Chapter 6: CHAPTER 6

Aurora's POV

My breath suddenly gets caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat, trapped there like it’s forgotten how to escape.

Andrew stands above me, his gray eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

Those eyes.

I have seen them before. I know I have. But where? And when?

The street lamp behind him leaves his face half in shadow, sharp angles made sharper by the darkness. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and the rigid set of his jaw.

He looks angry, or maybe it's something else. Something I can’t identify because I don’t know him well enough to read the subtle changes in his expression.

But I feel it. Whatever it is. It presses against my chest like a hand, squeezing until I can barely breathe.

“I…” My voice comes out rough and broken. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s from a thrift store.”

His eyes narrow. “Try again.”

“I am not lying.”

“Yes, you are.” He takes a step closer, and I press harder against the stone wall behind me. “I can see it in your face. You are lying.”

My heart hammers so hard I am sure he can hear it. “Why do you care?”

The question lingers between us, heavy and sharp. For a moment, something crosses his face. Maybe pain. But it’s gone before I can grasp it, replaced by that same cold mask he wore at the party.

“I don’t,” he says.

Two simple, final words.

They shouldn’t hurt. This man is a stranger. A cruel, arrogant stranger who watched me get humiliated tonight and did nothing. Who bumped into me in the hallway like I was invisible. Who has made it clear from the moment we met that I am beneath his notice.

So why does my chest hurt like he just reached in and squeezed my heart?

I swallow hard, tasting salt from the tears that haven’t quite dried on my cheeks. “Then why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at me with that steel gaze that feels like it’s trying to excavate something buried deep inside me. Something I don’t even know is there.

The silence stretches. A car passes on the street behind him, its headlights lighting his face for a second. I see the hard line of his mouth, the slight crease between his brows, and the way his jaw moves like he's grinding his teeth.

He is fighting something. I can see it in every tense line of his body. The way his shoulders stay rigid even as his hands quiver in his pockets. The muscle ticking in his jaw. The way he keeps swallowing like there are words caught in his throat that he refuses to let out.

But what?

“Stay away from Veridian,” he says finally. His voice is low, barely audible over the echo of distant footsteps and car engines. “You don’t belong there.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. “I need that job.”

“Find another one.”

“I can’t.” My voice breaks on the last word. “I have a son. I need the money. And I can’t just…”

I stop. His expression changes. The cold mask cracks, just for a second, and I see something else under it. Something that looks almost like grief.

“You have a son?” he suddenly asks.

“Yes.”

He takes a step back. Then another. Like the words physically pushed him away. His hands come out of his pockets, and I see them shaking before he clenches them into fists.

“How old?”

The question is so quiet I almost miss it.

“Two.”

He flinches. Actually flinches, like I hit him. Then he turns away, his back stiff, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

I wait. I don’t know what else to do.

“The diapers,” he says after a long moment. “At the party. They were his.”

“Yes.”

He nods slowly, still not looking at me. Then, without another word, he walks away. His footsteps echo down the empty street, steady and sure, until the darkness swallows him whole.

I stay there, my back still pressed against the cold stone wall, watching the spot where he disappeared.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

The apartment is dark when I finally make it home. I fumble with my keys, my fingers still shaking, and push the door open to find Alaric asleep on my couch.

No. Not asleep.

His eyes open the moment I step inside, alert and worried. Jayden is curled against his chest, one tiny fist clutching Alaric’s shirt, his dark hair a mess of curls.

My son. The only thing in this world that makes sense.

“Aurora.” Alaric’s voice is soft, careful not to wake Jayden. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I drop my bag by the door and cross the room, my legs heavy. “The party was just… a lot.”

He shifts, sitting up slowly while supporting Jayden’s weight. “Your eyes are red.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don't look fine.” He stands, moving toward me with that same careful grace he always has. Like he’s afraid I might shatter if he moves too fast. “Did someone hurt you?”

Yes.

No.

I don’t know.

“I just want to sleep,” I whisper, reaching for Jayden. Alaric passes him to my arms, and I breathe in my son’s scent. Baby shampoo and milk and something uniquely him. Something that holds me steady when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“Aurora…”

“Please.” I look up at him, and whatever he sees in my face makes him stop. “I just need to sleep.”

He studies me for another long moment. Then he nods, grabbing his coat from the back of the couch. “I’ll come by in the morning. We need to talk.”

I don’t ask what about. I am too tired to care.

After he leaves, I carry Jayden to his crib in the corner of the room. The apartment is tiny, barely big enough for the two of us. One room that serves as bedroom, living room, and kitchen all at once. The bathroom is so small I can barely turn around in it.

But it’s ours.

I lay Jayden down gently, brushing his dark curls back from his forehead. He stirs, his little face scrunching up, but he doesn’t wake. Just makes a small sound and rolls onto his side, one hand curled under his cheek.

He looks like me. At least, I think he does. It’s hard to tell when I can barely remember my own face from before. But he has my nose, maybe. My chin.

And his eyes…

His eyes are the colour of storm clouds. Gray-green, changing between shades depending on the light.

Like Andrew’s.

No.

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. It’s just a coincidence. Gray eyes aren’t that uncommon. And I don’t know Andrew. I have never known him.

Right?

I pull away from the crib and collapse on my bed without bothering to change. The sheets smell stale, but I am too exhausted to care. I close my eyes and try to sleep.

But all I see is that steel gaze staring at me like I’m a ghost.