Anton shook my hand, his grip firm. "Pleasure. Keith doesn't bring dates often."
Zora's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Finally, he listened. I've been telling him to find someone to drag him out of his boring, miserable life. You must be special to crack that shell."
I laughed, charmed by her sophisticated tone. "I'll take that as a compliment. Nice to meet you both."
Anton leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Compliment’s an understatement. Keith, if you ever get tired of keeping her company—”
The rest of his sentence died in the air. Keith didn’t speak, didn’t move much. He just looked at Anton. That single, measured glance carried more weight than a warning ever could. His arm slid a little more firmly around my waist, possessive without being overt, fingers resting at the curve of my hip as if reminding everyone, including Anton, exactly where I stood.
Anton smiled, lifting his drink in mock surrender. “Relax, brother. Just saying she’s got good taste.”
Keith’s faint smile didn’t reach his eyes. “She does.”
We chatted more. Anton about his latest club venture, Zora about business deals. But in the middle of the chatter, a laugh cut through the noise, sharp and deliberate, familiar and chilling. My skin prickled, and my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. Every instinct screamed at me to move, to run, but my body betrayed me, rooted to the spot. Reluctantly.
I turned toward the source of the sound, my heart hammering against my ribs, and the moment my eyes met his, my world shattered.
Chapter 17
Aurelia
The laugh sliced through the buzz of the party like a blade, sharp and unmistakable, pulling the air from my lungs. My world shattered in that instant, the glittering chandeliers and elegant crowd blurring into a haze as my eyes locked ontohim. He was weaving through the guests, a wide smile on his face, his presence a ghost from a past I’d fought so hard to bury. My heart thudded painfully, each beat echoing in my ears, drowning out the music and chatter. Everything flooded back. Memories I’d locked away, fragments of fear and betrayal that clawed at my chest, though their edges remained shrouded, too raw to fully grasp. My breath hitched, my throat tightening as if invisible hands were strangling me, squeezing tighter with every step he took closer.
Keith’s hand tightened on mine, his voice cutting through the fog. “Aurelia, you okay?” His eyes searched mine, concern etching his features, his brow furrowing as he sensed the shift in me.
I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came. My gaze was glued to him, his figure growing larger as he approached, that smile unchanged, chillingly familiar. My pulse raced, my palms clammy despite the cool air of the mansion. Keith followed myline of sight, his posture stiffening slightly, but before he could say more, the man reached us, his eyes flicking to Keith with easy familiarity.
“Keith, good to see you,” he said, his voice smooth, carrying a hint of an accent I couldn’t place but knew too well. “Been a while.”
“Boris,” Keith replied, clapping him on the shoulder, his tone warm but professional. He turned to me, his hand still anchoring me. “Aurelia, this is Boris Morozov, my father’s right-hand man. Boris, Aurelia Sterling, my date.”
Boris? The name hit like a slap, but I knew him as Derek. Derek Harlan, the man who’d unraveled my life. My mind spiraled, a flashback crashing over me like a wave. It was four years ago, a crisp autumn day in a cozy coffee shop, the scent of espresso and cinnamon in the air. He’d approached me with a charming grin, complimenting my sketchbook, asking about the designs I was working on. His dark eyes had sparkled with interest, his easy confidence drawing me in.
“Aurelia?” Keith’s voice snapped me back, his hand on my arm, his eyes searching mine with growing worry. “You’re pale. What’s wrong?”
I swallowed, my throat dry, my voice barely a whisper. “I... I need a minute.” I forced a smile, my hands trembling as I pulled away. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd toward the washroom. The grand hallway stretched endlessly, its dark paneled walls and gilded frames closing in around me. I pushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, my reflection in the mirror a stranger. Pale, eyes wide with panic, the burgundy gown a stark contrast to my ashen face. I gripped the sink, my breath coming inshort, ragged gasps. Why was this happening? Why was my past catching up with me here, now, when I’d finally started to feel safe with Keith? The memories pressed in dark, fragmented images of confinement, fear, hands that weren’t gentle. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they lingered, taunting me.
I splashed cold water on my wrists, willing my heart to slow, but the weight in my chest only grew heavier. Derek. No, Boris was here, in Keith’s world, tied to his father. How? Why? The questions swirled, unanswered, feeding my panic. I forced myself to breathe deeply, to fix my makeup, to smooth the gown that is making me feel exposed now. I had to go back out there, had to face him, but the thought made my stomach churn.
When I returned to the ballroom, the atmosphere had shifted. Keith’s father, stood on a raised platform, his imposing figure commanding silence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, his voice booming, “in honor of my birthday, let’s celebrate with a dance.”
The crowd murmured in approval as couples moved toward the dance floor, the band easing into a slow, elegant waltz. My pulse fluttered. Somewhere in this sea of glitter and silk, Keith was watching. I could feel it.
Just as I stepped forward, Boris approached with that smooth, predatory smile he wore like a second skin. “Aurelia,” he said, extending a hand. “May I have this dance?”
A chill crept down my arms. I opened my mouth unsure whether to refuse or freeze when a warm presence appeared at my side. Keith. He didn’t touch me, didn’t raise his voice, but the shift in the air was unmistakable. His gaze fixed on Boris with icy calm.
“She’s my date,” Keith said, tone polite but edged in quiet dominance. “It’s only right I have her first dance.”
Boris’s smile tightened, but he stepped back with a mock bow. “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of interfering.”
Keith offered his hand. For a heartbeat I just stared, then placed mine in his. His grip was steady, grounding, his palm warm against mine as he led me to the dance floor. But as we began to move, my mind wandered. No,racedin the direction of Boris. I could feel his gaze drilling into my spine, black and suffocating. Keith’s hand rested at the small of my back, guiding me effortlessly, but I barely registered the steps. My breath came shallow. My eyes kept darting toward Boris.
Keith leaned in slightly. “Aurelia,” he murmured, his voice low, “you’re tense. Look at me.”
I tried. I did. But the music blurred, the room dimmed, and all I could sense was the past creeping in like poison.
