AuroraMy fingers clutch the fabric of Lucas’s shirt so tightly that my knuckles ache. The soft cotton is warm beneath my grip, stretched taut across his back as his muscles coil like steel beneath it. He is completely calm and in control, while fear burns in my throat, thick and suffocating. It paralyzes my thoughts for one awful moment, something that has never happened before. But I refuse to let it win.Not when he’s standing in front of me, shielding me with his body as if he can take on the entire world alone.Tears sting my eyes, hot and useless, but I blink them away and force myself to inhale slowly. Air. Focus. Control.I need to think.Think, Aurora. Think.My gaze darts around the café, taking in every possible detail. The tables are overturned, chairs splintered and scattered like bones. A spilled cup of coffee glistens on the tiles, a dark mirror to the chaos. Behind the counter, a barista crouches, her hands trembling around her phone as she tries to dial something, so
AuroraI should look away. I tell myself to, but I can’t. The magnetic pull between us is too strong, threading through the air, invisible yet unbreakable. My fingers twitch against my lap, my heart pounding like it wants to reach for him. I feel helpless under the weight of his stare, yet somehow powerful, like I have just discovered a secret the universe never meant me to know.I always felt that Lucas was someone who had stepped straight out of fiction. Because otherwise, how could he be so perfect? The way he walks, the way his voice dips just enough to make your stomach flip, the way he smiles like he knows something you don’t, none of it feels real. He can’t be real.But now… I am starting to believe that maybe he isn’t like everyone else. There is something about him, something that sets him apart, something that hums beneath the surface. I can feel it. The world around him feels different, like reality bends a little just to make space for him.And maybe that’s what scares me
AuroraThis cannot be my imagination or some random coincidence. My instincts are never wrong, and right now they are screaming that something unusual is happening.But how could Lucas possibly hear me?I bite my lower lip, pretending to stare blankly ahead while my eyes stay fixed on him through the café window. He sits there, calm and composed, sipping his coffee as if the world is at peace. His gaze stays lowered, his movements measured. But I know what calm looks like, and I know what pretending looks like too.And Lucas… he is pretending.“Lucas,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath, my lips moving so slightly that it feels like I am speaking only to my own reflection in the glass. “You can hear me, right?”He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look up. The idiot bacon sits perfectly still, pretending nothing happened. But I see it, the faint tick in his jaw, the quick twitch of his lips, the kind that only shows when someone is holding something in.Got you, honey buns.A slow grin creeps on
AuroraI slip my favorite book into my bag, the one with the worn corners and the coffee stain that never quite faded. A few sticks of gum and Anastasia’s phone follow, before I slide the zipper closed. My sandals tap softly against the marble as I walk toward the door, my reflection flickering across the glass cabinets on the way out.For a few moments of the day, I can pretend to be free. In these stolen breaths of time, I can be myself, no pretenses, no perfection to maintain. But lately, even that is changing... changing in a good way, not in a burdening and suffocating way. Ever since Lucas came into my life, the thought of disappointing him has begun to crawl beneath my skin. I used to think I didn’t care what anyone thought. Now, his approval feels like the one thing that matters most in the world.The moment I step into the corridor, I hear it, the familiar rhythm of heavy footsteps trailing just behind mine. The guard. Always there. Always watching.I do not look back. I have
AuroraThe medicine makes everything feel slow, soft, and heavy. Like the world is moving through water. The ceiling light blurs into a halo as I blink, my eyelids too heavy to keep open for long. I remember doctor already waiting for me in the room when I was brought back, James must had called him. My arm stings under the dressing, but it’s dulled, distant.I should feel uneasy. Someone is here.I can sense it, the faint shuffle of movement, the sound of air shifting near the window. My instincts should flare, but they don’t. Instead, warmth seeps through the haze, an invisible cocoon wrapping around me. It’s strange, this calm. Strange, but not unfamiliar.Because I’ve felt this before, this safety that doesn’t need to be seen to be real.My mind drifts in and out of sleep, tangled between what’s real and what’s not. I think I hear a whisper, a breath close enough to stir the air beside my face. A touch... not real, maybe imagined, brushes against my hair like someone is brushing
AuroraExactly as the clock strikes eight, everyone is seated at the breakfast table. Punctuality here is not a virtue, it is a law. The faint chime of the grandfather clock echoes through the garden, signaling the beginning of another perfectly orchestrated performance.The table stretches long and gleaming beneath the sunlight, surrounded by manicured hedges and faces polished to perfection. Here, even the seating arrangement speaks of power. Nothing is random; every chair represents rank, lineage, and influence. The largest table, of course, belongs to the Blakes and a few others who are considered significant enough to share this privilege.Many people would kill to sit here, to be part of this carefully guarded circle.But I would give anything not to be.Unfortunately, my place is secured by blood. The one thing you can’t escape. The one thing that binds tighter than chains. I hold a position many envy, even within the family. Especially within the family.Dad sits at the head