Popcorn.
That’s what I smell first. Buttery. Sweet. Then rich, thick hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon Enzo knows I love. Before my life turned into shit, I used to sit with my family watching movies, having snacks in the estate’s living room.
God, I wish I could go back to being that naive and happy in this place.
For a second, I smile, thinking of the warmth and the memories. For a second, I forget.
Then I move, and agony floods back in. My ribs scream, my shoulders aching with an unbearable fire, my jaw’s stiff, and I feel the crack of dried blood down my neck.
Training is a bitch.
If you can call getting knocked out by your brother on your birthday training, that is.
“Relax, Ace. The snacks aren’t going anywhere.”
Enzo’s voice filters through the haze, and as usual, it’s cocky and amused. I roll my eyes even though I can’t fully lift my head yet. The ache in my neck makes sure of that.
“How many times do you have to knock me out before you can just call me Aurelia?” I mutter, shifting upright on the mattress.
He smirks, head tilted in that same practiced angle—a silentdon’t hate me, it’s the rules.
Dante’s rules.
No one in this house is allowed to call me by my full name. Not until I’m deemed strong enough to carry it. Capable of protecting myself.
It’s supposed to be motivation.
Today, it feels like a slap in the face.
I’m twenty-two years old.
And still not worthy of being called by my own name.
Happy birthday to me.
I shift again, legs dangling off the edge of my bed now, bare feet brushing the cold marble floor. My room smells faintly of sandalwood and linen, with just a trace of blood left over from when I’d stumbled in earlier and collapsed.
The windows are open, letting sea air drift in, cool and humid, carrying the sounds of Anova’s nightlife in the distance: deep music, shouting, something that might be laughter.
A reminder that the world keeps moving.
But I know better now. I live in a different reality than everyone else on the island.
I know when to fold and when to hold my tongue, and I’ve learned how to smile even while swallowing rage.
My family is complicated. And that’s putting it politely. So reluctantly, I’ve come to terms with it all.
Enzo rushes to my side the moment I shift, ice wrapped in a towel already in hand as he crouches beside the bed and presses it gently to my cheek.
“I’ve got it,” I mutter, flinching slightly from the cold. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he replies, his tone subtle but firm. “And I’m sorry, Ace. I didn’t want to do training on your birthday, alright? But you know Dante doesn’t allow changes to your schedule.”
Dante—our father. Enzo’s boss.
I haven’t spoken directly to that man in six years. Yet, he gets a say in my life and plans my days. Fuck, I hate him.
But I can’t let it affect me, not on the outside at least. Instead, I snort and shake my head, dipping the mattress as I try to lift out of my position.
