Seven

Aurelia’s POV

I walked out of that office like I had just won a war. And oh I know it was.

My heels hit the marble floor with purpose and my spine was straight. My chin was high even though my heart was pounding, but I told myself it was adrenaline, not humiliation.

I did it.

I talked back to Alfred Vicker.

For five full minutes, I felt invincible.

Then reality slapped me harder than he did.

I was jobless.

The elevator doors closed and my reflection stared back at me. My cheek was still faintly pink. My lips were still swollen from biting back tears. My hands trembled slightly as the weight of what I had done began to sink in.

Marietta’s school bills

Dad’s collapsing business.

Mom’s forced smile at dinner every night.

What have you done, Relia?

By the time I got outside, my chest felt tight. I pulled out my phone and did the one thing I had promised myself I wouldn’t do again.

I called Jonathan, hoping he would pick up because I really needed him.

It rang once then straight to voicemail.

My face fell but I tried again.

Call failed.

A cold realization crawled up my spine. He really just abandoned me, never even tried to fight for our love.

A bitter laugh left my mouth before I could stop it.

Of course he did.

Tears burned my eyes but I blinked them back aggressively. I would not cry on the streets like some abandoned idiot.

When I got home, my parents were in the living room.

My mom looked up immediately. “You’re back early.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. The job just… wasn’t a good fit.”

Dad studied me carefully. He always knew when I was lying. “Already?”

“It’s fine,” I cut in quickly. “I’ll find something better.”

He nodded slowly, but doubt lingered in his eyes.

I excused myself before they could ask more questions. The second my bedroom door shut, the mask fell.

I threw my bag onto the bed and paced. His voice replayed in my head.

Cheap.

Desperate.

Impersonating someone to get into my bed.

My hand folded into a fist and I seethed. That slap didn't look like it was enough, I wanted to humiliate him further.

I wanted to poke his grey eyes that looked at me like I was beneath him.

My chest tightened again.

I hated him.

I hated everything he represented.

Power, control, entitlement…

The way he talked like the world bent to him to his will. The way he assumed I wanted him. The way he…

My breath hitched.

The way my body reacted when he touched me floating into my mind in the worst possible timing.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

No.

No.

Don’t go there.

But it was too late.

The memory of his hand gripping my waist. The roughness in his voice and the heat between us.

I felt it again.

My body was betraying me.

“How can you be this stupid?” I whispered harshly to myself.

Anger surged through me, I felt hot, reckless and desperate. Sex wasn't one to bother me before when I was a virgin but since I lost it, it seemed like I had gone mad.

I kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the bed, my heart racing for reasons I refused to admit. I needed it gone; the tension, the ache and the memory of him.

Maybe a hot shower would help. I got up from my bed almost immediately and peeled my clothes from my body like they were trash. I entered the bathroom and then I turned on the hot shower and stayed under it for a few minutes.

Steam quickly filled the air and the hot water trickled down my body continuously. And as if on cue, a particular memory from that night floated into my head.

We had gone at it all night and at some point he carried me bridal style to the bathroom. I remembered he turned on the hot shower and while it rained down on us, he held my waist steadily and fucked me. The feeling had been so intense I had held onto the tiled wall for support and instinctively arched my back to receive more of his hard cock.

The more I thought of it the more I felt my pussy throb with need. My fingers trembled as I reached down and touched myself; not softly or tenderly but angrily. I was both incredibly aroused and frustrated. I was masturbating to the thought of the man I slapped and walked out on an hour ago.

Tears slid down my temples as my breathing grew uneven. I hated that I remembered exactly how he felt, hated that my body responded and hated that somewhere beneath the anger, there was craving.

How and why did he make me feel this way?

I kept a steady pace with my fingers on my clit but when release finally hit, it wasn’t satisfying.

It felt hollow.

I stepped out and fell on the bed faced up, staring at the ceiling with my chest rising and falling rapidly.

Disgust washed over me.

What is wrong with me?

I turned to my side, curling into myself.

I need to forget him and I will never see him again.

Never.

I reached for my bag to grab my charger and knocked it off the bed accidentally. Its contents spilled across the floor.

“Ugh.”

I crouched down to gather everything when something white caught my eye.

A folded piece of paper.

My breath stilled and I picked it up slowly.

A number was written on it in bold ink.

Underneath:

“In case you need to vent – Masked Man.”

My stomach flipped.

Club Zero.

That dark room and the masked man I had a one night stand with. When did he manage to slip this into my bag?

I stared at the number for a while. He was proof that it was probably just hormones and not Alfred. Maybe I needed that reassurance now.

I sighed and shook my head confused.

This was reckless…

This was stupid…

This was exactly what I needed. This might be my ticket to forgetting that arrogant asshole.

Alfred’s face flashed in my mind again and irritation burned through me.

I refuse to let him stay in my head.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out an old phone I barely used anymore. My fingers hesitated for only a second before I turned it on.

The screen flickered to life, luckily the old sim in it was still functional, I didn't want to use my real number.

I typed the phone number carefully with my heart pounding as if I was about to commit a crime.

Maybe I was.

I stared at the empty message box for almost a full minute before finally typing:

Are you free sometime this week?

My thumb hovered over the send button.

One last chance to back out.

Then I pressed send and the message was delivered.

And suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I had just made a mistake…

Or started another one.