February 15th, 2026
Orion had been on edge for days, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly why. Maybe it was because Aurora had become… too understanding. Too calm. Too distant in a way that unsettled him.
Before, she'd been endlessly meticulous, planning their anniversaries months in advance, texting him about gifts, dinners, little surprises. She had always cared too much, asked too many questions, expected too much. And yet, that constant pull had grounded him.
But today—seven years exactly—she hadn't said a word. She hadn't brought it up in the car yesterday, and if Orion hadn't nudged her, she might have forgotten entirely. A cold twist of panic wound itself around his chest.
He frowned at his silent phone, scrolling through the empty notifications as though staring long enough might reveal the truth. A strange sense of losing control crept up his spine, crawling like a thousand ants. Something important was slipping away—something invisible, ungraspable. He couldn't hold it, couldn't stop it—but he had to do something, anything, to steady himself.
So, once again, he sent Aurora a message:
[Dealing with something important here.]
[Meet me at Celestial Heights at 6:30]
He hit send, then leaned back against the railing, trying to summon composure. The city stretched out below him, shimmering with lights like a river of stars. The scene before him did nothing to shake his unease.
"Orion!"
The voice was sweet, too sweet, too irritating.
He looked up, annoyance flashing in his eyes.
Rhea, smiling with all the practiced sweetness of someone who knew exactly how to play the part. And next to her, her father, Byron Flynn, looking every bit the elder statesman.
Before Orion could speak, a nurse wheeled Ryder Durnavelle, his grandfather, closer. The old man's brow was permanently furrowed into a deep crease, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"Since we're done with business and it's dinnertime," Ryder said gruffly, "I invited our future in–laws to join us."
Byron played along, adopting the tone of an elder.
Byron followed suit, his tone adopting the cadence of an elder delivering a final decree. "This has been dragging on for a year. Time to set a wedding date for you two so hurry up, finish your work, and let's eat. Enough delays."
Rhea then stayed close to Orion's side, her posture shy and obedient.
"Sure," Orion said, lips curving into a smile but his gaze was cold. "I was planning to meet with Mr. Flynn tomorrow anyway."
Byron froze mid–smile. His grin faltered as his eyes locked onto Orion.
"But since this is perfect timing," Orion continued, his voice steady and sharp, "let's talk about that plot in the development zone."
Byron's eyes bulged, veins standing out along his temples. "Development zone? What development zone?"
Ryder's ashen face betrayed his mounting panic.
Only Rhea remained seemingly oblivious. Still blushing, she spoke up timidly. "Dad, it's the plot in South District. Orion said it was urgent. Last night…" She hesitated, face flushing even deeper. "I… I used the company seal to approve it for him."
Each word she uttered hit the two old men like a sledgehammer. Color drained from their faces. They paled, staggered, and within minutes Ryder crumpled to the floor, unconscious from the shock. Byron, hysterical, was barely restrained by security as they dragged him out.
Rhea froze in place, like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Her eyes widened as understanding slowly dawned. "…So… you were using me this whole time?"
Orion's gaze was icy. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared down at her, silence stretching like a blade between them.
"Being nice to me was fake—just to gain my trust so you could go after my dad?" Rhea's voice cracked, but she laughed bitterly at her own foolishness. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them together. "Seriously, I don't understand half of your business dealings, Orion. I really don't. But I trusted you… I thought you were different."
Her glare sharpened. "And I never did anything to hurt you! Even knowing you had a girlfriend, I waited. I waited for you to end it with her. How could you do this to me?"
She had believed she was in control, that her father's manipulations had given her leverage. She had naively allowed him to use his shares as a weapon, pressuring Orion into an arranged marriage with her.
Now that he'd reclaimed control of his shares and freed himself from her father's manipulation, Orion had no interest in wasting another expression on her.
His voice was flat, chillingly calm. "Didn't you? If you hadn't pulled strings, how would you have gotten that position at Durnavelle Industries?"
Rhea froze. Her smile faltered, her hands gripping the edge of the table. For a moment, she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
"What now?!" Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "So you're defending your girlfriend Aurora, is that it?"
Orion hadn't expected her to even know about Aurora. His brow furrowed ever so slightly—just enough to make her pause. And she noticed.
So Aurora was his only weakness.
Her eyes burned red with fury.
Orion had planned to use Rhea like a Post-it note—stick her in place, get what he needed, then toss her aside. But she had clung on too tightly, unwilling to be discarded quietly. Even if it killed her pride, she would tear a layer of his skin with her hands.
"Did you know that girlfriend of yours submitted her resignation this morning?" Rhea's smirk was razor-sharp. "Since she's one level below me, and employees below Level 4 don't need your approval to quit…" She paused as she noticed Orion's jaw tighten, his control slipping. "I figured you didn't know. Thought I'd be nice and give you a heads-up."
Orion's pupils contracted sharply. He glanced at his watch, his composure returning with forced precision. "Now that we don't have any business with each other, I hope this is the last time we'll be seeing each other."
But Rhea was relentless. She caught the flicker of panic in his quickened pace. Her smile widened, vicious and triumphant.
"Oh, one more thing!" Her voice dripped with venom, satisfaction coursing through every syllable. "Aurora saw us kissing last night!"
Orion's hand froze on the door handle. The words hit him like ice.
Rhea's eyes gleamed, almost tearful in their cruelty, as she leaned forward slightly. "You should've seen the look on her face. Goodness! What a shame you missed it!"
For the first time that day, Orion's calm veneer cracked, just enough for a shadow of something—anger, fear, regret—to flicker across his face.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Orion immediately drove home, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white, while repeatedly trying to call Aurora. Every ring went unanswered. Her phone went straight to voicemail.
When he opened the door, the silence hit him like a wave. Everything looked exactly as it had that morning—untouched.
Aurora's favorite throw pillow was still on the couch, her clothes still folded neatly in the closet. Every small, ordinary detail whispered that she had been here, and yet… wasn't.
His racing heart, aching from panic and guilt, began to settle slightly, but then his gaze fell on the nightstand. Their couple's ring lay there, side by side, gleaming under the soft light. Underneath them was a small note, the handwriting was unmistakably hers:
"We're done. I don't want this ring anymore.'
Orion's chest tightened. His fingers trembled as he fumbled for his phone and dialed her number again, desperate, almost praying that somehow she'd pick up.
But it was the same robotic voice repeating, cold and indifferent:
"The number you have dialed is not available."
It felt like arrows of poison piercing straight into his chest, each one sharper than the last.
Then, just when the weight of panic and despair was about to crush him, his phone rang.
An unknown number.
His hands shook so violently that he almost dropped the phone. For a man who had faced death, betrayal, and corporate warfare without flinching, this trembling feeling was alien to him.
"Rora?" His voice was hoarse, brittle, barely holding the edge of hope.
A polite, professional voice came through. "Mr. Durnavelle, good evening. We're calling from Celestial Heights. It's now 6:31 p.m., and neither you nor your girlfriend have arrived. Should we postpone your proposal setup to a later time?"
The words slammed into him like a physical blow. His chest felt hollow, his stomach dropped. The moment he had envisioned for years—carefully planned, imagined in detail—was gone.
Shattered.
But there was no time to collapse into grief.
Byron Flynn, his grandfather Ryder, and the remaining threats to his company all demanded attention. Days blurred into nights as Orion fought tirelessly, countering every desperate move, every final gambit aimed at reclaiming the shares he had rightfully earned. His world became nothing but meetings, calls, and calculations.
And then, finally, twenty-nine days after the breakup, when Durnavelle Industries was completely, indisputably his, Orion exhaled for the first time in nearly a month.
Only then did he allow himself to fly—to go to the country where Aurora was, to the place where perhaps, if she allowed it, he could try to fix the irreparable.
He was clutching the couple's ring Aurora had left behind, gripping it so tightly it dug into his palms until it bled. The metal bit into his skin, but he barely felt it over the storm raging in his chest.
Finally, the truth hit him. The indescribable bitterness he'd been carrying—the hollow ache, the twisting emptiness—that wasn't anger. It was hurt. Pure, unfiltered hurt.
He muttered under his breath, bitter and self-reproaching. 'Rora had really gone too far this time.'
Fighting, arguing, testing each other's limits—that had been manageable. But this… leaving the country without a word? That crossed a line.
He told himself she must have done it out of love since he saw him with Rhea.
He tried to block out the memory of her unsettling calmness over the past few weeks—her quiet, measured detachment that had driven him insane. Her silence, her smiles that didn't reach her eyes, her patience that seemed endless—all of it was gone now.
'As long as I go to her… as long as I make things right, she'll come back to me immediately,' he convinced himself. The thought was simple, comforting, almost delusional, but he clung to it like a lifeline.
But then, on a narrow street in a foreign country, framed by the golden glow of streetlights and the hum of evening traffic, he saw her.
His Aurora.
She was there, framed by the golden glow of streetlights, her hair catching the light just so, her profile familiar and impossible to forget.
But she wasn't alone.
She was kissing another man.