Chapter 7: Late Night Storm

Aurelia’s POV

The sky over Lake Michigan didn't just turn dark; it turned bruised.

By six in the evening, the sun had been completely swallowed by heavy, charcoal clouds rolling in off the water. The wind outside the library windows sounded like a wild animal pacing against the glass, making the ancient lead-lined panes rattle in their copper frames.

I sat on a wooden step stool near the scorched wall, my small steel scraper held firmly in my right hand. The bandaged cut on my palm was throbbing with a dull, steady ache, but I barely noticed it. My focus was entirely on the elaborate wood carvings in front of me.

Working with antiques required absolute presence. Every stroke of the blade had to be precise. One millimeter too deep, and you ruined a century of craftsmanship. One millimeter too shallow, and the charred residue remained locked beneath the varnish forever.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

The rhythmic sound was the only thing keeping my mind from spiraling out of control.

Every few minutes, my eyes would involuntarily dart toward the heavy double doors of the library. Ever since my confrontation with Thorne in his office three hours ago, my nervous system had been stuck on high alert.

He had held a photograph of Noah in his hand. He had stared into the face of my four-year-old son, completely unaware that the boy carried his own bloodline, or at least, the bloodline of the family that raised him.

My fingers tightened around the handle of my scraper. I had managed to convince him that Noah was my nephew, but the lie felt thin. Paper-thin. Thorne was not a man who missed details. He was a predator who hunted through corporate ledgers and personal histories for recreation. If he decided to look into my fake sister’s death certificates, the whole foundation of my identity would shatter like thin ice under a heavy boot.

I need to find the secondary will and get out of here, I thought, my chest squeezing tight.

I set the scraper down on my staging tray and reached into my pocket, pulling out a soft cotton rag dampened with wood solvent. I wiped down the scorched oak molding near the baseboards, watching the black soot dissolve to reveal the dark, rich honey tone of the original wood underneath.

Right below the carved ivy leaves was the faint, hairline seam of the secret wall safe.

I looked over my shoulder. The library was silent, save for the roaring wind outside. The heavy brass handles on the main entrance doors were still, and the security guards outside in the corridor hadn't knocked in over an hour.

I reached out, my bare thumb searching for the tiny brass pin hidden behind the carved leaves. My pulse picked up speed, hammering against my ribs. My father’s note was still burned into my memory: Do not trust Thorne.

Why had my father written that? What did Thorne do five years ago while I was fighting for air at the bottom of Lake Michigan? Did he help Helena transfer the funds? Was his grief on television just a performance executed by a master actor?

I pressed the brass pin.

CLICK.

The subtle metallic pop echoed in the quiet space. The panel shifted three millimeters forward. I slipped my fingers into the narrow gap, preparing to pull the hidden door wider.

BOOM.

A violent clap of thunder shattered the silence overhead, shaking the foundation of the estate.

A split second later, every light in the library went out.

The warm glow of the chandeliers, the high-powered halogen work lamps on my staging table, and the soft amber wall sconces vanished instantly, plunging the vast, two-story room into absolute, pitch-black darkness.

My breath trapped itself in my throat.

The scraper slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the wooden floorboards.

The darkness wasn't just low light; it was thick, heavy, and complete. The storm outside blocked out the moon, leaving only the dark silhouettes of the massive windows against the void.

No. No, no, no.

A wave of cold, suffocating panic slammed into my chest like an iron bar.

My vision began to blur. The quiet library vanished, replaced instantly by the terrifying memory of five years ago: the freezing, pitch-black interior of my sedan, water rushing in through the broken driver's side window, the seatbelt jammed tight against my chest, locking me in a watery grave.

I couldn't breathe. Air refused to enter my lungs.

"Aurelia, breathe," I whispered to myself, but my own voice sounded tiny, lost in the roaring darkness. "You're in a library. You're on land. You aren't in the water."

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it was tearing through my sternum. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead and the back of my neck. I scrambled backward, away from the wall, my hands blindly scraping against the cold floorboards as I tried to find something solid to anchor myself to.

My knee hit the staging table, knocking over a small jar of polish that shattered on the floor.

I curled my knees into my chest, sitting on the cold wood, wrapping my arms around my head. The walls felt like they were collapsing inward, shrinking the vast room into a tiny, airless metal box sinking deeper into the black depths of the lake.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the darkness inside my head was even worse. The sound of the wind outside translated in my brain to the heavy, crushing pressure of water slamming against glass.

CLICK.

The sound of heavy oak doors bursting open rattled through the room.

Fast, heavy, powerful footsteps slammed against the marble floor of the corridor, transitioning instantly onto the hardwood floor of the library.

"Aurelia!"

A deep, desperate voice called out through the blackness.

I couldn't answer. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, choking off my vocal cords. I pressed myself harder against the base of the bookshelf, my whole body trembling uncontrollably as tears burned behind my eyelids.

The footsteps accelerated, heading straight toward the far corner of the room.

"Aurelia, where are you?"

A bright beam of light from a high-powered tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping across the floor. It caught the shattered glass jar and the staging table and finally locked onto me, curled into a ball against the baseboards, trembling and hyperventilating.

The flashlight beam dropped to the floor instantly, casting a soft, diffuse glow across the room rather than blinding me.

"Jesus Christ," Thorne rasped.

In two massive strides, he crossed the remaining distance between us. He dropped to his knees right in front of me, his heavy leather shoes scraping against the floorboards.

"Aurelia," he said, his voice stripped of every layer of cold corporate authority he usually wore. It sounded raw, terrified, and deeply human. "Look at me. Look at me right now."

I couldn't look up. I was choking on air that wouldn't reach my lungs, my bare hands clutching tightly at my knees.

"I can't..." I gasped out, the words coming out as a fractured, panicked sob. "I can't... breathe... It's too dark..."

Before I could pull away, two massive, warm hands cupped the sides of my face.

The heat of his palms against my freezing skin was like a shock of lightning straight to my nervous system. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, holding my head steady, forcing me to raise my eyes.

Thorne was leaning over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the terrifying vastness of the dark room. His charcoal suit jacket was gone, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair slightly disheveled from rushing through the estate.

And his eyes, those icy gray eyes that usually looked like frozen stone, were wide, dark, and filled with a frantic, desperate terror that I had only ever seen once before in my life.

"Look at me," Thorne ordered softly, his voice trembling slightly as his thumb stroked my cheek. "Focus on my voice, Aurelia. You are safe. The power grid tripped during the lightning strike. The backup generators are cycling on right now."

"The... the water..." I whispered, my mind still caught in the nightmare of the past. "It's suffocating..."

Thorne’s brows pulled low in an expression of pure, crushing pain. He didn't ask questions. He didn't ask why a simple power outage caused me to look like I was dying.

Instead, he shifted closer, sliding one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees, lifting me effortlessly from the cold floor into his chest.

"I've got you," Thorne murmured against my hair, his deep voice vibrating straight into my bones as he pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me like a shield. "I'm right here. Nobody is hurting you."

I should have pushed him away. I should have remembered the note in my pocket. I should have remembered that he was the CEO who stole my father's empire.

But as I pressed my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of cedar, rain, and warm skin, my trembling slowly began to lessen. His heartbeat was loud, fast, and firm against my cheek, a steady, rhythmic anchor in the terrifying dark.

He held me tightly, his broad chest rising and falling against mine, shielding my smaller frame from the black room. One of his long hands buried itself into the hair at the back of my head, holding me close, his lips resting softly against my temple as he breathed out a long, shuddering sigh.

"I won't let the dark touch you," Thorne whispered into my hair, his voice breaking on the last word. "I swear to God, Aurelia... I won't let anything touch you ever again."