Chapter 10
813 Words
Forty-five minutes!
That was all the time we had to erase every trace of what we had done. Forty-five minutes to scrub the scent of cedarwood and rain from my skin, to make sure the library cushions weren't creased, and to pull the heavy, suffocating mask of "stepsister" back over my face.
"Go upstairs, Aurora," Ethan said, his voice flat and completely devoid of the gravelly warmth that had vibrated against my skin only minutes ago. He stood by the library window, staring out into the driving rain. His back was to me, his shoulders rigid.
"Ethan..." I started, stepping toward him, my hand reaching out instinctively.
"Don't," he commanded. He didn't turn around, but the muscle in his jaw clenched so hard I could see it from the side. "The car will be at the gates any minute. Clean yourself up. If my father or your mother sees you looking like... this, they’ll know."
Looking like this?
My cheeks burned with a mix of shame and residual heat. My lips were swollen from his kisses, my hair was a tangled mess from his fingers, and my cardigan was hanging loosely off my shoulder. I looked like a woman who had just been thoroughly loved in the dark.
"Okay," I whispered, the word tasting like ash.
I turned and fled. I ran up the grand staircase to the west wing, the silence of the mansion now feeling like a mocking witness to my betrayal. In my bathroom, I splashed freezing water on my face, scrubbing at my lips until they were red from friction rather than Ethan's touch. I brushed out my hair, threw on a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and a thick, high-collared sweatshirt that covered my neck completely.
By the time the heavy headlights of the town car swept across my bedroom ceiling, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, my heart hammering a frantic, guilty rhythm against my ribs.
The front doors of the mansion groaned open downstairs.
"Aurora? Ethan?" My mother's voice, warm but noticeably tired, carried up the grand foyer.
I took one last deep breath, forcing my features into a blank, pleasant expression, and walked out into the hallway.
Ethan was already coming out of the east wing. He had put on a fresh, crisp white button-down shirt, fully buttoned this time, and dark trousers. His hair was perfectly combed back. He looked every bit the cold, untouchable Kingston heir. As we met at the top of the sweeping staircase, his slate-grey eyes flicked to mine for a fraction of a second.
There was no warmth, no memory of the kitchen island. Just a freezing, impenetrable wall.
"Welcome home," Ethan said smoothly, his voice echoing down to the foyer as we descended the stairs together, side by side, like the perfect, dutiful step-siblings we were supposed to be.
My mother was standing by the door, wrapped in a plush cream coat, looking slightly pale but radiant. Beside her, Richard had his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, his face practically glowing with a pride I had never seen on the older man before.
"Oh, sweetie," my mother smiled, stepping forward to wrap me in a tight hug. She smelled of expensive airport lounge perfume and rain. "I'm so sorry we ruined your quiet weekend."
"It's fine, Mom," I lied, my throat tightening as I looked over her shoulder straight at Richard. "Are you okay? Ethan said you had to go to a clinic in Aspen."
"I'm more than okay," my mother whispered, pulling back with tears shining in her eyes. She reached out, taking Richard's hand and placing it over her stomach. "We both are."
Richard beamed, looking up at Ethan and then at me. "The doctor in Aspen gave us the green light to fly back immediately, but we couldn't wait until Monday to tell you both. You're going to have a little brother or sister."
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
I felt the air leave my lungs. I didn't dare look at Ethan, but beside me, I felt the space around him turn to absolute ice. The baby wasn't just a symbol of their marriage, it was a biological anchor. A permanent, living proof that our families were fused together forever.
"Congratulations, Richard. Isabella," Ethan said, his voice a perfect, flawless imitation of a proud son. He stepped forward to shake his father's hand and offer my mother a polite nod.
I forced myself to smile, to congratulate them, to play my part, but as my mother hugged me again, my eyes drifted to Ethan.
He was staring at his father’s hand resting on my mother’s stomach. The look in his grey eyes wasn't just cold anymore. It was the look of a man watching the heavy iron gates of a prison slide shut, locking him inside forever.
- Writer
