The mansion was quiet—too quiet.
Aurora's bare feet ghosted across the marble floor, her robe cinched tightly around her waist as if it could hold her anxiety in place. The message had burned itself into her thoughts, replaying again and again.
You're not safe there. He's lying to you. I can prove it. Meet me. Alone.
She hadn't responded.
She hadn't dared.
Not yet.
But the silence in the house was louder than any warning. Rafael had gone to a late-night meeting. His guards were stationed outside, none inside. He'd insisted on giving her space.
A small part of her had almost believed it was genuine.
Almost.
She stood by the window now, phone gripped tightly, the city lights glowing like fireflies below. Somewhere in that darkness, someone was waiting for her. Someone who claimed to know more about Rafael's secrets.
She didn't know why she believed them.
Maybe it was because lies had become her only language in this world.
Maybe it was because her father's return had torn a new hole in her already fragile reality.
Or maybe it was just that Rafael had given her everything—except the truth.
Fifteen minutes later, she was out the door.
She'd dressed simply: black jeans, a hoodie, no makeup. Her hair pulled back. A knife tucked into her boot. Just in case.
She didn't take a car. Too loud. Too traceable. Instead, she slipped into the shadows, ducked through the trees at the edge of the property, and took the back trail down into the old city district.
The meet-up point was a crumbling church—one of those places lost to time and memory. She slipped in through the side entrance, the heavy wooden door creaking behind her.
The air inside was musty, thick with dust and history.
Her footsteps echoed off the stone as she walked toward the altar.
And then—
A figure stepped out of the shadows.
She froze.
It wasn't her father.
It wasn't anyone she recognized.
He was tall, olive-skinned, with a trimmed beard and sharp eyes that flicked over her like a scalpel.
"Aurora," he said, voice low and accented. "You came."
Her hand drifted subtly to the blade in her boot. "Who are you?"
"I'm someone who used to work for your lover," he said. "Until he had my brother killed."
She blinked. "What?"
"I was Rafael Costa's most loyal handler. I moved his shipments. Paid his enemies. Cleaned his messes. But when my brother refused to obey an order—to execute a ten-year-old girl—Rafael made an example of him."
Aurora's throat tightened.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" he pulled something from his coat—a flash drive. "This has recordings. Footage. Ledgers. Proof of what Rafael's done. And how he's played you."
Her pulse pounded.
She took a shaky breath. "Why give this to me?"
"Because you're the only one close enough to destroy him."
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
A sound.
A sharp creak.
Aurora spun—
A figure burst from the side aisle—another man, face hidden under a ski mask.
She didn't have time to scream.
Strong arms wrapped around her, dragging her back, pinning her to a cold pillar. Her blade fell from her boot with a clatter.
"Careful with her," the man from the shadows warned. "We need her alive."
Back at the mansion, Rafael was already on his feet the moment the inner alarm buzzed. Motion triggered. Side exit.
His blood turned cold.
"Aurora," he growled under his breath, storming down the corridor. "Where the fuck did you go?"
He dialed her phone.
No answer.
Then he checked the outdoor camera logs.
There—on the northwest property edge. A faint figure slipping into the woods.
His jaw clenched.
"She's meeting someone," he muttered, rage rising. "Someone who's trying to get to her."
He turned to Nicolo, who stood guard at the door.
"Get the car. Now."
Aurora fought. Hard.
She kicked, twisted, bit—until one of the men backhanded her across the face.
She dropped to her knees, the world spinning.
"Take her to the van," the one with the flash drive ordered. "Rafael's probably already looking. We don't have long."
As the masked man dragged her toward the side exit, a gunshot exploded through the church.
Then another.
The masked man fell—dead before he hit the ground.
The one holding the flash drive ducked, pulled his gun—but Rafael was already there, walking through the church like death in a tailored suit, eyes blazing, gun raised.
"Touch her again," Rafael growled, "and I'll make what I did to your brother look merciful."
"You son of a—"
BANG.
A bullet tore through the man's leg.
He screamed and dropped, blood pooling fast.
Rafael crossed the distance in seconds, grabbing Aurora and pulling her behind him.
"You followed me," she breathed, dazed.
"I always do."
He cupped her face roughly, scanning the bruise on her cheek. His hands trembled. His rage was ice beneath his skin.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
And emptied another round into the kneeling man's chest.
No questions.
No hesitation.
Only blood.
The ride back was silent.
Aurora sat in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around herself, the flash drive clutched tightly in her hand.
Rafael drove one-handed, the other resting on her thigh, thumb stroking gently—almost apologetically.
She finally spoke.
"What's on this drive, Rafael?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, quietly—
"Parts of my past you won't like."
She turned to him. "Is it true? What he said? About the child?"
He looked at her.
Pain flickered in his eyes.
"Yes," he said. "But I didn't order it."
She didn't respond.
She didn't have a response.
Later that night, Rafael pulled her into the shower with him—fully clothed at first, water soaking their bodies as he pressed her against the marble.
His mouth was rough on hers, possessive, desperate.
"I thought I lost you tonight," he whispered against her lips. "I won't let that happen again."
He stripped her slowly, reverently—every button, every strap.
Then he dropped to his knees, mouth between her thighs, worshipping her as if proving she was still his.
Her moans echoed against the tile as she came on his tongue, legs trembling.
He stood, lifted her effortlessly, and slid into her in one long, wet thrust.
She gasped.
The water cascaded over them as he moved inside her, slow and deep.
"You don't get to run anymore," he whispered. "Not from me."
"Rafael…"
He gripped her ass, thrusting harder now, her body slamming against the wall.
"Say it," he growled.
"I'm yours," she cried out.
He groaned into her shoulder as he came, filling her, body pressed tight against hers.
And in that moment, she believed it.
She wanted to believe it.
Even as the flash drive sat on the nightstand—waiting to be opened.
Waiting to reveal the truth.