Chapter 147
Chapter 147:
Aurora felt it too. A strange sense of familiarity. A resonance.
“I don’t think so,” she said politely. “I’m Aurora p>
“Aurora.” Sebastian whispered the name. “You look… you have the p>
He clutched his chest, his face paling. He couldn’t say it. The eyes. They were the Vane eyes. But that was impossible.
Before he could say more, a black engine roared.
Elias’s Audi pulled up to the curb, cutting off the angle between Sebastian and Aurora.
Elias stepped out. He was wearing sunglasses and a polo shirt, looking like a devastatingly handsome catalogue model. He moved with purpose, placing himself between Aurora and the world.
“Sebastian,” Elias said. His voice was a warning. “Is everything alright p>
Sebastian blinked, breaking the trance. He looked at Elias, then back at Aurora.
“Elias,” Sebastian said, his voice shaky. “This girl… who is she p>
“She is with me,” Elias said firmly. He placed a hand on the small of Aurora’s back. It was a possessive, protective gesture.
Sebastian stared for one more second, his eyes filled with ghosts.
“She reminds me of someone,” Sebastian whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Elias stiffened. He heard the tone, if not the words.
“Come,” Elias said to Aurora, guiding her away. “Let’s get that coffee p>
Aurora looked back at the older man, who was still standing on the sidewalk, looking like he had seen a ghost.
“Who was that?” Aurora asked.
Fresh stories here gαℓησν𝒆𝓁s․cøm
“Family,” Elias said shortly. “My uncle Sebastian. He gets… confused sometimes p>
He steered her down the street, his hand warm on her back, his heart racing. He didn’t know why Sebastian had reacted that way. He just knew that he didn’t like another man looking at her like that. Even if it was his uncle.
Especially if it was his uncle.
It had been three days since Aurora Vance cut her Hamptons trip short, leaving behind the salt spray and Sebastian Thorne’s lingering questions for the concrete embrace of Manhattan. The terrace of the Pierre Hotel was a sanctuary of cold air and expensive silence, separated from the charity gala by a wall of thick glass. Inside, the air was recycled and perfumed with lilies and desperation. Outside, the November wind off Central Park had teeth.
Aurora stood near the stone balustrade, her fingers curled around the stem of a glass of sparkling water she had no intention of drinking. She wasn’t hiding, exactly. She was recharging. The social currency required to navigate a room full of people who judged your worth by your zip code was exhausting. She wore a dress of deep emerald velvet that absorbed the ambient light rather than reflecting it, a deliberate choice to blend into the shadows.
She took a breath, letting the icy air burn her lungs. It felt real. It felt like the Bronx in winter, not this insulated, golden cage of Manhattan’s elite. Beside her, the phantom presence of Harper felt missing—her friend was currently working the room upstairs, gathering intel on the Kensington mergers.