Chapter 147: Explain Yourself
Aurora’s POV
"We are here," the driver said as the taxi came to a stop.
I didn’t even wait for him to finish. I threw some cash at him and scrambled out of the car, my heels nearly snapping on the pavement. I ran toward the back entrance, my breath coming in short, painful hitches. The navy silk of my dress felt heavy, dragging behind me as I sprinted through the dim hallways.
Please be there. Please, I can’t lose this chance, I prayed.
I reached the private suite and threw the door open so hard it hit the wall with a loud bang.
"I’m here!" I gasped, clutching the doorframe, my chest heaving. "Raymond, I’m—"
I stopped. The room was silent. The single lamp in the corner was off. The heavy scent of his expensive, cold cologne still hung in the air, but the chair was empty.
"Raymond?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
I walked further into the room, my eyes searching the shadows. I checked the bathroom, the small lounge area—nothing. He was gone. My heart began to race in a blind panic. I pulled my phone out and called him.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.
I called again. And again. My thumbs were flying across the screen as I sent text after text. I’m here. Please. I had to sneak away. Don’t do this.
A second later, my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen so fast my vision blurred.
Raymond: You were late. I told you what would happen. Our contract is over. Do not contact me ever again, Aurora. After all, you didn’t even meet my expectations. There was nothing special about you.
The words hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. The phone slipped from my hand and hit the carpet with a soft thud. I felt the air leave my lungs.
"No," I choked out. "No, no, no..."
My knees gave out, and I fell to the ground, my dress bunching up around me. I started to cry. It wasn’t just a quiet sob; it was a deep, body-shaking grief that ripped through me. I didn’t even know why I was crying so hard. Was it because I had just lost the only chance to kill my family’s killers? Was it because he had insulted me, calling me "nothing special" after I had given him everything?
Or was it something even worse? Something silly and terrifying, like the fact that a part of me had actually started to crave his coldness?
"You monster!" I screamed into the empty room, but only silence answered me.
Then, like a bucket of ice water being poured over my head, I remembered.
Oliver.
The award. The ceremony. I looked at the clock on the wall. I had been gone for forty minutes.
"Oh, God. Oliver."
I scrambled to my feet, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands, but it was no use. My makeup was a smeared mess, and my hair was falling out of its curls. I ran out of the room and through the club like a madwoman. People in the hallways stared at me—a girl in a royal blue gown, crying and running as if the devil were behind her—but I didn’t care.
I burst onto the street and waved down a taxi, screaming for him to stop.
"Back to the Grand Hall! Please! Fast!"
The ride back was a blur of panic. My heart was racing so fast I thought I might have a heart attack right there in the backseat. I kept checking the time, my breath fogging up the window.
When the taxi pulled up to the venue, the red carpet was empty. The crowd of reporters had thinned out. I jumped out before the car even fully stopped and ran toward the entrance.
I rounded the corner just as the main doors opened.
Oliver was walking out.
He looked magnificent in his white suit, holding a gold trophy in his hand. He was surrounded by his guards, his face a mask of cold, hard stone. He looked like a king who had just been humiliated in front of his people.
"Oliver!" I panted, stopping a few feet away from him. My chest was heaving, tears were still streaming down my face, and I knew I looked like a disaster.
He stopped. He looked at me, his eyes traveling over my messy hair, my tear-stained cheeks, and my wrinkled dress. For a second, I saw a flash of pure, raw pain in his eyes, but then it vanished, replaced by a wall of ice.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask where I was. He didn’t ask if I was okay.
He turned his head away and kept walking toward the limo. One of the guards opened the door. Oliver got in without looking back.
"Oliver, please!" I cried, rushing to the car.
I scrambled into the seat beside him just as the guard closed the door. The car began to move.
The silence inside the limo was suffocating. Oliver sat on the opposite side, staring out the window, his jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. He held the award in his lap, his knuckles white around it.
I sat there, shaking, my hands buried in the navy silk. I wanted to reach out to him. I wanted to explain. But what could I say? I’m sorry I left you at your greatest moment to go see a man who treats me like a dog.
I looked at him, my heart breaking into a million pieces.
The ride to the packhouse felt like an eternity. The only sound was the soft hum of the tires on the road and the heavy rhythm of my own breathing. Oliver didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He just stared out at the passing streetlights.
When the limo finally pulled up to the front steps, he stepped out before the guard could even reach the handle. I scrambled out after him, nearly tripping on my hem. I followed him through the grand halls, past the whispering servants and the confused guards, all the way to his private suite.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the air became heavy with his scent—usually so comforting, but now sharp with a cold, biting anger. Oliver didn’t look at me. He walked to the center of the room, set his gold trophy down on the table with a loud thud, and began unbuttoning his white suit jacket.
"Oliver..." I whispered, my voice trembling.
He ignored me. He tossed the jacket onto a chair and started working on his cufflinks, his movements stiff and precise.
"Oliver, please talk to me," I cried, taking a step toward him.
He stopped. He didn’t turn around, but his shoulders hunched, his muscles tensing under his shirt. The silence stretched until I thought I would scream. Then, he slowly turned to face me. His eyes weren’t filled with the warmth I loved; they were dark, empty, and terrifying.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and set it on the table. He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
"In one minute," he said, his voice dangerously low and steady, "can you explain why I was standing on that stage alone, accepting an award for the most important achievement of my life while you were... somewhere else?"
He checked his watch, his jaw clenching.
"Explain to me, Aurora, why the woman I love disappeared from a high-security gala only to return forty minutes later with messy hair, smeared makeup, and a dress that looks like it’s been handled by someone else."
He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me, making me feel smaller than I ever had.
"One minute, Aurora. Tell me a story that makes sense."
I looked at him, my heart hammering. I thought it might burst. I couldn’t use James as an excuse again; Oliver had already been to the hospital and seen the truth there. I couldn’t tell him about Raymond, either. If I told him I was letting a monster touch me just to get revenge, Oliver would lose his mind.
I stood there, trembling, the silence in the room feeling like a thick, heavy blanket.
"Oliver... please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Trust me. I can’t tell you what is going on right now. I just can’t. But I promise, I will. Just... give me time."
Oliver let out a cold, sharp laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. He shook his head, his eyes boring into mine with a look of pure betrayal.
"Trust you?" he repeated, glaring hard at me. "I stood on that stage and looked at an empty chair, Aurora. And now you stand here, looking like you’ve been pinned against a wall, and you ask for trust?"
He took another step closer, his presence overpowering. "Are you seeing another man?"
"No!" I shouted, the tears starting to spill over again. "It’s not like that, Oliver! I swear!"
"You’re lying," he snapped, his voice rising for the first time. "I can smell the guilt on you. I can see it in the way you won’t look at me."
He held out his hand, palm up. His face was hard. "Give me your phone, Aurora."
My blood ran cold. The messages from Raymond were still there. The "Pet" comments, the orders to wear nothing under my dress, the threats. If Oliver saw those, there would be no coming back. Everything would end tonight.
"No," I said, clutching my purse tighter against my chest. I backed away from him, my heart racing. "I won’t give it to you."
Oliver scoffed, a sound filled with so much hurt and disgust that it made me flinch. He dropped his hand and looked at me as if he didn’t even recognize the woman standing in front of him.
"That’s what I thought," he said quietly.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t demand anything else. He just turned his back on me and walked out of the room.