You Are Mine

Chapter 7

Aurora's POV

I stayed in Emma's room for a while. She brought me food and water, fussed over me until I finally gave in and swallowed the painkiller she'd been holding out since I sat down. The medicine made my head feel heavy almost right away, but at least the sharp ache in my side had dulled to something bearable. I knew I shouldn't linger there too long, not with everything else waiting for me, so a little before noon I pulled myself up and went to finish the laundry I'd left half done that morning.

When I got there, though, someone had already beaten me to it. The basket was empty, everything folded and put back exactly where it belonged, as if my hands had never touched it in the first place. I stood there for a second just staring at it. Only Emma would think to do that without saying a word about it.

I made my way back into the main building through the kitchen passage, hoping to catch her before she disappeared into whatever came next in her long day. The second I saw her standing at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, something in my chest loosened. A smile crept up on my face before I even realized it the first real one I think I'd had since arriving in this place, small as it was.

I hovered by the doorway for a moment, not quite sure how to put into words what I wanted to say. She must have felt me watching, because she turned around, smiling easily. "Do you need anything?"

I stepped further in and rested a hand on the edge of the island. "I just wanted to say thank you. For the laundry."

She smiled wider, sprinkling another pinch of something into the pot in front of her. "That's the least I could do, dear."

I leaned in slightly, catching the smell drifting up from the pan. "What are you making? It smells amazing."

"Chicken pepperoni," she said, not looking up.

A small gasp slipped out before I could stop it. "That's fancy. Who's it for?"

"It's for Damien."

The warmth drained out of my face almost instantly.

"I think I should get going," I said, already backing toward the door.

Emma turned fully this time, setting the spoon down against the rim of the pot. "Why so soon?"

I didn't have a good answer for her, not one I understood myself. There was just something about that name that made my skin crawl every single time, like my body knew something my mind hadn't caught up to yet.

"Thank you again, Emma. I really do need to go."

I turned and slipped out of the kitchen before she could ask anything more.

I was rounding the corner into the first-floor hallway when I saw him. Damien. Coming down the staircase in all black, moving the way someone moves when they've never once questioned whether a room belongs to them. I ducked behind the nearest pillar without thinking, praying he hadn't noticed, but fate, as usual where he was concerned, wasn't interested in doing me any favors.

He stopped directly in front of the pillar and calmly started buttoning his sleeve, unhurried, not even bothering to look my way at first, as if he already knew exactly where I was hiding.

"Looks like you've got nothing better to do than lurk around."

My whole body went still. I didn't answer. Maybe he isn't talking to me.

He finally turned his head toward me. "You're going to regret it if I have to repeat myself." His voice dropped lower, sharper. "Get out from there. Now."

That deep, heavy tone of his rolled down the hallway and settled somewhere in my stomach. I stepped out from behind the pillar slowly, my knuckles white against the sleeve of the oversized shirt I still hadn't changed out of. When I finally looked up at him, all I found staring back was pure contempt. I still hadn't figured out what I'd done to earn that kind of hatred from someone I barely knew.

"Hey. Steve. Get over here."

He waved over a guard stationed in the corner without breaking eye contact with me. My pulse jumped.

"Yes, boss," Steve said, hurrying forward.

I glanced between the two of them, my stomach tightening. Please don't let this be another punishment.

Damien tipped his chin toward me like I was a piece of furniture he wanted moved. "Take her up to my wing. Have her clean the entire floor." Steve's eyes widened just slightly.

"All of it?" he asked.

No please, no. I'm still hurt.

Damien's gaze slid to him, cold and unbothered. "Is that a problem?"

Steve shook his head quickly and said nothing else.

I stepped forward anyway, unable to help myself. "Please, sir. I'm still injured. Could I at least have some medicine first?"

Damien looked at me like I'd said something ridiculous. "Do I look like your mother? Or your doctor?"

I was too worn down to keep pushing.

"Take her away," he said, already turning to leave. Steve started toward me.

"Sir, please ... I'm still not well"

He didn't stop. He didn't even glance back.

"Miss, don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be," Steve muttered as we walked. I followed him quietly, floor after floor, all the way up to the very top the fourth floor, past windows that let in less and less light the higher we climbed. A few maids peeked out from doorways as we passed, some watching with something close to pity, others barely hiding their amusement.

We stepped into the hallway and my eyes went wide.

"There's no way I can clean all of this by myself."

The place looked less like a mess and more like the aftermath of something deliberate. Mud smeared across the walls. Sofas flipped onto their backs. Framed pictures knocked down and scattered across the floor like no one had cared where they landed.

"According to the boss, all of this needs to be done before he gets back," Steve said, already turning to leave.

"Wait are you sure it's just me?" I called after him, but he was already gone, and no answer came back.

I stepped further inside, taking stock of everything that needed fixing. It went on and on room after room, every single one turned upside down the same way, cushions gutted, drawers pulled out and left hanging, as though whoever had done this had been searching for something and hadn't cared what they broke along the way.

"Good grief. Who did I upset to deserve this?"

I got to work anyway, because standing there complaining wasn't going to clean anything. I found a mop and bucket in the bathroom and started with the bedroom first, scrubbing the walls, righting the furniture, setting picture frames back where they must have hung before. By the time I finished that one room alone, it was already two in the afternoon.

Then came the hallway the mud on the walls, the shattered glass I had to pick up piece by piece, cutting my fingers more than once in the process. My hands stung by the end of it, tiny red lines crisscrossing my palms, but eventually, somehow, it was done.

Exhausted, arms aching and fingers stiff from the cold water, I dragged myself back into his room to return the bucket and mop to the bathroom, then walked back out and sank onto the edge of the bed with a long, heavy sigh. My eyes landed on a portrait of him hanging on the wall calm, composed, unfairly handsome even in still image. But I already knew by then that behind that calm expression was something a lot colder than it looked.

I wandered the room for a while longer, too tired to leave yet, running my fingers along the edge of the dresser and the cold windowsill, and my gaze eventually drifted to the nightstand.

"His diary," I murmured, almost to myself.

I glanced toward the door, then checked the time. 4:30. Maybe I have a few minutes before he's back.

I opened it to the very first page, and the single word written there made my stomach drop instantly.

REVENGE.

"Revenge?" I whispered, more confused than afraid at first.

I turned to the next page and kept reading, my eyes moving faster than I meant them to. She was the reason my parents died. I'll make her pay for it her, her family, her father, who calls himself my father's best friend. Where was he when my parents needed help most?

Tears slid down my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. Dad went to his company for a loan, and he didn't give him enough. Dad died from the cancer that was already eating away at him.

Oh no.

But she'll be my tool for revenge, and she won't even...

The door swung open before I could read the rest, and I dropped the diary onto the bed like it had burned me. I turned toward the sound to find Damien standing in the doorway, and every part of me went perfectly still.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe. I didn't dare say a single word.

"What are you doing with my diary?"