Hank growls, vibrating through the room and through me, a reminder that I’m not bluffing. Elijah stiffens, just a fraction—not fear, not exactly—but understanding. He knows this isn’t a joke.
“Aurelia, I know it’s different with us, and maybe you wanted that to be you, but—”
I cut him off. “Yeah, I’m not interested in the tiny dick I saw yesterday.” It’s a lie. I didn’t see anything and was too mortified to look. But I see his jaw tick, his fingers tapping on his thigh, and I know he’s pissed.
“Know your place,” I whisper, teeth clenched. “And get the hell out of my room.”
He freezes, a trace of pain crossing his face before vanishing. He nods once, stiffly, and steps back, disappearing down the hallway, the door almost completely closing behind him.
I slump onto the edge of the bed, knees drawn in, hands trembling. I didn’t mean all of it. Not really. But seeing him with her—the way he let her lean in, touch him, and take even a fraction of the space I’ve always imagined for myself—broke something inside me I didn’t realize I’d been clinging to.
Hope.
Hope that he might see me the way I’ve always seen him.
Hope that maybe, for once, he would choose me.
And the worst part? He probably already knows I’ve been holding it all in. That he’s always had this quiet power over me. And maybe that’s why it hurts so damn much.
I can’t stay. I can’t breathe in this house without feeling the weight of every thought I’m trying to ignore.
I throw on a black jacket, but leave the thin white tank top and silk shorts I slept in underneath. I’m not planning to be gone long—I just need air, space, a place where I don’t have to think about him, that girl, and the crushing mix of hope and betrayal lodged in my chest.
“Hank, downstairs,” I whisper.
He’s out of my room in seconds, ears up, eyes bright, tail stiff but wagging, his leash dangling from his mouth. He always knows exactly what I’m asking.
I don’t bother with the hall. I slide open my balcony door and step onto the ledge. My bare feet find the slick stone, cold and damp, coated with dew.
The morning is grey. Fog curling low around the tops of the hedges, blurring everything into a smooth, wet haze. It smells of damp earth, of stone, of something faintly metallic from the air.
I crouch low, my toes gripping the ledge, and jump. Shock vibrates up my legs, cold and alive. I straighten and shake it out, adrenaline flooding through me.
I run toward the entrance of the pool deck, Hank waiting, and slide open the door. Goosebumps scatter over my legs, either from the cold or from the fear that I’ll get in shit for walking around without Elijah.
Thankfully, it’s early, and James must still be sleeping since the room is empty. I take this as my chance, leading Hank out the back entrance, slipping on an old pair of runners, and heading toward the fencing behind the manor. My usual running spots are along the property line, so I feel safe enough with just the sound of my shoes on stone beneath my feet. But then Hank’s tail flicks with purpose, his body taut.
He smells something I don’t.
“Good boy,” I reassure him, tugging the leash and guide him away from whatever he’s sensing and towards the back trails.
I know better than to continue in the direction that’s riling up my guard dog.
Every step I take feels defiant. A little rebellion against everything that’s tangled inside me.
I reach the gate that opens onto the pathway, wanting to put complete distance between us. It’s just outside the estate, so I shouldn’t be in any real danger here either.
Fog swirls around us, pressing close, and I take a breath, inhaling cold into my lungs, feeling my first taste of freedom.
Then I see it—the SUV. Dark, low, half-hidden in the mist. Hank growls, low and chest-deep, vibrating through the leash, up my arm, into my ribs. I freeze; my pulse hammers. “Easy,” I whisper, but my gut clenches anyway.
Two men step through the grey.
The first is massive, with shoulders made of stone pillars and an expression carved from shadow. The second is wiry and quick, a knife spinning in his hand, catching the pale light.
Hank lunges before I can stop him. Teeth bared, growl erupting into a feral roar. My heart jumps into my throat.
The wiry man reacts instantly. His knife arcs, skimming across Hank’s shoulder, shaving off a strip of fur. Blood blooms. Hank yelps but clenches harder, clamping down on the man’s wrist, causing his knife to clatter against concrete.
