CHAPTER 2 : AURORA’S POV

The Falconeri mansion looked different once the crowd was gone. At the wedding it felt like a stage set. Glitter, champagne, lights. Now it was quiet. Too quiet.

Boxes sat by my bed. I didn’t own much. A suitcase. A box of books. A few framed photos. My half of the closet looked empty compared to the endless space carved out for me. Lavender clung to the sheets. The windows were taller than any I’d ever had. I should have felt lucky. I didn’t. I felt like a guest.

I pushed out into the hall. The place was a maze. Chandeliers. Marble floors. Paintings of Falconeri ancestors glaring down at me. Their eyes followed wherever I went.

“Aurora.”

My mother’s voice called from down the hall. She appeared, smiling, cheeks still flushed. Marcelo’s footsteps echoed behind her.

“Are you settling in?” she asked.

“As much as I can,” I said.

“You’ll love it here. Look at this place.” Her hand touched the banister like it was made of gold. “It’s a fresh start for both of us.”

“Maybe for you.”

Her smile wavered. “You’ll see.”

Marcelo appeared beside her. His hand rested on her shoulder, calm but heavy. “Everything you need is here. You’ll be comfortable.”

“Thanks,” I murmured.

He nodded once. Then they walked off together, laughter trailing behind them.

I kept moving, restless.

The mansion seemed endless. A grand piano polished so bright I could see my face in it. A library stacked with leather books. Too perfect. Like no one really lived here.

Then I heard it. A thud. Another. A sharp exhale.

I followed the sound down a side hall. A pair of double doors were cracked open. The smell of sweat and leather slipped through.

Inside was Ricardo.

He was on the bench, pressing weights above his chest. Muscles straining, jaw tight. Tattoos shifting over his skin. Sweat slicked his shoulders. Every movement was sharp, controlled.

I froze at the door.

The clang of the weights rang out as he dropped them onto the rack. He grabbed a towel, dragging it over his chest. His head turned.

Our eyes locked.

“You lost?” His voice was low, steady.

“I was just… looking around.”

His gaze moved over me slow, sharp. I felt stripped bare. “This wing is private.”

“I didn’t know,” I said quickly. “Sorry.”

“Now you know.”

He stood, broad shoulders filling the room. The towel hung loose in his hand. His eyes never left me.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” I said.

“You’re here.” His tone teased, but his stare didn’t soften.

“It’s a big house.”

“Curiosity is dangerous here.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Warning you.” His lips curved faintly. Like he liked the way my voice shook.

I gripped the doorframe. “You don’t scare me.”

He stepped closer. Just enough that the heat of his body rolled across the space. “You should be scared.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t belong here. And people who don’t belong either learn fast… or get chewed up.”

I swallowed. “And which one are you?”

His eyes locked on mine, dark and steady. “I learned.”

Silence stretched. My chest rose and fell too fast. His scent, sweat and faint cologne, wrapped around me.

“I should go,” I muttered.

“You should.”

But he didn’t move.

I turned to leave.

“Aurora.”

The way he said my name made me stop. Slow. Deliberate. Like it tasted different on his tongue.

I looked back. He was still watching. Unblinking.

I left before I could make another mistake.

Back in my room, I slammed the door shut. My back pressed against it. My chest heaved.

I hated the way I felt. Not scared. Something worse. Wanting.

The next morning I came down for breakfast. The dining room was huge. The table could seat twenty. Only three chairs were filled. My mother, glowing as usual. Marcelo, calm with a newspaper in hand. A maid served coffee.

“Morning, sweetheart,” my mother said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine.”

Marcelo glanced at me briefly. “The staff can get you anything you need. Don’t hesitate.”

“Thanks.”

Halfway through my toast, the room shifted.

Ricardo walked in. Black shirt, dark jeans. Hair damp like he’d just showered. He pulled out a chair without asking and sat.

“Morning,” he said flatly.

“Morning,” my mother said quickly, her smile tight.

Marcelo gave him a nod. No words.

Ricardo’s eyes flicked to me. Just for a second. Enough to twist my stomach.

My mother jumped in with chatter. “Aurora will start her classes soon. Marcelo, we should get her enrolled properly.”

Marcelo folded his paper. “It will be handled.”

Ricardo sipped his coffee. His eyes lingered on me again, sharp, unreadable.

I dropped my fork. “Excuse me,” I muttered, standing.

My mother frowned. “Aurora—”

“I’m not hungry.”

I left before she could say more.

In the hall, footsteps followed.

“You always run off,” Ricardo’s voice said behind me.

I spun. “Do you always stalk people?”

His mouth curved faintly. “Only the interesting ones.”

I crossed my arms. “What do you want?”

“To know why you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re curious. But you don’t want to be.”

Heat rushed up my neck. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” He stepped closer. His voice dropped lower. “You saw me last night. And you didn’t run.”

“I told you, I was exploring.”

“You stayed. You watched.”

I clenched my jaw. “You’re arrogant.”

“Or maybe I’m right.”

I hated how steady his eyes were. Dark, unblinking. My pulse skipped.

“Stay away from me,” I said.

He tilted his head. “If that’s what you want.”

But the way he said it, I knew he wouldn’t.