Chapter 18
Aurelia
The manor is quiet, strangely so, considering it’s a Sunday.
Even the guards’ footfalls are softened, swallowed by thick carpets and polished marble.
Every creak echoes too loudly in my ears.
I should be in bed, wrapped around Hank, letting him anchor me to something solid that doesn’t move or betray, not trying to sneak out of my bedroom in silk shorts and a white tank top that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
But I can’t resist. Not tonight. Not when my thoughts keep dragging me towards the west wing.
My hair tumbles loose over my shoulders, tangling in itself, carrying the faint tang of lavender shampoo. Maybe I should brush it? No. I want to feel this. Alive in a way I haven’t been in years.
I move quietly, fingertips brushing the smooth gold of the doorknob, but Leo is at the door. I expected that, but what I didn’t expect was finding him bruised and broken.
Shit, that’s my fault.
I try to be quiet enough that he wouldn’t hear me slip past him, but my bare feet hit a sensitive spot in the flooring, causing a soft whimper to echo.
“Where are you going?”
I turn and see him standing to face me now. “To get water,” I lie.
“Your ass is hanging out of those shorts.” His tone comes with an edge, almost jealousy.
I pull at my shorts a little. “Well, you’re welcome for the view then.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. And I’m sure he’s second-guessing if he should let me go.
“I’m sorry if I told you too much.” I gesture towards his face. “I should’ve known what Dante would do.”
He shakes his head. “This was Elijah, actually.”
Oh.
I look down, feeling worse. I thought this was because of our conversation in the hall a week ago, not the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say.
“Alright, go, but be quick.”
I turn quick on my heels, not giving him a chance to change his mind.
Creeping through the upstairs hallways, trying to avoid the main foyer of the manor, shadows gather in the corners, swallowing the painted faces of my ancestors. Their eyes following me in oil and varnish, probably judging me for being stupid enough to open my heart again.
My heart thumps—not with fear, but anticipation, it’s desire.
The thought of Elijah, of seeing him again, makes my pulse spike and my stomach tighten in that familiar way it does when I’m about to do something utterly reckless.
I imagine the door opening, that smirk of his, the spark in his eyes when he catches me sneaking around.
I imagine leaning against him, knees brushing, laughing softly about nothing while the rest of the world waits outside. Almost… almost possible again.
I pray he won’t turn me down, because I don’t just want his body, I want his heart.
The west wing is colder. The light dimmer, and more modern than I’m used to. The cool marble beneath my feet is so slick that my knees buckle and I almost hit the floor when I hear voices.
I grasp the wall to steady myself, but my skin erupts in goosebumps watching a group of men I don’t recognize crowding a door in a dark corner, only a few feet from me.
“Lowell’s gone. Clean. Shouldn’t take more than a day to relocate… but we have to move her.”
“In the morning. Get the van ready. No mistakes.”
“Yes, sir. Everything will be secure.”
Her. My chest constricts. That word burns in my ears. That has to mean me, right? Panic flares, sending electricity under my ribs. I shouldn’t eavesdrop. I know better than to care. But why would they ever want to move me?
The words curl around my thoughts, a silent alarm I can’t decode.
I can’t focus on this, not when I still need to see Elijah.
I convince my feet to keep moving, and after five minutes of walking I reach his room.
I knock twice, but nothing happens, so I throw my head back, flooded with disappointment.
Maybe he didn’t hear me?
I push open the door, but the bed is made, undisturbed. My small frown deepens. He must be working another job with Enzo.
Regardless of my disappointment, I force my feet to turn and guide me back to where it’s safest. He’s protecting our family.
I know I should be grateful, but that’s not the part of him I want tonight.
I wanted him. Just him. I wanted to tell him, finally, what I’ve been holding in my chest, the pull I can’t name out loud.
The walk back feels endless. Ten minutes of my pulse hammering in my ears, anticipation swelling, mixing with frustration.
I try to distract myself, imagining the words I’ll finally say to him, imagining how his face will change when he hears them.
Will he smile? Pause? Tap his fingers against his leg, consumed with nerves? The thought makes my chest flutter.
By the time I reach the familiar scent of my wing, my pulse has settled into a tense rhythm.
Just tell him in the morning. It’s not like you won’t see him again. I remind myself I’ll have another chance, again and again, tucking my hair behind my ear, before finding the shadow of Leo outside my door.
Fuck, I forgot the water.
I let myself descend the curved gold staircase toward the kitchen, but each step is weighed down by something I can’t name.
Anticipation tilts into dread, curling around my ribs. I hear—no, that can’t be right.
And then I turn the corner.
The kitchen lights blaze, bright and unflinching against chrome appliances and marble counters. And there—his hands on her hips, her back arched, her laugh dripping saccharine as he whispers into her ear—is Elijah.
Some woman’s sequined red dress rides high around her thighs, glitter catching the sterile light. Her stilettos dangle helplessly from one foot. Her perfume—cloying, chemical flowers—suffocates the air. She clings to him, lacquered nails scratching half-moons into his skin.
And Elijah—
Elijah is kissing her like she’s the last glass of water in a desert. Kissing her like he kissed me. His shirt is half shoved up his torso, revealing muscle I know better than I want to admit. His hands grip her hips, fingers digging into that cheap fabric as if he’s trying to anchor himself.
Moans escape both their lips as he drives into the fake blonde on my kitchen countertop.
My chest collapses. My blood stops in its veins. My stomach plummets. My ribs close around a heart suddenly too fragile to beat.
The sound that leaves me is raw, unplanned, and unforgiving.
A knife through the quiet.
“What the fuck?”
Both their heads snap toward me.
She jerks around first—hair mussed, lipstick smeared into a garish red slash. Her eyes sweep me, triumphant and venom-sweet.
And then Elijah looks at me. Wide-eyed. Caught. Guilty.
His hands drop from her body as if they’ve been doused in acid.
Humiliation hits hotter than rage. My skin prickles, my face burns, but I keep my composure steady. “Are you serious?”
Neither of them answers fast enough.
Elijah works fast to get her covered and pull his clothes on, but I don’t stay to hear excuses. My breath shudders in short, ragged bursts as I spin and bolt back up the stairs.
I shoot past Leo, who looks at me with sympathy as I storm past him.
I hear him mumble into his radio, but I can’t make sense of anything right now.
I fall to my bed, pissed at myself for once again falling for his manipulation.
I can only blame myself.
I let the first tear stream down my cheek when Leo cracks open the door to let Hank in, quickly shutting it again.
He waits at my feet, whining, pawing at my leg. His body leans into mine as if he can hold me upright when the floor beneath me has been ripped away.
Even his warmth can’t stop the shiver that rips through me.
I was so stupid. I was so painfully naively stupid to think we could rebuild anything at all. I will never forgive him, and I will never allow myself to be this weak again.