AURORA'S POV:
It's been a week.
Seven days since Julius was sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.
And yet—here i am.
Still haunted.
Still grasping for breath in moments that should feel safe.
Still curling into Lance's side at night like i'll disappear if I let go.
Still not sure who i am outside of what they tried to do to me.
I can hear the city outside our condo.
The dull hum of traffic.
The occasional scream of an ambulance siren. A child's laughter echoing faintly through the concrete walls. It's all happening, as if the world never paused. As if it never shattered beneath my feet.
But mine did. My world did.
The very second i saw Bianca's face behind the Judge's mask.
The very second Julius looked me dead in the eye, and there was nothing, no remorse, no guilt, no flicker of who he used to be. If he ever was anyone else to begin with.
I used to trust them.
Bianca. My manager. My friend. My ally. The woman who held my hand during breakdowns, who knew every secret i never shared with anyone else.
I let her into the most private parts of my life. She knew where i hid my fears. She knew how I hated sleeping alone. She knew i preferred silence over music when i was working. She knew my passwords.
And Julius.
He was my childhood. He was the boy who gave me my first birthday card when i turned sixteen. The one who used to sneak me burger in between takes during a shampoo commercial when i was sixteen. The same boy who told me i deserved everything i was working hard for. The boy who left for the U.S. or so i thought.
Turns out, he never left. Not really. He stayed. In shadows. In silence.
In rooms with red string and photographs of me from when i was sixteen until now. He stayed behind every corner i thought was empty.
He knew everything.
Every move. Every dress. Every brand deal. Every time i blinked, it felt like he never missed it.
I want to scream.
But i can't.
I just sit here, curled on the velvet couch in Lance's condo, my knees pulled to my chest, wearing one of his sweatshirts.
The air smells like his cologne and the coffee he forgot to finish this morning. And still, even with the weight of his presence lingering in every corner of this space… I feel cracked open.
He's working in the other room. On a new case. But i know, he's watching me, too. In small ways. Every ten minutes, he checks if I've eaten. If I've drunk water. If i need him. I never say it out loud, but I always need him.
I can't leave his side.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Earlier this morning, I watched him get ready.
He buttoned his shirt slowly, his hair still damp from the shower. He asked if i wanted to come with him to the firm, and i nodded before he even finished the sentence.
Of course i would. Where else would i go?
I don't go to shoots anymore.
I don't want to see the outside world.
Not yet.
They keep asking for me, brands, networks, producers. They say my name's trending for the right reasons now. They say the public's rooting for me. That i'm the symbol of survival.
But i don't feel strong.
I feel like i'm still underwater, and Lance is the only reason i haven't drowned.
"Babe," he says gently, when we arrive at his office. He holds the door open for me, then presses a soft kiss on my temple. "You okay?"
I nod.
But my chest tightens when his phone buzzes. The sound makes my stomach twist, like something awful is about to happen again. I flinch.
He notices. Of course he does.
"I can turn it off," he offers.
"No," I shake my head, trying to smile. "I'm okay. I promise."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Instead, he lets me sit beside him on the leather couch in his office.
He gives me one of his case files, something light, he says. Just contracts. Civil. No blood. No crime scene photos. Nothing that would remind me of what i've just lived through.
I want to help him. In any way i can. It makes me feel human again.
So i read. Highlight. Scribble notes. Try to remember that i used to be good at things.
That i had a brain before i was just a name in a headline. That i mattered before i became a victim.
The days blur.
I'm always with him now. In meetings. In court. At lunch. I never sit far. I sleep on his chest. I walk three steps behind or beside him. I only breathe when he's in the room.
He doesn't complain.
Not once.
And i don't know how to thank him for that.
One night, we're watching a movie on his couch. Some stupid rom-com. The kind with bad acting and overly dramatic rain scenes. I don't even know what's happening anymore. I'm just watching the way Lance eats popcorn. One piece at a time. Always from the corner of the bowl.
"I missed you," I whisper.
He turns.
"I'm right here."
"No… not like that. I mean—I missed the way it felt. When you'd laugh. When i'd make fun of your playlists. When we'd argue over what takeout to order."
His eyes soften.
"We'll get that back," he says. "Maybe not exactly the same… but better. We'll build something better."
I nod.
But i'm still scared.
Still wondering if i'll ever stop checking over my shoulder.
Still wondering if every kind face hides a knife.
Still wondering if the people i love will always be the ones who try to break me.
Sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and just… stare at him.
Lance.
The man who believed me when no one did. The man who risked his career, his safety, his future for me.
Who held me in a safehouse when i couldn't speak. Who made me tea i never drank but always appreciated. Who let me fall apart and never asked me to put the pieces back together.
Who never, not once, blamed me for the weight i now carry.
I don't know what comes next.
Maybe i'll go back to work someday. Maybe i'll do interviews. Maybe i'll tell the world what happened, not just to clear my name, but to remind people that monsters don't always look like monsters.
Sometimes they look like your manager.
Or your childhood friend.
Sometimes they speak kindly and say the right things. Sometimes they open doors and give you flowers and post sweet captions on your birthday.
But all the while, they're building cages for you to walk into.
And when they finally lock the door… no one believes you at first. Because how could someone so loved do something so cruel?
But they can. And they do. And they did.
And i lived through it.
Lance sleeps with his arm around me now. Always.
I think he knows i can't sleep without him.
Sometimes, I whisper thank yous against his collarbone.
He never responds.
But in the morning, he kisses my forehead a little softer. Holds my hand a little longer.
Wakes me up with the kind of eyes that say, you're safe. I'm here. You made it.
And maybe… maybe that's enough for now.