Shattered Glass
852 Words
Aurora barely slept.
The cold, sprawling emptiness beside her in the king-sized bed was a cruel reminder of how foolish hope could be. Yet, when the morning sun bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Drakos mansion, she forced herself to move.
For the baby. Only for the baby.
She stood before the bathroom mirror, her fingers brushing against her still-flat stomach. To the world, she looked exactly the same. But she knew. That tiny, golden secret was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. A soft knock startled her.
“Mrs. Drakos?” a maid called tentatively. “Mr. Drakos’s assistant is on the line.” Aurora hurried to take the call, her heart racing.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Drakos, good morning.” The assistant sounded breathless, frantic. “I apologize for the intrusion, but Mr. Drakos urgently needs the acquisition contracts he left in his study last night. There’s a board meeting in less than an hour, and without them—”
“I’ll bring them immediately,” Aurora interrupted, a spark of purpose lighting up her chest.
“Thank you, Mrs. Drakos. You're a lifesaver.”
As the line went dead, Aurora felt that familiar, dangerous stir of hope. An opportunity. If she delivered them herself, he couldn't ignore her. Maybe yesterday had been a fluke—a bad day, a misunderstanding.
She hated herself for the desperation, but she couldn't stop it. She quickly changed into an elegant cream blouse and a fitted black skirt, gathered the heavy leather folders from Vander’s study, and inhaled. The room still smelled of him—cold cedarwood and expensive tobacco. Dangerously familiar.
Downstairs, the chauffeur was hovering by the black Bentley, looking defeated.
“What happened?” Aurora asked.
“One of the tires is shot, ma’am,” he sighed. “The replacement service is on the way, but it’ll be a while.” Aurora looked at the folders. Evander didn't tolerate delays. “I’ll drive myself.”
The chauffeur’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not. Mr. Drakos would have my head if I let you navigate Manhattan alone.”
A bitter ache twisted in her chest. Evander barely noticed if she was in the same room, let alone the driver's seat. She offered a faint, sad smile. “He doesn’t need to know.”
Twenty minutes later, Aurora pulled into the executive garage of Drakos Global Holdings. Unlike the receptionists from the day before, the employees here moved with a different kind of respect. An older executive paused by the elevator, recognizing her instantly. “Mrs. Drakos. Good morning.”
“Good morning. I have the board documents.”
“Ah, he’s already upstairs.” The man reached into his pocket and handed her a sleek black access card. “The private elevator is locked down today. Use this. No one should keep the lady of the house waiting.”
The words warmed her, a fleeting reminder that on paper, she was Aurora Drakos. Queen of an empire. Even if, in reality, she felt like a ghost haunting his halls.
The private elevator ascended in stifling silence. Soft music played overhead, mocking the frantic rhythm of her heart. Aurora adjusted her grip on the folders, her fingers drifting to her stomach.
He’s going to be a father…
The thought felt like a dream she was afraid to wake up from.
Ding.
The executive floor was eerily quiet. Dark marble floors stretched out like a sea of ink, reflecting the Manhattan skyline through massive glass walls. Aurora walked toward his office, but halfway there, her feet froze. The heavy mahogany doors were ajar.
Voices drifted out—low, intimate. A woman’s laughter, soft and melodic, made Aurora’s blood run cold. It was her. The brunette.
“Does she really have no idea?” the woman asked. Aurora stepped closer, the carpet muffling her footsteps. She shouldn't listen. She should walk away. But she was paralyzed.
“Aurora doesn’t ask questions,” Vander replied. His voice was a blade—calm, cold, and utterly unbothered. Something inside Aurora’s chest cracked.
“That’s cruel, even for you, Vander,” the woman teased.
“This marriage was never about love.”
Aurora stopped breathing. The air in the hallway turned to ice. “Then why keep up the charade?” the woman pressed. A long, agonizing pause followed. Then, the words that finally executed what was left of Aurora’s heart:
“Because my grandmother wanted this marriage. Nothing more.”
The world tilted. Aurora felt like she was drowning, the sounds of the city outside turning into a dull roar. Every fear, every lonely night, every cold glance—it all made sense now. She wasn't his wife. She was a final favor to a dead woman. She had never been loved. Not even for a second.
Her fingers lost their strength. The heavy leather folders slipped, and papers exploded across the marble floor with a sound like a gunshot. Silence.
The conversation inside the office stopped dead. Heavy, purposeful footsteps approached the door. Then, that voice. Sharp. Low. Predatory.
“Aurora?”
- Writer
