005

Aurora’s POV

I wore a coat over my mother’s black dress.

I was not sure about any of it. Not the dress. Not the address. Not the hour written in that cold print.

I did not know what waited for me there, and the not-knowing sat in my stomach the whole ride.

I told the driver to go early. Eight o’clock. An hour before the schedule. If I was going to walk into something I did not understand, I wanted time to look at it first.

The taxi slowed. Then it stopped.

I did not move.

A mansion stood behind tall gates.

Lights along the drive. Guards at the entrance. The building did not look like a house. It looked like a place that had never worried about rent.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

“Are you sure this is the house?”

“It’s the address you gave me.”

I paid him and stepped out.

The night air found the open collar of the coat and slipped under it. Callum was rich. I had always known that. I had never imagined his father lived like this.

This was more than money. This was a different country.

One of the guards spoke before I did.

“Miss Aurora. Mr. Vale is waiting.”

They already knew my name. They led me through the gate without asking another question.

Inside, my eyes would not stay still. Marble. High ceilings. A staircase that looked like it had been built to make people feel small.

I understood, suddenly, how a man could clear a debt that size without raising his voice. Places like this did not blink at numbers that ruined girls like me.

“Have you looked enough?”

Gideon’s voice came from behind me. I turned too fast. He was already walking toward me, dark suit, no hurry.

“I’m sorry, sir. This is the first time I’ve seen a house this big.”

“I know.” He stopped a few steps away.

“But it is still eight o’clock. I’m certain I wrote the correct time.”

“Yes. I came early. To be safe.”

He closed the last of the space between us. I became aware of the coat, of the dress under it, of the fact that I did not know where to put my hands. His eyes did not leave my face.

“I assume you haven’t eaten,” he said. “Have dinner with me.”

“I ate before I came. Thank you, Mr. Vale. I can wait. You can have dinner first.”

He did not answer. He only looked at me longer, as if my sentence had been an offer he had already refused.

“Then sit with me,” he said. “That is your job as my assistant.”

He walked past me toward the dining room. I followed because the contract was still in my bag and the debt collector was still somewhere in the city with a calendar.

The dining room was empty of other people. The table was not. Dishes I could not name. Glass that caught the light.

He sat. I sat near him, close enough to be useful, far enough that I hoped it still looked like work.

“I thought there was an important event here,” I said. “That’s what you told me yesterday.”

“There is. You’ll know after dinner.”

I nodded. I did not know where to look.

His face felt like a test. The food felt like a test. The quiet felt like a third one.

“Wine,” he said.

His glass was empty. I saw the bottle on the sideboard and stood before I could talk myself out of it.

The bottle was heavier than it looked. My hands were not steady. I told them to be steady anyway.

I poured.

The neck of the bottle tipped too far. Red wine ran over the rim and down, onto him, dark against the black of his trousers, high on his thigh.

“Oh— I’m sorry. Mr. Vale, I didn’t mean to—”

I grabbed a napkin. I was already bending, already pressing the cloth to the spill, already talking too fast.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it. My hands were shaking and I—”

I looked up.

Our faces were too close. I had not noticed until I could see the exact line of his mouth. He had not moved away.

Gideon took my wrist.

He set my hand on his thigh, over the wet cloth, over the heat of him under the fabric.

He did not press hard. He did not need to. The order was in the hold.

His gaze left my eyes and dropped to my lips.

For a second I forgot how to stand.

Then I did stand. I pulled my hand back as if the contact had burned.

I smoothed the front of my coat because I needed something to do that was not looking at him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vale. May I use your bathroom?”

“End of the hall. Left.”

I walked. I did not run. It still felt like running.

The bathroom door shut behind me and I braced both hands on the sink. The girl in the mirror was wearing her mother’s dress under a cheap coat.

Her mouth was too pink. Her eyes were too wide.

What had I just done?

I had spilled wine on my employer. I had put my hands on him. I had let him put my hand back. I had felt his eyes on my mouth like a touch.

I turned on the water and washed my hands until the shaking slowed. Friday was not over. Dinner was not over. The Red Room was still waiting somewhere in this house, and I had already made a mess of a glass.