Chapter 6
1529 Words
The sun poured gently through the tall windows of the manor, casting golden beams onto the floor as Aurelia stood near the hallway mirror, fastening the clasp on her necklace. Her soft blonde curls framed her face, and her blue eyes held a quiet warmth, though there was a distant weariness there too—one that came from growing up too fast, too alone, in a house that was always too quiet.
She had plans to meet Maybelle later, maybe grab tea, maybe just walk the city for a while and breathe in something that didn’t feel like wealth and obligation.
Just as she reached for her gloves, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
She turned.
Her father stood in the doorway, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket, trying too hard to look casual.
Aurelia blinked. “Just heading out.”
He stepped closer, voice light. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch downtown. Just us.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. Her father wasn’t the type to ask her out for a meal—not unless he needed something.
She gave a polite smile, masking the suspicion behind her eyes. “Sure… okay.”
The restaurant was high-end, just like everything her father did. White linen tablecloths. Crystal glasses. Waiters who didn’t blink unless you asked them to.
Aurelia sat across from him, her posture perfect, her expression pleasant.
He tried to make conversation—asking about her garden, her piano lessons, the books she was reading. It wasn’t bad… it just wasn’t him. Not naturally. He was grasping, and that only made her more tense.
Then the bell above the front door jingled.
The air shifted.
Wyatt Cane walked in like he owned the place.
Heads turned. Waiters straightened. Conversations lowered to a murmur.
He was tall, polished, and carried himself like royalty that hadn’t been crowned yet. His hair was neatly slicked back, and his gray tailored suit fit him like it had been sewn on by angels. His eyes scanned the restaurant—and when they landed on her, something changed.
He smiled.
And it wasn’t polite.
“Ah, Mr. Wentworth,” Wyatt said as he approached their table.
Her father stood quickly, shaking his hand, the unease barely hidden behind his smile. “Mr. Cane… pleasure, of course.”
Wyatt’s eyes never left Aurelia.
“And this lovely vision must be your daughter.”
Aurelia stood politely, giving a tight, formal smile. “Aurelia.”
“Aurelia,” Wyatt repeated, his voice dipping with interest. “A name as beautiful as the girl who owns it.”
She gave a soft, awkward laugh and sat back down. Her father looked like he was holding his breath.
Wyatt didn’t leave.
Instead, he lingered, resting his hand on the back of her chair.
“You know,” he said smoothly, “I’m opening a brand-new nightclub tonight. The most elegant joint in the city. I’d be honored if you let me take you. Let you see what the fuss is about.”
Aurelia blinked. “Oh, that’s… I don’t usually go to—”
Wyatt cut her off with a charming smile. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me show you around. It’ll be fun.”
Before she could answer, her father cleared his throat. “I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Cane, but Aurelia isn’t used to that kind of… scene.”
Wyatt’s smile didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
He leaned in closer to Aurelia, lowering his voice just enough for her father to hear. “I wasn’t really asking.”
Aurelia's heart skipped.
She turned to her father, silently begging him to speak up. To protect her. To put a stop to it.
But he didn’t.
He looked down at his plate. Forked a piece of food he didn’t eat. And said nothing.
Aurelia swallowed the lump in her throat.
Wyatt straightened, brushing his jacket sleeve. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She hesitated.
She didn’t want to go.
But she didn’t know how to say no.
Not when the air felt like it might crack in half if she did.
She took a deep breath… and nodded.
---
“I don’t want to go,” Aurelia said quietly, sitting on the edge of her bed, wringing her hands.
Maybelle—still wearing her apron, a smear of flour on her cheek—stood by the door with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
“Then don’t,” she said plainly. “Tell him to take a hike.”
Aurelia glanced up. “You didn’t see him, May. He’s… intense. My father didn’t say a word. Just sat there and let it happen.”
Maybelle walked over, sitting beside her. “Then maybe it’s time you say something. You’re not some little girl who needs saving anymore, Aurelia. Grow a pair.”
Aurelia sighed. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy. You just say: ‘No, thanks, Wyatt, I’d rather dance with a cactus.’” Maybelle smirked, nudging her shoulder. “He’s a creep.”
Aurelia gave a soft laugh, then glanced at the clock. Her smile quickly faded. “I have to get dressed.”
Maybelle watched her stand and walk to the closet. “Don’t wear something you don’t wanna be seen in.”
“I always wear what I don’t wanna be seen in,” Aurelia muttered under her breath.
She pulled out a pale blue silk dress, delicate and soft, hugging her frame with gentle elegance. It stopped mid-thigh. She hadn’t worn it in years. The shade matched her eyes. She curled her golden hair loosely and added a touch of rouge and gloss, though her expression in the mirror was muted—like a girl painting on someone else’s face.
Then there was a knock.
He was here.
Her heart sank.
Maybelle appeared in the hallway. “Want me to tell him you’ve fallen into a vat of hot tar?”
Aurelia gave her a sad smile. “Thanks, May.”
When she opened the door, Wyatt stood there in a dark navy suit with a white silk pocket square and a grin too smug to be sincere. His hair was perfectly slicked, not a strand out of place, and his jawline could’ve been carved from marble.
He looked her up and down slowly, greed in his eyes. “You look…” His voice lowered. “Delicious.”
Aurelia forced a smile. “Thanks.”
He offered his arm. She hesitated—just for a second—then took it.
The car ride was torture.
Wyatt leaned back against the plush leather seat of the town car like a king on a throne, speaking without pause. “This city’s practically begging to be conquered,” he said, gesturing out the window. “Old blood, no muscle. All bark, no bite.”
Aurelia stared out her side, hands folded tightly in her lap.
“I’ve got deals in place that’ll turn this whole region into gold,” he continued. “And with my father’s connections? It’s only a matter of time before the Veronas crawl back under whatever rock they came from.”
Then his gaze shifted to her legs.
Her blue dress stopped just above the middle of her thighs, and she had her legs crossed politely—but it didn’t stop Wyatt’s eyes from lingering.
He licked his lips.
“You’re really something, you know that?” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “That skin…” He reached over, gliding a finger just above her knee, featherlight.
Aurelia tensed.
“Soft. Real soft.”
“Th-thank you,” she whispered, heart pounding.
Wyatt moved closer.
His fingers began sliding up her inner thigh slowly, shamelessly, savoring every inch.
She felt her whole body tense, her lungs refuse to breathe. She wanted to slap his hand away. Scream. Tell him to stop. But her mouth wouldn’t work. Her hands wouldn’t move.
She gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white.
“Sir,” the driver’s voice broke through from the front. “We’ve arrived.”
Wyatt leaned back lazily, fingers slipping away like they’d never been there.
Aurelia exhaled slowly—so slowly—like she was afraid he’d hear her relief.
The driver opened Wyatt’s door first. He stepped out with a grin, fixing his cufflinks. Then he turned and extended a hand to help her out.
She hesitated… then placed her hand in his.
Flashes went off as they stepped onto the sidewalk—paparazzi? Investors? Who knew. Aurelia kept her face composed, expression soft, graceful. She wore her mask well.
Wyatt offered his arm.
She didn’t want to take it.
But she did.
As they approached the entrance of the new nightclub, Aurelia felt something. A twinge. A flicker in her chest. Eyes—she was being watched. Not like Wyatt watched her. Not like prey. It felt… familiar. Warm. Protective.
She started to turn.
But Wyatt’s hand gripped hers and gently steered her through the gold-trimmed doors of the club.
- Writer
