It's been two days since that night.
Two days since everything cracked open.
And weirdly… I'm not drowning anymore.
I thought I would.
I thought I'd be stuck in that loop—his face, her smile, that room—over and over until I couldn't breathe properly.
But it didn't happen like that.
It softened.
Not the truth.
Just the noise around it.
I sit by the window of my apartment, coffee gone cold in my hand, watching the city move like nothing ever happened in mine.
People rushing. Cars honking. Life pretending it doesn't ruin people in private.
And for the first time…
I don't feel small in it.
I feel awake.
A bitter laugh slips out of me.
"Fucker," I mutter under my breath.
No one hears it.
Good.
Because Adrian Vincent doesn't even deserve the energy it takes to say his full name anymore.
I take another sip of cold coffee and lean back.
That man does not deserve me.
Not my love.
Not my tears.
Not even my anger.
Just… nothing.
Because I am not a woman to be used, controlled, and discarded when convenient.
I am Aurora Hale.
And somewhere between heartbreak and humiliation, I seem to have remembered that again.
Aurora Hale.
Businesswoman. Jewellery designer. International name.
A multimillion empire built from nothing but stubborn hands, long nights, and refusing to break even when everything tried to.
People think I was lucky.
They don't see the years.
The exhaustion.
The nights I didn't sleep because failure wasn't an option.
The way I turned pain into something sharp enough to survive with.
My phone buzzes on the table.
I don't even look.
I already know it's him.
Or something related to him.
I don't care anymore.
And that… is new.
I set the phone aside and finally let my thoughts slow down.
Because when I strip everything away—love, betrayal, noise—
I'm still here.
And I still have everything else.
Connections. Power. Money. Secrets people smile around me while hoping I never use.
And Alex.
That thought pauses me.
Not in a loud way.
Just… quietly.
Like something warm trying not to interrupt my anger.
I exhale.
Yeah.
Alex.
My best friend.
My constant.
The one person who didn't try to fix me, didn't demand explanations, didn't make me feel like I was too much or too broken to hold.
Just stayed.
Like it was the simplest thing in the world.
I close my eyes for a second.
Then I open them again.
No more sinking.
No more replaying it.
Done.
My mind shifts, uninvited, to something older.
My mother.
I barely remember her face clearly anymore. Just fragments. Soft hands. A voice that used to call my name like it meant something sacred.
She died giving birth to me.
That sentence has always followed me like a shadow I never asked for.
My biological father—Richard Hale—never said it out loud, but I've always known part of him blamed me for surviving when she didn't.
He remarried later.
Maria.
And with her came Lily.
My little sister.
Delicate. Pretty. Fragile in the way people always mistake for innocence.
I always protected her.
Spoiled her when I could. Covered for her mistakes. Gave her pieces of myself I didn't even have extra of.
Because I thought that was what family meant.
My relationship with Maria was never love.
Not hate either.
Just… distance dressed as politeness.
We weren't mother and daughter.
We weren't strangers.
We were something in between that never fully learned how to exist.
And Lily—
Lily was the one thing I softened for.
Or maybe I just never thought she'd be the one to stand in the wreckage of my life smiling.
My jaw tightens slightly.
I take another breath.
No.
Not going back there.
I stand up from the window seat and walk into the kitchen.
The silence in my apartment is clean.
Controlled.
Mine.
I pour myself water instead of coffee this time.
Better.
Clearer.
As I drink it, my phone buzzes again.
This time I look.
Alex
Of course.
I answer immediately.
"Are you stalking me now?" I say instead of hello.
A short pause.
Then his voice, calm as always.
"You sound better."
I lean against the counter.
"I sound alive," I correct him.
"That's a step up," he replies.
A small silence falls between us, but it's not uncomfortable.
It never is with him.
"I'm working," I say after a moment.
"I assumed," he says. "You disappear into productivity when you're avoiding emotional collapse."
I snort softly.
"I am not emotionally collapsing."
"You were," he corrects.
"…past tense," I admit after a beat.
"That's progress."
I roll my eyes even though he can't see it.
"Did you call just to analyze me?"
"No," he says. "I called because I'm outside your building."
I pause.
"What?"
A faint sound of wind on his side.
"I'm here," he repeats. "Let me in."
That stops me for a second.
Not because it's shocking.
Because it's him.
Always there.
Always showing up like he doesn't need permission to care.
I look around my apartment instinctively, even though it doesn't matter.
Then I sigh.
"Give me five minutes."
"Take ten," he says. "You sound like you didn't sleep."
"I slept fine."
"You didn't."
I hang up before he can continue.
Because he's right.
And I don't feel like admitting that out loud.
When I open the door, he's already leaning against the wall outside.
Hands in his pockets. Calm posture. Same face that somehow always looks like he's observing more than he says.
His eyes scan me quickly.
Not invasive.
Just… noticing.
"You're functioning," he says.
"Wow," I reply. "You came all this way for that groundbreaking analysis?"
A faint smirk tugs at his mouth.
"Still sharp."
"I never lost it."
"No," he agrees. "You just buried it for a while."
That hits a little closer than I want it to.
I step aside.
"Come in before you start sounding philosophical again."
He walks past me into the apartment, and for a second I notice something strange.
Not tension.
Not awkwardness.
Just… familiarity.
Like this space has seen him before in ways it shouldn't feel so natural.
I close the door.
"You brought coffee?" I ask.
He holds up a cup.
"Obviously."
I take it from him.
Our fingers brush briefly.
Nothing dramatic.
Just contact.
But it lingers anyway.
I ignore it.
"So," I say, leaning against the counter again, "what now? You here to give me a motivational speech or check if I've turned into a villain?"
He looks at me for a moment.
Then shakes his head slightly.
"I came because you went quiet," he says.
My expression shifts a little.
"Quiet is good."
"For you," he replies. "Not for me."
That lands differently.
Not loud.
Just real.
I take a sip of coffee.
"Don't start getting attached," I mutter.
His gaze holds mine for a second longer than usual.
"I already am," he says simply.
And for the first time in two days…
I don't know what to say to that.