Page 3

“Sure you are,”I mumble, sliding the phone back into my pocket.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say as I grab my bag and step out into the world, ready to fight whatever comes my way.

Stepping out of the hotel, I squint against the bright sunlight. I fucking hate mornings—always have. As I fumble for my sunglasses, a sleek black car pulls up to the curb. My heartbeat quickens as the tall, blond doorman, Matt, jumps out, all smiles and muscles. He’s got that whole Nordic god look going on.

“Morning, miss!” he calls as he holds the door open so I can see the driver. Damn, if this guy isn’t even sexier than the doorman—olive skin, dark hair, and eyes that seem to see right through me. He waves to Matt and drives off, leaving me with nothing but daydreams about jumping in that car and doing some seriously naughty things with him. My pussy clenches at the thought.

“Hey, Matt,” I mutter, tearing my gaze away from the car as it disappears around the corner. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks, you too!” he replies with a grin that could melt icebergs. Fucking hell, why does everybody have to be so damn cheerful in the morning?

I shake off the thought and start walking down the street towards the bookshop where I’m signing today. The sidewalk is crowded with people rushing to work, their faces buried in their phones or hidden behind takeaway coffee cups. Don’t these people ever stop to think about what they’re missing? The world is going to shit, and they’re too busy scrolling through feeds and sipping lattes to notice.

Speaking of which, I could use a caffeine hit myself. I duck into a coffee shop and order an espresso—no sugar, no milk. Just the way I like it—bitter and black like my soul.

“Here you go, miss,” the barista says as he hands me the cup. I force a smile and mumble my thanks.

Sipping the hot, dark liquid, I head back out onto the street, feeling the familiar burn as it slides down my throat. The caffeine hits me like a slap in the face, waking me up and sharpening my senses. Time to face the day.

I step inside the bookshop, and a familiar chill runs down my spine. The place is packed with people, all eager to get their hands on my latest creation. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the onslaught of questions and compliments that’ll come my way.

“Miss Henry, we’re so happy to have you here,” the store manager gushes as she leads me to a table piled high with copies of my book. “Your fans are very excited.”

“Thank you, can’t wait,” I mutter under my breath, plastering on a fake smile as I sit. Let the signing begin.

For three fucking hours, I scribble my name across the title page, making small talk.

“Your writing is so raw and powerful,” one woman says, her eyes wide with admiration. “You must have a vivid imagination.”

“Something like that,” I reply, clenching my jaw. If only they knew the truth.

Finally, the line dwindles to the last few stragglers, and I feel my energy draining. Just a little longer, Aurora. You can do this.

“Thank you for coming,” I tell the last fan, forcing a smile as they walk away. I pack up my stuff and make a beeline for the exit.

“Great job today, Aurora!” my publicist, Vanessa, calls out as she catches up to me. “Let’s grab some lunch and talk about your book’s success.”

“Sure, why not?” I say, unable to hide my exhaustion. It’s not like I have anything better to do.

We settle into a booth at a nearby café, and Vanessa wastes no time launching into her spiel. “Sales are through the roof, Aurora. People are loving it. Have you considered turning it into a series?”

“Fuck no,” I bite back. I dredged up enough demons for this one. “It’s a one-of-a-kind thing, like me.”

As I say the words, my mind flashes back to the shackles that once bound me, the pain and humiliation I endured. I shudder, trying to shake off the memories. It’s been years, but they still cling to me like a shadow I can’t escape.

“Are you okay?” Vanessa asks, concern etched on her face.

“Fine,” I reply, pushing away the remnants of my past. “Just hungry. Let’s order.”

Vanessa nods, seemingly relieved to move on from the topic. We place our orders and dive into a safer conversation about upcoming book events. But even as we talk, the darkness inside me lingers, a constant reminder of who I am and where I come from.

And no amount of success or praise can erase that.

As soon as lunch is finished, I race back to the hotel, feeling like a goddamn caged animal. I slam the door behind me and kick off my shoes, desperate to wash away the day’s grime. The shower’s hot spray pelts against my skin, stinging like a thousand tiny needles. Good. Let it hurt. It reminds me I’m alive.

As I step out of the shower, I glimpse at myself in the mirror, my dark eyes staring back at me. Fucking hell, I look exhausted. I slip into a black dress—tight, sexy, but still appropriate for an evening out. I need a drink. No, scratch that—several drinks.

“Get your shit together, Aurora,” I mutter to myself as I apply some lipstick. It’s a deep crimson shade, bold enough to make a statement.