And Keith... God, Keith stood beside him, his back to me at first, but when he turned, my breath caught. He looked different, so different it stole the air from my lungs. The calm gentleman I'd fallen for was gone, replaced by something primal, terrifying. Hisshirt was splattered with blood, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and smeared red, his face a mask of controlled fury, eyes dark and stormy, jaw set like granite. His aura was scary, a palpable force that filled the room, making the shadows seem to retreat, the air heavy with violence. He was the predator now, the one who'd built this nightmare, and seeing him like this, bloodied, unyielding, chilled me to the core.
"Aurelia," he said, his voice low, steady, but with an edge that made my skin crawl. He stepped forward, his boots leaving bloody prints on the concrete. "This is my gift to you, My Maneskin. I could have killed him myself, ended it clean. But I thought... better you decide. His fate is in your hands."
Boris’s mouth opened, but the words came out mangled, thick with blood. “Aur… r… lia… m-m… mercy…” He choked on a gasp, trying again but his voice cracked into a sob, unintelligible beyond that.
Keith's expression darkened, his hand flexing as if resisting the urge to strike. "Don't listen to him, Aurelia. He's a snake, twisting memories to cloud your judgment. He stalked you, drugged you, sold you like meat. Those 'good times' were his trap. Don't let him rewrite them."
I approached hesitantly, my heels clicking on the concrete, each step feeling like wading through molasses, the stench hitting me full force, blood, sweat, the faint char of burned flesh. My stomach roiled, bile rising, but I couldn't look away from Boris, the man who'd shattered my world four years ago.
Up close, he was a horror. His fingers mangled stumps, blood crusting his shirt, his legs twisted at unnatural angles, gashes peeking from torn pants where tendons had been severed. His facewas a pulp, lips charred and blistered, tongue swollen from whatever torture Keith had inflicted. The sight should have terrified me, but a cold numbness spread through me, mingling with the rage I'd buried for years.
Tears welled, hot and unbidden, spilling down my cheeks as the dam broke. I choked, my voice cracking, the words tumbling out in a flood. "You’ve ruined all these years for me, Boris. Every memory, the coffee shop, the galleries, the walks, they're poisoned now. I can't think of art without seeing that warehouse. You took everything, my trust, my safety, my sleep. For years, I've lived like a ghost. Always cautious, jumping at shadows, second-guessing every man who smiles too long. You did that. You and your 'business.' How many others? How many lives did you destroy for a payout?"
Boris whimpered, his head shaking weakly. Keith stepped closer but didn’t touch, giving me space. "You don't owe him anything. He's the monster, not you. Whatever you choose, I'm here."
The tears came harder now, sobs wracking my body, my knees buckling as I sank to the floor, the concrete cold against my skin. The weight of it all crashed down. The four years of therapy I abandoned, the relationships I sabotaged, the way I'd built forts in my room to hide from the dark. Keith knelt beside me, his hand hovering, then resting on my shoulder, warm and steady. "Breathe. You're safe. He's powerless now."
I looked up at him, his face a blur through tears, but his eyes. Those eyes that had seen me at my weakest and still wanted me, grounded me. With a trembling hand, I reached for the gun on the table, the metal cold and heavy, my fingers wrapping around the grip like it was a lifeline. Keith nodded, his expression unreadable but supportive, stepping back to give me the moment.
Boris’s eye widened, his swollen lips trembling. “N–no… Aur–… rel… ia…” The last words collapsed into a mangled whisper. “L–love…”
"Love?" I spat, standing on shaky legs, the gun steadying in my grip as rage overtook the fear. "That wasn't love. That was a cage."
Boris’s good eye locked on mine, a flicker of spite cutting through the haze. “Y… your… sh–ship… ment…” He coughed violently, then hissed out the rest through blood-coated teeth. “His… f–father… M… Marcus… he… approved… e-everything…”
The world tilted, the gun firing before I could process, the recoil jolting my arms as bullets emptied the barrel, each shot a thunderclap in the warehouse tearing into his chest. The last bullet hit his head, a wet crunch as it exited, his eye glazing over, life fleeing in a gurgle of blood.
The gun clicked empty, smoke curling from the barrel, and I dropped it, my hands shaking, the echo ringing in my ears. But his words...Marcus… approved everything.Keith's father. The trafficking. My shipment. The realization crashed over me like ice water, betrayal sharp as the bullets I'd just fired. Keith. My Keith, the man who'd held me, loved me was tied to this? To the darkness that had nearly killed me?
I turned, my vision blurring with fresh tears, Keith approaching with concern, his mouth opening. "Aurelia, I didn't know…"
But the words didn't register, the room spinning, betrayal a knife in my heart. I ran, bolting for the door, the concrete blurring under my feet, his voice calling after me fading into nothing as I burst into the night, the cold air hitting me like a slap, my world shattered anew.
Chapter 24
Aurelia
Two weeks had passed since that night in the warehouse, but the images were burned into my mind like a brand, the deafening roar of each shot as I emptied the clip into Boris. And his words, those final, venomous words:Your shipment... His father. Marcus approved everything. Keith’s father. The man who’d orchestrated the trafficking, the hell I’d survived four years ago.
The realization had shattered me, a betrayal so sharp it cut deeper than Boris’s betrayal ever could. Keith. My Keith, the man who’d held me through nightmares, who’d promised to protect me, whose touch had felt like salvation, was tied to the monster who’d approved my sale. I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to blame him, but the truth was a sickness in my gut, a nausea that made my skin crawl at the thought of facing him. I couldn’t be in the same room with him, couldn’t look into those eyes without seeing Marcus’s shadow, without wondering what Keith knew, what he’d hidden.
The hotel suite had become a prison after that night. I’d packed my bag in a daze earlier while leaving for the warehouse, Keith’s voice echoing in my ears,“Aurelia, I didn’t know!”, as I ran intothe night. I’d called Susan from a cab, my voice breaking as I told her I couldn’t continue with the island project.
“I just... I can’t do it, Susan,” I’d said, tears choking my words, sitting in the back of the taxi as the city blurred past. “It’s too much. I’m sorry.” She’d been kind, her voice soft with understanding, no questions asked, though I could hear the worry in her tone. “I’ll take over, Aurelia. Don’t worry about it. You can still send ideas, sketches, concepts, whatever you can manage. Just take care of yourself.” I’d promised to email designs, to stay involved remotely, but I knew I’d never set foot on that island again. The paradise Keith had built was tainted now, its white sands stained with the blood of my past.
I needed to get away, to escape the city that felt like a maze of ghosts. So I’d fled to my parents’ house in Galena, a small town nestled along the Mississippi River in Illinois. It was a place frozen in time, a sanctuary of quiet where I’d grown up, but even here, I felt the shadows follow.
My parents were home when I arrived, their faces lighting up with surprise that quickly turned to worry as they took in my appearance. Mom had pulled me into a hug, her arms tight as if she could squeeze the pain out of me. “Aurelia, honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” she’d asked, her voice trembling with concern. Dad, quieter but no less worried, had stood behind her, his weathered hands fidgeting, his eyes searching my face for answers.
“I’m fine,” I’d lied, my voice flat, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Just need some rest. It’s been... a lot.” They nodded as I’d slipped past them, up the creaky wooden stairs to my childhood bedroom. The door closed behind me, and I’d collapsedonto the bed, the quilt smelling faintly of lavender and home, but it couldn’t erase the memories.
I’d barely left the room since, emerging only to pick at meals Mom left on a tray outside the door. Each time I opened the door, I’d find one of them lingering, Mom’s gentle knock or Dad’s gruff “You okay, kiddo?” My brother Killian had driven up from Chicago twice, his broad frame filling the doorway as he checked on me, his dark eyes heavy with the same worry he’d carried back then. “I’m fine,” I’d tell them all, my voice hollow, cutting off any further questions with a shake of my head before retreating again.
But I wasn’t fine. I lay on my bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, my sketchbook untouched on the nightstand, my phone silent beside it. Keith’s number stared back at me every time I unlocked the screen, his last message,“Please, let me explain.”, a dagger in my chest. I missed him, God help me, I did. His world was wrong, sinful, forbidden… so why can’t I leave it?
But the betrayal was a wall. Marcus’s signature on my shipment, Keith’s blood ties to the empire that had nearly destroyed me. Did he know? Had he lied? The questions looped, tearing at me, making me want to call him, to hear his voice, but fear held me back. What if he was complicit? What if the man I fell for was just another mask, like Boris’s art curator persona?
I’d been curled up on my childhood bed for hours, staring at the same crack in the ceiling I used to count when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. The house was quiet. My parents murmuring downstairs, the hum of the old radiator. But inside me everything felt bruised and loud. My phone buzzed. Theo.
