Looked out but inside


Aurora

I locked the door the second I was inside and leaned my full weight against it, still clutching the nightgown to my chest like it might shield me from what had already happened. My legs gave out. I slid down the wood until I was sitting on the cold floorboards, knees drawn up, the fabric bunched under my chin.

The tears came without warning this time. Hard, silent ones that soaked into the thin material before I could stop them. I pressed the nightgown harder against my face so no one walking the corridor would hear. The house had ears everywhere.

What have I done?

I had agreed. Out loud. I had told him I would do whatever he commanded. And he had already tested that promise, right there in the hallway outside my door, with his hands and his voice and those mismatched eyes that never seemed to blink when they looked at me.

My skin still prickled where his fingers had brushed. That was the part I hated most. The way my body had answered him even while my mind screamed to run. I hated the heat that had spread under my skin. I hated that a small, shameful part of me had wanted him to keep going. I sat there on the floor until the shaking slowed, then forced myself upright, pulled the nightgown back on, and crawled into bed.

Sleep stayed out of reach. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the hotel room again—the straps, the way they had fallen, the look on Titan’s face when he realized what I was. Then the corridor outside my door. His hand. My own voice saying yes.

Morning arrived like an accusation. Gray light pushed through the thin curtains. I got up, washed my face with water so cold it made my teeth ache, and chose the plainest dress I owned. Long sleeves. High neck. No chance of anything showing through. I would never wear transparent fabric again if I could help it.

Downstairs the house was already loud with the aftermath of the wedding. Mother stood in the middle of the main hall directing the omegas as they packed up leftover decorations—wilted flowers, lengths of white ribbon, empty crystal glasses that still smelled of champagne. When she saw me she stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes moved over my face, then my dress, and settled into that familiar cold assessment.

“Clean everything,” she said. “Kitchen first. Then the back stairs. And stay out of the east wing. I don’t want to see you unless I call for you.”

I nodded and went straight to the kitchen. The servants were already there, whispering as they always did. I heard the usual phrase—cold queen—when they thought I was far enough away. I didn’t correct them. The less they looked at me, the better.

My hands worked without thought. Scrubbing plates until the water turned gray. Wiping counters that still held the sticky residue of last night’s celebrations. Sweeping floors that seemed to collect dirt the moment I finished them. Every so often Mother appeared in the doorway, checked my progress, and assigned the next task without a word of praise or complaint. Just more work.

I managed to stay clear of the east wing for most of the morning. Around midday I was carrying a basket of clean towels toward the laundry when I heard the footsteps behind me. Heavy. Measured. Familiar.

“Aurora.”

I stopped. Didn’t turn.

“Look at me.”

I turned slowly. Titan stood a few paces away, arms crossed over his chest, dark shirt open at the collar. The same hard expression he always wore when his eyes landed on me. One green, one blue. Both unblinking.

“My room. Tonight. After the house is quiet.”

My stomach twisted. “I still have chores. Mother said—”

“You already agreed,” he cut in. His voice stayed low, almost conversational. “Don’t make me remind you what that means.”

He walked past me without waiting for an answer. The scent of him—smoke and something sharper—lingered in the air for a second after he was gone. I stood holding the basket until my arms started to tremble, then forced my feet to keep moving.

The rest of the day blurred into more work. Mother sent me to scrub the back stairs until the wood looked new. Then the guest bathrooms, one after another, until the smell of bleach clung to my hands. Then the long dining table, polishing every inch of the dark surface while the omegas watched from the corners and said nothing. By the time the sun began to drop my back ached in a deep, constant way and the skin across my knuckles was raw.

I barely touched the food they left for me in the kitchen. A few bites of bread, nothing more. I just wanted the daylight to end and, at the same time, I never wanted the dark to come.

When the house finally settled into that particular silence that only arrived after midnight, I sat on the edge of my bed and waited. The minutes stretched. My heart beat so hard I could feel it in the base of my throat. Every creak of the old floorboards made me flinch.

The knock, when it came, was soft. Almost polite.

I opened the door. Titan stood there in the same dark shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows now. He didn’t speak. He simply turned and started walking toward his room. I followed because there was nothing else I could do.

Inside, he locked the door with a quiet click.

“Take it off.”

This time I didn’t argue. My hands shook as I pulled the dress over my head and let it fall to the floor. I stood in only my underthings, eyes fixed on the grain of the wood between my feet.

“All of it.”

I removed the rest. The air in the room felt colder against bare skin. I crossed my arms over my chest without thinking.

Titan walked a slow circle around me. His boots made almost no sound on the rug. He stopped behind me. Fingers trailed once across my shoulder, then down the length of my spine. I flinched before I could stop myself.

“Don’t,” he said. Quiet. Absolute.

I forced my body still. He completed the circle and stopped in front of me. One hand tilted my chin up until I had no choice but to meet those mismatched eyes. He studied my face for a long time, the way someone might study a map they already knew by heart.

“You’re going to learn not to fight me,” he said. “Every time you do, it will cost you more.”

His hand moved lower. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper so I wouldn’t make a sound. He didn’t push further. He only touched—slow, deliberate—watching every small reaction that crossed my face, every shift of breath. Then he stepped back.

“Put your clothes on. Same time tomorrow.”

I dressed with hands that still shook. He unlocked the door and held it open. I walked out without looking at him.

Back in my own room I sat on the floor again, arms wrapped tight around my knees. The tears came silently this time. I didn’t try to stop them. I had left one man’s control only to step straight into another’s. And the worst part—the part that made my stomach turn—was that a small, traitorous piece of my body had still answered his hands.

I pressed my forehead to my knees and whispered the same words I always used when the weight got too heavy.

I’m okay. It’s okay. Nothing is wrong with me.

Even I could hear how thin they sounded in the dark.