn’t get it. He doesn’t want it; he just wanted to do some charity for the night.
Typical Joshua. Get used to it, Aurora. People like him don’t have room to change, not when they have come this far with hurting you.
After a few seconds, the ding sound came as the elevator doors opened. I clutched my bag strap tightly as my heels clicked forward into the cold box.
The elevator hummed quietly as it descended.
He doesn’t own you…
The elevator slowed, a soft ding echoing through the lobby. The doors slid open.
And I froze.
No.
No.
Aly. Layla. Jennie.
Right there, standing in front of the lift, laughing, their voices bright until they saw me.
The sound cut out as if a wire had been pulled.
Jennie’s smile faltered first, her arm still mid-gesture, clutching her phone. Aly’s eyes widened, flicking from the name tag to the skirt, to the neckline, to my heels. Layla just… blinked, the confusion on her face melting into something softer…
None of them spoke.
I didn’t move.
I could see the questions in their eyes. Why are you dressed like that? Where are you going? Are you okay?
I wanted to answer, God; I wanted to so badly. I wanted to explain myself, tell them it’s not what it looks like, but the words wouldn’t come. They never did when I needed them most.
So I did what I always did.
Lowered my gaze. Adjusted the strap of my bag. Stepped forward. The heels clicked once, twice, sharply against the marble.
As I passed them, I felt the heat of their stares, the shock that none of them could hide. Jennie shifted, as if she might reach out, but I kept walking. Through the doors. Into the cool night air.
Only when I had made it far enough from that building did I let myself breathe again, shallow, shaky, half-sobbing breaths.
No…
Why now? Why did they come? Why did they show up at the same time I—
Each step toward the club felt heavier than the last, heels scraping against the pavement, the sound too loud in my ears. The streetlights blurred a little, catching on every tear I refused to let fall.
Aly.
Layla.
Jennie.
Their faces wouldn’t leave my mind. The way they’d gone silent. The confusion, the hurt, the shock.
Just a few days ago, they’d made space for me. Sat with me in the library. Talked to me even when I couldn’t talk back. Treated me like I was part of something for the first time in my life. My whole life.
For the first time in forever, I wasn’t invisible.
And now they’d seen this.
Me in the skirt, the heels, the name tag. The girl who wasn’t a student or a friend, just a doll dressed for tips.
My stomach twisted. My chest burned.
What if they thought that’s all I was?
What if they told everyone?
What if they stopped sitting with me, stopped texting me, stopped smiling when they saw me?
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. The city lights smeared across my vision. I kept walking.
The club’s neon sign came into view. I’d walked this same path a hundred times, but tonight it felt different. Exposed.
Inside, people would laugh, drink, and call me pretty names I hated. And I’d smile and pretend and count the hours until I could go home.
But now, even home didn’t feel safe. Not with the thought of Aly, Layla, and Jennie’s faces burned behind my eyes. For one small week, I’d believed I wasn’t alone anymore… and now I wasn’t sure they’d ever look at me the same again.
So I straightened my spine, pressed my trembling hands flat against my skirt, and whispered a lie to myself.
You’re fine. You’ve always been fine alone.
Then I pushed open the club door, the noise swallowing me whole.