Chapter 70 My voice
RORY POV
“How is it going with you and Luke? He’s still not talking to you?” I asked Vivianne.
We were both slouched on the big couch in the main living room, binge-watching one of those After movies. Well, I was trying to watch. She kept drifting off, staring into space, clearly not paying attention.
“I’ve sent him tons of messages. He won’t reply,” she sighed, digging her fingers into the bag of popcorn in front of her. “The last thing I want is to show up at my brother’s company to see him. Alexander might catch on and realize something’s going on between us.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” I offered.
“Maybe tell him you like him and he’ll call off the wedding?”
Luke definitely wouldn’t listen to me, but I could try.
“If he doesn’t love her, he won’t be marrying her,” she pointed out, voice flat.
“Not when he was sleeping with you just a few days before he told you he’s getting married. That doesn’t sit right with me at all.”
She sighed again, deeper this time. “That’s men for you, Rory. And it was just sex. My good pussy somehow didn’t stop him from finding the love of his life.”
She shook her head more dramatically like she genuinely couldn’t believe her own pussy had let her down like this.
“Do you know anything about her?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m sure she’s some beautiful public figure. I don’t want to think about it — I might cry again. Better to wait until their wedding next month.”
"Next month? That's so fast!" | lamented.
Before she could answer, the heavy front doors clicked open. Alexander and Luke walked in, looking every bit the cold, powerful executives. I let my eyes linger on Alexander for a heartbeat-just long enough to feel that familiar pull-before I pointedly snapped my gaze back to the TV screen.
I felt Vivianne stiffen beside me as her eyes found Luke.
She threw two pieces of popcorn at him. “Shut up.”
He shook his head and came straight toward me. He planted a soft kiss on top of my hair.
My stupid heart did that fluttery thing again.
“How was your day?” he asked, pulling back.
I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t. I just kept staring at the TV. He shouldn’t get to compare me to his dead wife and still expect me to talk to him like nothing happened.
He cocked a brow, noticing my silence. “Has something gotten into you?”
I shook my head.
“Aurora, why are you not talking?” His voice had a hint of worry now.
I pulled out my phone and typed quickly: “I don’t feel like talking. I can’t force speech.” Then I shoved the screen in his face.
He sighed. “I saw you talking to my sister when we came in.”
Well, you’re the only one I don’t want to talk to. He should take the hint and leave me alone.
He didn’t. Instead he told Vivianne to leave.
She rolled her eyes but got up and walked away, leaving me alone with him.
He sat down beside me. His eyes on my profile. Studying me with that patient focused attention that made me feel like he was reading everything I was trying to hide.
"Is this about what happened two nights ago?"
So, he was aware of the damage he'd done.
Knowing he wouldn't understand a lick of it, I began to sign to him.
“Can you not disturb me I’m trying to watch a movie here?”
His forehead furrowed in deep frustration.
"Come on, Aurora. Talk to me. Please."
I typed on my phone instead: “I’m trying to watch a movie. This part is so important.” I showed him the screen just as the movie reached the climax-the part where Hardin and Tessa settle a massive fight with explosive, toxic sex. I felt my cheeks heat up as the sounds of their moans filled the quiet living room.
"This is stupid," Alexander observed, actually leaning in to watch the screen. "They have a screaming match and the next thing they're doing is fucking? That's toxic."
I typed fast: "You, of all people, know a lot about being toxic. Hardin Scott could probably take lessons from you." I shoved the phone at him and rolled my eyes.
“Stop this madness, Aurora. I want to hear your voice.”
I signed at him again, a sharp, dismissive movement: “Not happening. Go away.”
I saw his jaw clench. The sight of his irritation almost made me want to laugh. he couldn’t understand a single thing my hands were saying. Using his inability to understand sign language against him was petty and I was absolutely doing it on purpose and enjoying every second of it.
“Fine,” he said, standing up. He looked down at me with that smirk that never fully reached cold. “If you won’t talk to me I’ll hear your voice when I fuck you.”
My stomach did a somersault of pure, shameful excitement. He knew exactly where my weakness was. He gave me a dark, predatory smirk, stood up, and left me to my movie.
I pressed my thighs together.
I wanted him. I genuinely wanted him and there was nothing I could do about that.
But I refused to let sex be the thing that made me forgive him. He needed to understand that I was not Anastasia. That my name was Aurora. That when he was inside me he needed to see me — just me — and not his dead wife.
I refused to accept it.