AURORA'S POV:
I didn't even realize i'd fallen asleep.
Not like that, not… comfortably.
But there i was half-awake, disoriented, my breath caught in my throat as i blinked past the soft gray morning light bleeding through the curtains.
And i felt it.
Warmth.
A weight over my waist. A steady inhale and exhale, matching mine. And a strong, steady arm wrapped securely around me, like i belonged there.
My heart leapt into my throat.
Lance.
I was curled into him, my forehead against his chest, my fingers unconsciously curled in the fabric of his shirt. And his arm, the one around me, tightened slightly. Not in a suffocating way. Just... enough.
God.
I froze.
When did this happen?
How did this happen?
Last night was a blur of awkward silence, polite dinner talk, a million questions from his parents, and a desperate effort to act like i was someone I wasn't his girlfriend.
And now, I was waking up like this?
I tried to shift, just a little, carefully peeling his arm off me, but he groaned softly and tugged me closer.
I stilled.
His face brushed against my hair as he murmured, half-asleep, "Five more minutes."
What.
What is happening right now.
I should pull away.
I should say something.
But… I didn't. I just stayed there for a moment longer, eyes wide open, heart racing like it was running from a crime scene.
Because for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I felt safe.
It was terrifying.
And stupid.
Because this wasn't supposed to feel like anything.
He wasn't supposed to feel like anything.
This was Lance, calm, steady, frustratingly unreadable Lance.
But here i was.
Feeling something.
And somehow, I knew… he was feeling something too.
I pretended to be asleep when i felt him stir.
His arm slipped away from me slowly, like he didn't really want to let go and then the bed shifted, the sheets rustled, and he was gone.
I waited five full minutes before sitting up.
I stared at the spot where he had just been, the pillow still warm, the quiet hum of the AC suddenly louder now that he wasn't breathing next to me.
This is ridiculous.
I ran my hands through my hair and tried to shake it off, tried to breathe like a normal person as i slid off the bed and walked out of the room. His parents was gone already.
I found him in the kitchen, already dressed, cooking.
"Good morning," he said, not even turning.
His voice was smoother than usual. Maybe it was just morning rasp. Or maybe it wasn't.
"Morning," I replied, trying to sound as normal as possible. I pulled the sleeves of my oversized shirt over my hands, realizing it was actually Lance's old hoodie that i'd borrowed the night before. "What are you cooking?"
"Scrambled eggs. Toast. I was gonna make bacon, but... I figured you wouldn't want that. Healthy girl and all."
"You figured right."
He glanced at me then, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You sleep okay?"
I hesitated.
"…Yeah. Actually, I did."
Our eyes held for a beat too long.
Then he looked away and focused on the eggs like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
After breakfast, we gathered what we needed, notes, phone, his laptop and headed to BGC.
The ride was mostly quiet.
Not the awkward kind, but the kind that came from both of us thinking too much and not knowing what to say.
I stared out the window, watching the buildings blur past.
This part of the city always felt too perfect. Too polished.
Too clean and yet, somewhere in the middle of all that glass and marble and curated aesthetics… something terrible had happened.
To Luis.
To me.
To my life.
We parked near the building.
I didn't even know what it was called, i'd never bothered to ask. It was one of those rooftop event venues, exclusive and elite, with string lights and polished cement and city skyline views.
The building staff already knew Lance, probably because of the permits and investigation process.
They let us up without much of a fuss.
And then there we were.
Back at the scene.
Back at the beginning.
I stood at the center of the rooftop, slowly turning in place, letting the memories filter in like smoke.
Everything looked the same.
The long bar against the wall.
The high tables.
The lounge chairs.
The DJ booth in the corner.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
"I was standing over there," I said softly, pointing near the bar. "Selena and i were together. Luis was across the room. He kept looking at us."
Lance stood a few steps away, notepad in hand, silent but listening.
"I remember i was on my second drink. I don't even like drinking at events, but... I don't know. I needed to breathe. It had been a long week."
He nodded.
"And then a guy he came over. Not someone i recognized. He had a blazer, maybe early thirties. He offered to get us another round."
"Did you take it?" Lance asked, stepping closer.
"I did. I think that was my third glass. Selena said she didn't want any more."
I squinted, trying to remember.
"I took a sip, and... I don't know. Something felt off. My vision felt weird. My head got heavy."
"You didn't finish the drink?"
I shook my head. "No. I told anyone i was going home. That i wasn't feeling good."
"And they let you leave alone?"
Lance was scribbling something down.
I walked to the corner where i remembered standing with the drink.
The city spread out below us mocking, oblivious.
I hugged myself.
"I don't remember anything after that. Just... waking up in my bed. Still in my dress. Makeup smudged. Phone missing."
I turned to look at him. "Someone did something to me, Lance. I know it. But i don't know who. Or why."
He looked up from his notes and met my eyes. "We'll figure it out."
I nodded, but a part of me, some small, scared part, wasn't sure.
That night, we stayed in.
Again.
Lance worked on his laptop, pulling files, syncing timelines, checking the guest list from the party.
I sat on the couch, scrolling through the new phone Bianca had given me. I didn't open social media. I couldn't.
Instead, I opened my email.
Endorsements gone.
Movie role gone.
And all handed over to someone else.
Selena.
I should be mad.
I should be hurt. But i wasn't.
Not completely.
Because i knew how this worked. The industry was brutal. And Selena was good—talented, rising, clean reputation. It made sense.
Still… I thought we were closer than that.
And maybe that's what hurt the most.
Around midnight, I stood from the couch and walked to Lance's desk.
He was still staring at the screen, deep in whatever rabbit hole he was trying to crawl into.
"Hey," I said softly.
He glanced up. "Can't sleep?"
"Can't think."
He nodded. "Same."
"Want tea?"
He blinked at me, surprised. "You're making tea?"
"Don't look so shocked. I can boil water."
He chuckled under his breath, and for the first time in days, something eased in my chest.
So we made tea.
Sat on the floor.
Leaned against the couch.
No words. Just breathing. Just… surviving.
And maybe somewhere between the silence and the slow sips, we started healing.
I hope so…