When the song ended, Keith brushed a thumb over my wrist, concern flickering in his eyes. But was pulled away a moment later by someone from the crowd. Keith hesitated, as if torn, then squeezed my hand once before stepping away.
The moment he disappeared into the crowd, the air shifted.
“Aurelia.”
Boris’s voice cut through the crowd like a blade.
He stood a few feet away, smiling politely to any onlookers, but his eyes… they were the same dark pits I remembered. He approached slowly, like a nightmare walking on polished marble.
“You dance beautifully,” he said, his tone warm enough to fool anyone else. “Almost as beautifully as you did four years ago.”
My blood froze. No. Not here.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper only I could hear.
“Tell me…” he murmured, “does Keith know? About that night? About what we shared?”
The room tilted. My breath vanished. Don't. Don’t say that. Don’t bringthatnight here. But he just smiled, enjoying the way my world collapsed.
I stumbled back, heart in my throat, panic clawing at my chest. I turned and fled the dance floor, heels clicking frantically against the marble as I pushed through the crowd. A hallway, a door—anywhere away from him. I slipped into a small library and shut the door behind me, my breaths coming in sharp, broken gasps.
The room spun. My hands shook uncontrollably. Memories surged. Darkness, hands, fear so thick I could choke on it.
“Aurelia?” Keith’s voice came from behind the door—urgent, softer than I had ever heard. The door opened slowly. He saw me collapsed on the floor, shaking, tears slipping down my cheeks.
“What happened?” he asked, kneeling beside me, his voice steady but frayed with concern. “What did Boris say to you?”
I couldn’t speak. The panic had its claws deep in my chest, squeezing until I could barely breathe. The walls closed in. My vision blurred. The nightmare hands were back—pulling, grabbing, suffocating.
Keith reached for my shoulders gently. “Aurelia. Look at me. In… and out…” But I couldn’t. I was drowning.
His voice faded beneath the roar of my memories, the darkness swallowing me whole as the past crashed over me like a relentless wave.
Chapter 18
Keith
We were back to our hotel suite. The room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the king-sized bed where Aurelia lay beside me, her body curled slightly under the sheets, her breathing uneven. I'd woken minutes ago, the faint murmurs escaping her lips pulling me from a light sleep. She was still dreaming or trapped in a nightmare, her brow furrowed in distress, tiny lines etching her forehead like cracks in porcelain.
I shifted closer, propping myself on one elbow, my heart twisting at the sight. Aurelia, the woman who'd brought light into my shadowed world, tormented even in repose. Gently, I reached out, my finger tracing the furrow between her brows, smoothing it with a tenderness I reserved only for her. "Shh," I whispered, though she couldn't hear me, my touch light as a feather. "It's okay. I'm here."
She murmured again, her voice fragmented, laced with a fear that clenched my chest. "Please… I can’t breathe..." The words were barely audible, a desperate plea that hit me like a punch. Then, softer, broken. "I'm sorry..."
I tensed, my hand freezing mid-caress, a cold spike of alarm racing through me. What the hell was she dreaming about? The vulnerability in her tone, the raw terror. It wasn't just a bad dream. It was something deeper, something that had clawed its way into her subconscious from a real horror. My mind flashed to the party, to her sudden pallor when Boris approached, the way she'd frozen, her eyes glazing over like she'd seen a ghost. I'd chalked it up to nerves at the time, but now... this.
What secrets was she hiding? What had carved such fear into her soul? "What are you hiding from me, Aurelia?" I whispered silently, my finger resuming its gentle stroke, willing the shadows to lift from her face. "What horrors have you carried alone? Tell me... let me in."
She didn't stir, her murmurs fading into shallow breaths, but the damage was done. My protective instincts roared to life, a fierce need to shield her from whatever haunted her battles. I couldn't just sit here, helpless. Sliding from the bed quietly, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand as I padded to the living room. The suite was silent, the city outside a distant hum, but my mind raced. Boris Morozov, the one who'd made Aurelia bolt like a hunted animal. There was a connection, I was sure of it. I dialed Victor, the line connecting almost instantly.
"Sir," Victor answered, his voice crisp despite the hour, always alert, always ready.
"Victor," I said lowly, sinking into an armchair by the window, the city lights reflecting like cold stars. "I need everything on Boris Morozov. Personal background, family, habits. Financial accounts, assets, sources of income, any offshore holdings. Off- record criminal ties, aliases, scandals buried or not. And mostimportantly, any connection to Aurelia. How does he know her? Cross-reference everything. I need it in an hour."
There was a brief pause, the sound of keys tapping in the background. "Understood, sir. Personal and financial will be straightforward. I've got access to his files through the family network. Off-record might require pulling some strings with our contacts in Eastern Europe. Boris has a murky past. The Aurelia link... I'll dig deep. Expect the full dossier in your email by 5:30."
"Good," I replied, my tone clipped. "No stone unturned, Victor. This is personal."
"Copy that," he affirmed, his efficiency a comfort. "Anything else?"
