The city didn't sleep, and neither did Aurora Sage.
She sat alone on the balcony of Logan Mason's penthouse, her knees drawn up to her chest, the night air biting against her skin. Below, Los Angeles pulsed like a restless animal—traffic streaming endlessly, neon lights flashing advertisements of perfection, and somewhere among it all, whispers about her name.
Every news outlet still churned with speculation. Every feed carried her face alongside Logan's. A blurred video, a smear of blood, and suddenly she wasn't just Aurora anymore. She was a story.
And she hated it.
Behind her, through the sliding glass door, Logan lay sprawled across the bed, untroubled, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. His phone rested on the nightstand, still buzzing with messages from agents, directors, and sponsors demanding explanations. He'd silenced them all, declaring that if anyone wanted him, they'd have to accept her too.
