บททั้งหมดของ Runway Matrix : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

Her heels clicked against the concrete floor, the music reverberating in her chest. She moved faster, needing to breathe, to escape the magnetic pull of Lucas’s eyes on her back. But then as she walked passed an open door, her gaze caught for the briefest second—long enough to see a man thrusting hard into a girl bent over a table, her manicured nails clawing at the wood. Her head was thrown back, long hair whipping with each slam of his hips. The girl’s voice cut through the music, raw and shamelessly. “Faster! Please don’t stop—I’m going to come!” Her screams rose with every movement until they seemed to vibrate in Aurelia’s bones. Aurelia’s breath hitched; her stomach tightened. She yanked her gaze away, cheeks burning, and shoved open the restroom door. Inside, the air was cooler, scented faintly of roses and powder instead of sweat and lust. A long mirror stretched across the wall above the sinks. Aurelia stumbled forward and gripped the porcelain edge, staring at her reflec

Steam still lingered in the air from Aurelia’s shower, warm against her skin as she wrapped the fluffy white robe around her damp body. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, one hand gripping the handle of the electric dryer while the other combed through her thick, wet hair. The hum of the dryer filled the silence of the room, and she caught her own reflection—eyes heavy with fatigue, lips curved in the faintest smile. Her mind replayed the night: the flashing lights of the underground club, Chloe’s infectious laughter, her warning about John; what was that about?, Jake grinding like he’d been set free, the reckless rush of champagne and whiskey. For a moment, she felt… alive. Free. But then, just as easily, the memory of Lucas at the bar slid in like a blade. That stare. The way it burned through the music and madness, cutting straight to her. Her smile faltered. She sighed, whispering almost bitterly to her reflection, "Why do I still want him this much?" A sharp knock jol

He lifted his gaze, meeting hers. His eyes were clouded with pain and something else—something raw and pleading. And in that silence before he spoke, Aurelia realized she was bracing for answers that could either piece her back together… or destroy her completely Lucas’ jaw worked as though the words he was about to say had been buried inside him for years, waiting for someone who deserved the truth. Aurelia sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around herself. He finally exhaled and began, voice low, almost nostalgic. “I grew up in Russia… Moscow, to be precise. My grandmother lived there. Babushka—that’s what I called her.” His eyes softened at the memory, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She was… everything. Stern but warm. Sharp as a knife but tender when she wanted to be. I still miss her every day.” Something in the way he said it, the reverence, made Aurelia shift uncomfortably. For a fleeting moment, she did not see the ruthless CEO, but a boy clinging to t

“I stayed because I loved her,” he said again, and it sounded like both confession and prayer. “And because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.” Aurelia’s laugh was harsh and unwanted. “So you were trapped,” she said. “And you used me while still trapped. You still came to me. You still—” She stopped, the rest of the accusation lodged in her throat. “How does that make me feel, Lucas? Used? As if I was a place to rest while your other life damn near crushed you?” His face crumpled. He looked older than his years in that moment, as if every bruise and every bargain were carved into him. “I know I’ve hurt you. I know I have no right to ask for anything. All I can say is that I never—never—meant to treat you that way. I wanted to protect you from it, but in trying to protect you from Irina I dragged you into the mess. That’s on me.” He closed his eyes. “If you want to hate me, I understand.” Aurelia’s fingers twisted in the fabric of the oversized T-shirt. “Do you hear you

Aurelia sighed and rushed into the bathroom, steam curling around her as she let the water wash away the remnants of last night—the tears, the heaviness, even the lingering ghost of Lucas’ touch. After drying off, she stood in front of her wardrobe, fingers brushing fabrics. She settled on a crisp white cropped blouse with slightly puffed sleeves, paired with high-waisted light-wash denim flares that hugged her hips. On her feet, sleek white sneakers with golden accents for a casual yet chic flair. She draped a beige trench coat lightly over her shoulders—effortless Parisian chic. Her wild red curls framed her forehead and cascaded down her back, gleaming against her fresh skin. But when she caught her reflection in the mirror, the smile faltered. She stared, frowning at herself. “What am I doing?” The whisper came out raw. Yesterday’s conversation with Lucas surged up in her chest like a wound she could not ignore. But she forced out a smile, smoothing the sadness. Grabbing her pu