Chapter 206
Chapter 206:
Aurora caught Vivian’s wrist.
Her grip was iron. She held Vivian’s hand inches from her chest.
Vivian froze. The fake concern vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine fear.
“Your act is slipping, Vivian,” Aurora whispered. Her voice was low, barely a breath over the wind, but it carried the weight of a sledgehammer. “Next time you hire a hitman, make sure he has better balance.”
Vivian yanked her hand back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re paranoid. And you’re hurting me!”
Sebastian appeared in the doorway. “What is going on here?”
“She grabbed me!” Vivian cried, rubbing her wrist. “I tried to help her with the spill, and she attacked me!”
Sebastian looked at the red puddle, then at Aurora. His face twisted in disgust.
“You really are trash, aren’t you?” Sebastian spat. “Violence is the only language you people speak.”
Aurora looked at him. She didn’t feel anger anymore. She felt pity. He was a puppet, dancing on strings he couldn’t even see.
“Check your sources, Sebastian,” Aurora said calmly. “Before you check your family.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She walked past them, back into the heat and noise of the gala, and kept walking straight for the exit.
She retrieved her coat from the cloakroom and stepped out onto Fifth Avenue.
The city was white. The snow muffled the sounds of traffic. She walked toward the curb, waiting for her car, feeling the profound weight of the city’s rejection pressing down on her shoulders. She was rich. She was powerful. She was a genius.
But tonight, she was just the girl nobody wanted.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out, expecting a spam notification or a work email.
It was a text from Elias.
Look up.
Aurora frowned at the screen, her thumb hovering over the glass. Look up?
The snow was falling in thick, heavy curtains now, obscuring the tops of the skyscrapers. She tilted her head back, expecting to see snowflakes melting on her eyelashes.
Instead, she heard it.
A low, rhythmic thrumming sound began to vibrate in her chest. It grew louder, cutting through the muffled silence of the snowy night. Thwup-thwup-thwup.
The wind around her picked up, whipping her hair across her face.
A beam of light sliced through the darkness from above, blindingly bright. It swept across the street, scattering pedestrians, and locked onto her.
Aurora shielded her eyes.
A sleek, black helicopter hovered momentarily over the park, its spotlight creating a column of brilliance around her. It didn’t land—that would be impossible on Fifth Avenue—but it banked sharply toward the VIP heliport by the river, its presence a thunderous announcement.
Seconds later, the roar of an engine tore down the street. A convoy of three black SUVs, escorted by private security motorcycles, cut through the snow-clogged traffic with aggressive precision. They screeched to a halt right in front of the museum steps.