I woke to the sound of glass shattering.
At first, I thought it was just a dream, some echo of the chaos always running through my mind—but then I heard his voice. Rafael's. Cold. Controlled. The kind of voice that made my stomach twist before my eyes even opened.
"Aurora."
My name rolled off his tongue like a threat.
I blinked awake, squinting against the dim light spilling through the curtains. He stood at the edge of the bed, a half-empty glass on the floor beside him, its contents pooling like blood on the marble. His jaw was tight, his hair a mess of tension, and his shirt hung open, showing the ink sprawled across his chest—the mark of his empire.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
"Rafael?" I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around me. "What happened?"
He didn't answer at first. Just watched me, dark eyes flicking to the bed, to the pillow, to the mattress. My pulse skipped. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
"Where is it?" he asked quietly.
