Chapter 87

Chapter 87:

The Gathering Storm

Aurora’s POV

The sky over San Andreas churned in muted shades of gray, as if it, too, sensed what was coming. A strange hush settled over the city, the kind that made your chest tighten, like the whole world was holding its breath.

But my mind wasn’t on the weather.

“It was Tiffany’s father.”

Dominique’s words still rang in my head, echoing like a bell I couldn’t unring. I didn’t understand, what did Tiffany’s father have to do with this mess? Why hadn’t I heard his name before? Why was he surfacing now, when everything was already falling apart?

I needed answers. And as much as I hated to admit it, there was only one person who might give them to me.

My father.

I stood by the window in my hotel suite, arms crossed tightly against my chest. The skyline outside was a jagged silhouette, softened only by a thin drizzle clinging to the glass. My heart pounded with a chaotic rhythm, one beat fear, the other stubborn resolve.

I wasn’t running anymore. Not from the truth. Not from my past. And certainly not from the war brewing around me.

Behind me, the door creaked open.

I didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“Aurora,” my father’s voice came, quieter than usual. Weak. Tired. As if he already knew what was coming.

“How is Tiffany’s father connected to all of this?” I asked, still facing the window.

There was silence, too long and when he finally spoke, his voice was soaked in guilt.

“I lied to you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to hate Don Vito… so I withheld the truth.”

I turned around slowly, pain blooming in my chest. “You made me hate the wrong man?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why would you do that?” My voice cracked, fury rising from deep within me.

He looked at me, shame in his eyes. “Because a part of me wanted you to hate the Blackwoods. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being attached to them. To him.”

His words stung more than I wanted to admit.

“But that doesn’t excuse what you did,” I whispered, before my voice broke into a scream. “You lied. You manipulated me. You made me believe Dominique, Don Vito was behind everything when you knew the truth!”

“I did it for you!” he shouted back, taking a step closer. “I wanted to protect you!”

“No,” I said coldly, shaking my head. “You did it for you. Your gambling, your debts, your selfish pride. That’s what ruined everything. You didn’t protect me, you failed me.”

The words spilled out like venom, and I saw the impact in the way he froze, the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

But I couldn’t stop.

“You caused this. Not Dominique. Not Damian. Not even Don Vito. You. Your greed put me in the hands of devils, and now you want to pretend you were the hero all along?”

His lips parted like he wanted to defend himself, but no words came.

I shrugged off the hand he tried to place on my shoulder and walked past him, my heart heavy with grief and guilt. I didn’t regret what I said because it was the truth. But damn, it hurt to say it out loud.

I found myself standing alone in the garden, the air damp and cool. It was quiet here, a bubble of stillness in a world that no longer made sense. Just months ago, I was a normal girl dreaming about prom and fairy-tale endings.

Now?

Now I was standing in the middle of a battlefield, torn between love and vengeance.

“Lost in thought?” a familiar voice asked behind me.

I turned to find Damian approaching, his presence always composed, but tonight, something weighed on him too.

“You look tired,” I said softly.

“So do you,” he replied, his gaze studying me. “You saw him?”

I nodded. “He's angry. Not that I left… but that I didn’t tell him why.”

“Dominique?”

“Yes.” I sighed. “He’s planning something. I saw it in the way his men shadowed me. He’s not going to let me stay away from him like before.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “There’s no neutral ground anymore, Rory. Not in this city. Not in this war.”

“I know,” I whispered. “That’s why I need to talk to him. Alone. So he understands why I left… why I had to.”

He didn’t like it, I could see it in the way his mouth twitched, the glint of something possessive flashing in his eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve changed. But so has he. You might not recognize the man he’s become.”

I met his gaze. “Then it’s time I find out.”

\---

Dominique’s quarters hadn’t changed. Still cloaked in its dark, old-world elegance, but the shadows seemed deeper now as if the walls had absorbed every sin ever committed within them.

The guards recognized me, but no one said a word as I was led inside. When I stepped into the study, I felt him before I saw him.

He stood by the fireplace, holding a glass of something dark, eyes fixed on the flames.

“You came back,” he said without turning. “Why?”

His voice was sharp, cold. But underneath… pain. So much pain.

“We need to talk,” I said.

He turned slowly, eyes meeting mine. Those ocean-blue eyes, so fierce, so familiar swept over me like a storm.

“Talk?” he scoffed. “Now you want to talk? After disappearing for months and leaving me to burn in the wreckage?”

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” I said firmly. “I left because you made it clear I meant nothing to you. And because I needed answers.”

He set his glass down deliberately. “Answers to the past are like fire. You dig too deep, you get burned.”

“You always say that. But people are dying around me, Dominique. And I’m tired of not knowing why. I want to understand. I need to understand.”

There was silence. Thick and aching.

“You made me weak,” he said finally. “And in this world, weakness is death. So I hated you for it. Hated myself more.”

The words twisted something in me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And now? Am I still weak?”

His gaze softened. Just for a moment. “No. You’re fire now.”

A beat passed.

“But the storm’s already here,” he added. “Victor knows you know the truth about your mother. And Tiffany’s gone rogue. They’ll come for you. Because you’re the piece they need to break.”

I straightened my shoulders. “Then let them come. I won’t be anyone’s bargaining chip again.”

\---

Later that night, I stood on the balcony of the mansion, the wind brushing through my hair as I stared out at the city.

Damian joined me, quiet at first.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“He’s still angry,” I replied. “But he’ll calm down.”

Damian chuckled, low and dark. “Calm has never been one of Dominique’s talents.”

We stood in silence as thunder rolled across the sky.

War was coming.

And for once, I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t going to run.

Not this time.

This time, I’d meet it head-on.

It would either kill me…

Or I would kill it first.