Aurora's POV
The tattoo.
That tattoo.
The very one I had seen on the wrist of the man who assassinated my family.
No… no… it couldn't be.
Without thinking, I jumped away from him and rushed out of the room. My legs carried me toward the changing area before my mind could even catch up. I slammed the door shut, slid down to the floor, and hugged myself tightly.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst right out of my chest.
The image of the scorpion tattoo kept flashing in my head—over and over again. The same tattoo that had haunted my nightmares for years. The same tattoo I had forced myself to memorize, so I would never forget a single line.
"It's him…" I whispered, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks. "My parents' killer… it's him."
I choked on my sobs, my chest tightening as the truth sank in. All my life, I had searched for him. I had burned that image into my memory—every curve, every sharp edge. It wasn't a common design. It had a specific symbol, something unique. One of a kind.
"I can't be wrong," I cried softly. "It's really him."
Memories of that day came crashing back—the gunshots, the screaming, the metallic scent of blood. Everything. Panic took over. I had to leave. I had to go home.
What if he recognized me? What if he realized I was the surviving daughter of the family he wiped out? What if he decided to finish what he started?
trembling, I got to my feet, quickly changed out of my costume, and rushed out of the dressing room.
I met Clara at Bar Stand Two.
"I'm going home," I blurted out, my eyes darting frantically around the room. "An emergency came up."
My heart raced as I scanned the club, terrified the masked Dom might suddenly appear behind me.
Clara frowned, worry etched into her face. "Aurora, what happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I saw more than a ghost, Clara. I saw the man who murdered my family.
But I couldn't say it out loud. Clara knew my family had been assassinated, but I wasn't ready to tell her that I might have just come face to face with the monster behind it.
"Is it your brother?" she asked gently. "Did the hospital call?"
She was talking about James—my elder brother. The only other person who survived that night.
"Yes," I lied quickly. It was the only excuse I could think of. "I have to go. Please explain to the manager," I said, not waiting for her response.
I turned around and ran out of the club through the back door. A taxi was parked outside; I waved it down and jumped in. But even as the car drove toward my apartment, I couldn't calm myself down. I kept looking over my shoulder, my mind spiraling into dark places.
What if he followed me? What if he already knew who I was? What if he saw me at the club and recognized me.
"Shit!" I cursed in a panic. The taxi driver glanced at me through the mirror, and I quickly looked away, squeezing my eyes shut and forcing myself to take a deep breath.
When we reached my apartment, I paid him and rushed to the door. My fingers trembled so violently I could barely punch in the security code. The door opened, and I ran inside like I was being hunted. I locked the door immediately. Collapsing onto my small bed, I stared at the white ceiling, my heart still hammering against my ribs.
barely slept. My mind wouldn't stop racing. Should I leave the country? But what about my brother? His health? His treatment? I knew I couldn't… I couldn't just run away.
I must have drifted off at some point because I was suddenly jolted awake by my phone ringing. I realized with a shock that it was already morning. I picked up my phone and checked the message, my stomach dropping through the floor.
Aurora, if you don't find your ass here in twenty minutes, consider yourself fired.
That was a message from my manager.
"Fuck!"
I was on morning duty.
I forced myself to stand up. My legs felt like lead, but the fear was slowly being replaced by a cold, sharp desperation. I hadn't spent six years grieving just to let him take the one thing I had left. I scrubbed my face with ice-cold water, trying to hide the dark circles under my eyes with heavy makeup. I needed to be invisible. I needed to be just another face behind the bar. I wouldn't wear the costume from last night; I'd be in my standard morning shift uniform. Maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't recognize me in the daylight.
I made it to the club with two minutes to spare, breathless and sweating. Marcus was standing by the entrance, tapping his watch with a deep scowl.
"You're lucky I like your work ethic, Aurora," he grumbled, waving me toward the bar. "Get to Stand 2. It's going to be a busy morning for the private lounge guests."
My heart stopped. The private lounge. That's where the high-rollers stayed after a night of partying. That's where he would be.
As I reached the bar and began setting up the glasses, I kept my head down, my hair falling forward to shield my face. Every time the heavy doors opened, I flinched.
"Aurora! Two espressos for the VIP booth," Clara whispered, sliding a tray toward me. She looked at me closely. "You okay? You look pale as a sheet."
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice cracking.
I picked up the tray and turned toward the booths. My eyes instinctively drifted to the wrists of every man I passed. And then, I saw him. He was sitting in the corner, still masked, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit. He was talking to a group of men, looking perfectly civilized—like he hadn't spent his life destroying families.
His hand was resting on the table. And there it was. The scorpion tattoo, clear as day in the morning light.
As if pulled by a magnetic force, his eyes drifted toward me. The moment his gaze fell on me, my breath seized.
"You…" he paused. "Come here."