Page 1 of Felix (4 Seats #2)
Chapter One
Aurora Henry
T he plane’s wheels hit the tarmac hard, jolting me awake from my half-sleep.
I’m in Sydney now—there’s no turning back.
My heart races as the weight of the upcoming book signing event bears down on me like a ton of bricks.
This isn’t going to be a walk in the park—it never is when you’ve got a past like mine.
“Welcome to Sydney,” announces the flight attendant as I exit the aircraft.
The air here is different—electrifying. It makes my skin crawl, but not in a bad way.
I step out of the terminal and breathe, trying to steady myself.
I feel the energy pulsating through the city, the hum of traffic, and the chatter of people.
It’s been an eternity since I last stepped foot in this place, and I never found myself pining to return.
The memories that haunt these grounds are too painful to revisit.
Each step is a reminder of my past. As I gaze around at the familiar surroundings, my heart remains heavy with regret and sadness.
This is a place of bittersweet nostalgia, where the ghosts of my past still linger, but it holds no allure for me now.
As I exit the terminal, I see a gruff-looking man holding a sign that reads, ‘Aurora Henry.’ Clearly, this is my taxi driver.
“That’s me,” I say to the man, forcing a smile.
“Got a big day ahead?” he asks as he takes my luggage and hauls it into the boot.
“You could say that,” I mutter, my mind racing with anticipation and nerves.
“Good luck then,” he says, slamming the boot shut. “Jump in.”
As we drive through Sydney, I can’t help but feel the city closing in around me.
The towering skyscrapers loom like giants, casting long shadows over the bustling streets.
The smell of grease and exhaust fumes fills the air, mingling with the salty tang of the nearby harbour.
Horns blare, people shout, and laughter echoes through the alleys.
It’s a wild symphony of chaos, alive and kicking.
“What you here for?” he asks.
“A book signing.” I sigh.
“Excited for it?” the driver asks in return.
“Sure,” I lie, the anxiety gnawing at my insides like a starving dog. I can’t let him know how much this event is messing with my head.
“What book did you write?” he asks, his curiosity piqued.
“ Dancing with Masked Men ,” I reply. “Today is mainly for that particular book.”
“I’ve heard about that one over the radio… heard it’s a real page-turner,” he continues, obviously trying to make sm all talk. I appreciate the effort, but right now, I need silence.
“Thanks,” I mutter, gazing out the window at the vibrant cityscape—so different from the darkness lurking within me. Sydney may be alive and thriving, but inside, I’m constantly fighting off demons from my past.
“Alrighty then, here we are,” announces the driver as we pull up to the hotel. “Have a good one, Aurora.”
“Thanks,” I say, shoving a wad of cash into his hand before stepping onto the busy sidewalk.
It isn’t until I’m halfway inside the hotel that I realise he dropped me off at the wrong one. Shit . I’m going to have to walk a few blocks to get to the correct hotel.
“Damn, Sydney’s a maze,” I mutter under my breath. The twisted streets and towering skyscrapers threaten to swallow me whole, but I refuse to let this city break me.
“Excuse me, miss.” A middle-aged bloke with greying hair approaches me. “Are you lost?”
“Something like that,” I reply, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Just need to find my way to the Hilton Hotel.”
“Ah, right around the corner there.” He points, his eyes lingering on my tattoos.
“Thanks,” I snarl, leaving him in the dust as I round the corner and see the hotel.
Thankfully, the bookshop where I am scheduled to sign is only one block from here.
As I walk through the sliding doors, a young man stands before me—tall and blond with piercing blue eyes.
If he were just ten years older, I might attempt to pursue him.
“Can I take your bags, miss?” he asks charmingly .
“Yes, thank you,” I reply, taking note of his name tag—Matt. Well, Matt, you handsome devil. You’ll be getting a tip today.
I follow Matt to the front desk to retrieve my room check-in and grab my room key.
As we walk, I admire his strong stature and confident demeanour and wonder if he is a dancer—his body looks suited for the role.
Once inside my room, I quickly change into my signing attire and head back out in search of the bookshop.
My event starts in thirty minutes, so I must arrive on time.
Deep breaths, Aurora , I tell myself, forcing my racing heart to slow.
Inside, I’m a fucking mess. My past traumas claw at my insides, threatening to spill out on the pavement as I head towards the bookshop doors.
The memories of cold metal cuffs biting into my flesh and the taste of blood from the countless beatings come to mind. I shudder, willing the darkness away.
“Welcome to our special event!” greets a perky employee as I push open the door. Her smile is too bright, her cheerfulness grating against my raw nerves. “You must be Aurora Henry. We’re so excited to have you here!”
“Sure thing,” I say, plastering on a fake grin as I follow her deeper into the shop. My broken past may haunt me, but I won’t let it stop me from living my dream.
“Here’s your table,” she says, gesturing to a small setup near the back. A stack of my books sits neatly on the table, looking so innocent and untouched. If only they knew the horrors that lurked between those pages were, in fact, true stories .
“Thank you,” I mutter, taking my seat and trying to push away the ghosts of my past.
“Alright, everyone, please welcome Aurora Henry!” announces the store manager, and I brace myself for the onslaught of questions, the probing eyes, and the inevitable judgement.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper, steeling my resolve as I meet the gaze of the first person in line. The darkness inside me may be a part of who I am, but it doesn’t define me. I’m stronger than that. I’ve survived, and I’ll keep surviving, no matter what life throws my way.
“Hi, I’m Aurora. Nice to meet you.”
I’m sitting there, scrawling my name across the title page of yet another book, and I can’t help but think that, fuck, this is exhausting. Smiling like some goddamn Stepford wife, I feel the ache in my cheeks from hours of faking it.
“Thank you so much, Aurora,” some woman gushes as she clutches her newly signed copy to her chest. “I love your work!”
“Thanks,” I mutter, forcing a smile. “Thanks for coming,” I say as if we’re old fucking friends or something.
After what feels like an eternity, the last eager reader finally straggles away, their footsteps echoing through the now-empty bookshop.
The walls seem to close in on me as I gather up my belongings, eager to escape this claustrophobic hellhole.
The overwhelming presence of people and crowds has been too much for me to handle for years, the constant chatter and noise setting my nerves on edge.
My heart races and palms sweat as I hurry towards the door, desperate for some fresh air .
Finally, I slip out into the balmy Sydney night, relieved to be free from the suffocating atmosphere inside and head towards the hotel.
As I approach the hotel, I notice the sexy blond-haired doorman waiting to greet me. His eyes linger on the tattoos that snake up my arms, remnants of a life I’d rather forget. But hey, he’s not bad to look at—a nice distraction from the endless parade of adoring fans.
“Evening,” he says with a smirk, holding open the door for me.
“Hey,” I reply, nodding my head in acknowledgement. Yum, it’s a pity he is so young.
The lift ride up to my room feels like an eternity, and I’m reminded of how much I fucking hate travelling. As soon as the door slides open, I make a beeline for my room, tossing my bag on the bed.
“Room service?” I mumble into the phone after dialling the front desk. “Yeah, I’ll take a burger and fries. And a bottle of tequila.”
Hanging up, I strip off the layers of constricting clothes, tossing them carelessly on the floor. Sliding between the cool sheets, I let out a sigh of relief—finally, some fucking peace and quiet.
As I lay there, waiting for my food to arrive, I can’t help but feel the weight of the day bearing down on me.
The faces of those eager fans and the whispered words of praise all feel like a cruel joke.
If they knew the real Aurora Henry, the woman behind the carefully crafted persona, would they still be so enamoured?
Or would they recoil in horror, desperate to erase the grisly images from their minds ?
Would they ever realise the people in my books are real, and the horrific events I wrote about happened to me?