The Ice within
661 Words
The first night in the Moore mansion was colder than Aurora expected—not from the chill of the stone walls, but from the silence that filled every corner. No welcome dinner, no family introductions. Just a key handed to her by a maid and a quiet "Good night, Mrs. Moore."
The title didn’t fit. Not yet. Maybe never.
Her room was spacious but bare, like a guest chamber meant for short visits, not for building a life. She unpacked only what she had brought—three suitcases of modest clothes, her late mother’s locket, and a heart full of confusion. The rest was with the movers. Somewhere.
The rain hadn’t stopped. It tapped against the window like it wanted in. Aurora sat on the edge of the bed, wondering how a house so full of people could feel so empty.
The next morning, she was summoned.
“Breakfast is served in the east wing,” the maid whispered. “With the family.”
Aurora nodded and dressed carefully. A soft blue dress, not too bold, not too plain. She tied her hair back and walked through the echoing halls until she reached a set of glass-paneled doors.
Inside, the Moores were already seated.
Mrs. Moore sat tall and pristine at the head of the table, every movement elegant, every word clipped. Mr. Moore sat beside her, reading the morning paper, barely acknowledging Aurora’s entrance.
Grandfather Moore sat at the opposite end—the only one who looked up. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his dark eyes studied her like she was a document to be signed.
Adrian sat to the side, in his wheelchair, quietly sipping coffee.
“Good morning,” Aurora said politely.
“Sit,” Mrs. Moore responded, gesturing to an empty seat—far from Adrian.
The room returned to silence except for the sound of silverware.
“So,” Mr. Moore finally said, folding his paper. “How are you adjusting?”
“I’m doing my best, sir.”
“Good. You will be expected to attend a formal dinner next weekend. The press will be watching closely. You’re to smile, dress appropriately, and say nothing unless spoken to.”
Mrs. Moore nodded in agreement. “We’ve worked hard to control the narrative. We don’t need complications.”
Aurora felt her stomach tighten. “I understand.”
Grandfather Moore leaned forward. “Do you?”
Everyone went still.
His voice was calm, but there was a weight in his gaze that commanded attention.
“You’ve entered a family where power is everything, Miss Bennett. This marriage is not about feelings. It’s about strategy. Appearances. Legacy. We expect loyalty, silence, and strength. Weakness won’t be tolerated.”
Aurora held his gaze, refusing to shrink. “I’m not weak, sir.”
Adrian, for the first time, smirked faintly.
“Let’s hope not,” Grandfather Moore said, sitting back.
Later that day, Aurora found herself wandering the garden—one of the few places not blanketed in formality. She walked slowly, letting her fingers trail along the edge of a hedge, breathing in the damp scent of earth after rain.
She heard wheels behind her.
“I see they’ve already given you the ‘Welcome to the Machine’ speech,” Adrian said dryly as he rolled up beside her.
Aurora didn’t smile. “Your grandfather doesn’t sugarcoat.”
“He doesn’t need to. He runs everything. Including my parents.”
She looked at him. “And you?”
“I’m the broken heir. I’m allowed to breathe, as long as I don’t try to stand.”
There was pain in his voice, but also defiance.
“You’re more than that,” she said quietly.
He studied her. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet,” she replied, then turned and walked ahead.
Adrian watched her for a long time before following, the sound of his wheels soft against the stones.
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End of Chapter Two
- Writer
