Aurora couldn't move.
She lay crumpled against Rafael's chest, every muscle trembling from the intensity of what had just happened. Her body was marked—by his hands, his mouth, his anger. She could still feel the press of the wall against her back, the grip of his fingers on her thighs, the sting where he'd spanked her before taking her again and again until she couldn't speak, only moan.
But what stunned her more than the sex… was what he'd whispered at the end.
"You'll never leave me. Not alive."
He hadn't meant it as a threat.
It had sounded like a vow.
Rafael lay behind her now, one arm beneath her neck, the other across her stomach, holding her like a man guarding his most dangerous secret. His body was warm, hard, and still slick with the heat of violence. His breathing was steady. Calm.
He was a storm pretending to sleep.
She stared into the darkness of the room, unable to close her eyes. Her mind spun with questions, but one clawed louder than the rest.
Who was that man?
And why had he come here, looking for her?
She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Rafael's voice rumbled low beside her.
"You want answers?"
She turned slightly to face him. "Yes."
His fingers moved slowly up her bare stomach, brushing her skin like he owned it. "Then earn them."
She swallowed. "How?"
He smirked. "Get on top."
Her breath hitched.
"Now."
She straddled him slowly, heart pounding, body still sore. His hands gripped her hips like he needed the contact more than air.
"You feel what you do to me, Aurora?" he rasped, pressing her against his hard length. "I'm a fucking monster. But you…" His voice lowered. "You make me forget everything except how badly I need to ruin you."
She didn't wait. She sank onto him, inch by inch, moaning as he filled her again.
"Fuck," he groaned, head tipping back against the pillow. "Just like that."
She rode him slow, guided by his hands, but it wasn't long before he lost control—gripping her tighter, thrusting up into her as his mouth claimed her breasts, biting down gently just above her nipple.
"Say my name," he growled.
"Rafael…"
"Louder."
"Rafael," she gasped.
He flipped her in a blink, pinning her down, fucking into her like he needed to empty out every thought, every rage, every piece of himself inside her.
He didn't slow until her nails raked his back and her moans broke into cries.
And only when she shattered completely beneath him did he finally follow, spilling into her with a low, guttural growl that sounded like both release—and surrender.
They lay tangled together, their breathing ragged, skin damp, hearts pounding in sync.
Then came the silence again.
Heavy. Loaded.
He reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a black folder, and tossed it onto her lap.
"What's this?" she asked, blinking at the gold lettering.
"Information."
Aurora opened it slowly.
Her heart stopped.
Inside were surveillance photos. Of her.
Some taken weeks ago. Some… from her childhood.
She stared up at him, voice trembling. "Why do you have these?"
Rafael didn't blink. "Because I've been watching you for years."
"What?"
"I know who you are," he said coldly. "Your name isn't just Aurora."
He reached out and tapped the folder.
"That's just your mother's name. The name she gave you to keep you hidden."
Her throat dried. "Hidden from what?"
Rafael's voice dropped to a whisper.
"From the men who killed your real father."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
And then—he said it.
Her full name.
The one she didn't know she had.
"Aurora De Luca."