Aurora's Realm
————
I woke earlier than I expected, the house still wrapped in silence. No footsteps, no faint clatter from the kitchen, no voices drifting through the hallways. Just stillness.
It pressed against me, that silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
So I slipped out of bed, wrapped my robe around me, and padded down the hall. My bare feet barely made a sound against the polished floor as I made my way to the one place in this house that felt like mine.
The painting room.
This time, I made sure to lock the door behind me. I couldn't bear interruptions—not when my chest was so full, too full.
My thoughts were tangled with last night, with Dominic's words, with the way my brother's face had softened on the screen when he told me to stay strong.
I picked up a brush.
And then another.
And then the colors began to spill across the canvas.
I didn't stop.
Stroke after stroke, I emptied everything I couldn't say aloud. The ache. The confusion. The coldness of a house that wasn't home. The yearning for something warmer, softer, even if I didn't dare name it.
I painted until my arms ached. Until my breath came in uneven gasps. Until the silence no longer pressed so heavily against me.
And when at last I stepped back, sweat clinging to my temples and paint streaking my skin, I felt lighter. Not whole, not healed—but lighter.
The canvas said what I could not.
So I let it speak for me.
I sank into the chair by the corner, my eyes roaming over the canvas. For a moment, I just stared at it, the colors bleeding and blending together, carrying all the emotions I couldn't voice.
It was beautiful. Chaotic, but beautiful.
A hollow ache stirred in my chest, one that paint could never fully cover. If only they were here…
My parents.
They would have stood behind me, smiling, proud, telling me that my hands carried their legacy. That my strokes spoke louder than words ever could.
I could almost hear my father's voice, low and steady, and my mother's soft laugh as she touched my shoulder.
But they weren't here.
And they would never be.
A tear slipped down my cheek, then another, before I could stop them. My vision blurred, the canvas dissolving into nothing but color and light.
I pressed the heel of my palm against my eyes, but the tears still came, quiet and stubborn, spilling down in hot rivers.
For a few minutes, I let myself break. Just here, just now. Alone, where no one could see.
When at last the storm passed, I inhaled shakily and sat up straighter. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, smudging faint streaks of paint across my skin, and forced my shoulders to steady.
I would not let the sadness linger.
I would not let it define me.
So I turned back to my painting, drew in a slow breath, and gathered myself piece by fragile piece.
I stepped out of the art room, pulling the door softly shut behind me. My hands were still smudged with streaks of blue and yellow, reminders of how long I'd been pouring myself onto the canvas.
My chest felt lighter, yet raw, like I'd emptied too much of myself in one sitting.
I hadn't expected anyone to be in the hall. But there he was. Dominic.
He leaned against the wall with a casual sharpness, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his phone he clearly wasn't looking at.
His eyes landed on me the second I emerged, lingering in a way that made my steps falter.
"Paint on your hands," he remarked flatly, though there was something cutting in the way he said it. "And your eyes…" His gaze narrowed slightly, taking in what I knew were faint traces of tears. "You've been in there too long."
Heat rose in my face. I turned my palms inward, as if hiding the colors could erase the fact that he'd noticed. I moved to walk past him, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.
Except—he didn't move. He stayed right there, tall, immovable, blocking the way just enough that I had to pause, my breath catching.
For a moment, too long, the air thickened, and I felt his presence in the closeness, a reminder of just how much space he could command without even trying.
Finally, he shifted—just enough to let me pass. But not without words.
"Next time," he said lowly, his voice smooth and cool, "don't lock yourself away so long. This house isn't meant for ghosts."
I stopped in my tracks, the words he'd thrown at me pressing harder than they should have. Ghosts. Locked away. Like I was something faint, weak, easily overlooked.
My chest tightened, and before I could stop myself, I lifted my chin and turned to face him fully.
The look I gave him wasn't soft. It wasn't fragile.
It was sharp. Cold. The kind of look my brother once told me was reserved for people who tried to put me in a corner. And in that moment, anger burned hot enough that it chased away the part of me that usually trembled under his gaze.
I held my ground. I let the mask slip—not to show weakness, but to reveal a piece of steel I didn't even know I had. My eyes locked with his, steady and unflinching, a silent defiance lacing every second of it.
Dominic's brows shifted, just barely. His expression didn't soften, but it didn't cut deeper either. For a breathless moment, he studied me with something unreadable, as though weighing the challenge I had just thrown without words.
Then, with the smallest flicker in his eyes—something that looked like a smirk restrained—he stepped back from the space he occupied, opening the path for me to pass.
No words. No retort. Just that look, and the faint tilt of his mouth that said he'd seen my fire, and wasn't about to snuff it out.
I walked past him, my heartbeat drumming so hard it echoed in my ears.
Inside, though, the anger hadn't settled. It boiled, sharp and relentless. He didn't have to keep tearing me down.
He didn't have to keep reminding me of how fragile he thought I was, how insignificant he believed my presence here to be.
I am weak. I know I am. But I am not invisible.
And he would learn that, one way or another.
I clenched my fists as I stepped into my room, shutting the door behind me with more force than I intended.
My breath came uneven, but I refused to crumble, not now. Not after I'd shown him a glimpse of the side of me that wasn't afraid to bite back.
No—I wouldn't let Dominic cage me in the fragile image he had built.
I slammed the door behind me, the echo rattling in my chest long after I'd crossed into my room. My fists were still tight at my sides, my pulse racing with the words I'd told myself—weak, yes, but not invisible.
I paced a little, trying to shake off the sharp sting of his gaze, when my phone lit up on the nightstand.
An incoming FaceTime from a number I didn't recognize.
I hesitated, then accepted.
"Hello, sweetheart," came the warm, unmistakable voice of Dominic's mother as her face filled the screen. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."
My throat tightened, and I fumbled quickly for my notepad and pen, scribbling a greeting and holding it up to the camera. She laughed lightly on the other end, as though she could feel my shyness through the screen.
"I got your number from your grandfather," she continued. "I wanted to tell you myself. Tonight, our family is hosting a gathering. Nothing too grand, but… important. You'll be introduced to the family. Yes, I know you and Dominic aren't married yet, but the introductions are necessary. Everyone should know the woman who will soon be by his side."
Her words held both kindness and finality, the kind you didn't argue with. "So," she added gently, "dress beautifully, my dear. Elegance, confidence—you'll do wonderfully. I'll see you tonight."
The call ended before I could even scribble a reply. My stomach twisted. Tonight. A family gathering. Introductions. My hands shook as I clutched the phone.
I didn't know what else to do, so I found Damien. He was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. I handed him my note, explaining what had just happened.
He read it and his lips curled into a grin. "Oh-ho. Family introductions already? And tonight?" He chuckled, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, little dove, I guess you better go tell Dominic."
I shot him a look, scribbling furiously: I'm not talking to that cold wall.
Damien laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone. "Ah, so you've finally seen through my brother, hm? Don't worry. I'll do the honors." He rose, still smirking, and sauntered off to Dominic's office.
I hovered nervously at the hallway corner, close enough to hear the low rumble of Dominic's voice. Damien's tone was playful, teasing as usual, until Dominic's curt reply cut through.
"I already know. Mother forced me into it. We're both expected tonight."
The words sent a chill through me. So it was settled. No choice, no discussion. Just another order carried down like every other decision in his world.
By the time Damien returned, shrugging dramatically, I already knew. Tonight, I'd have to stand beside Dominic in front of his family.
When night fell, I stood before the mirror longer than I ever had. My fingers lingered on the hem of the dress I chose—elegant, modest, yet undeniably striking.
The fabric hugged me just enough to show that I was no shadow, no fragile doll, but a woman. A modern woman. A woman who, despite her silence, knew her worth.
I tied my hair back neatly, letting soft strands frame my face, and slipped into simple but graceful heels. The reflection that stared back at me wasn't the same girl who had stumbled into this house with trembling hands and downcast eyes.
The incidents of earlier replayed in my mind—the sharp sting of his words, the flare of anger, the determination it had sparked.
Not again.
Tonight, I would stand proud. I would not be a ghost in his world.
I might be weak. I might be fragile. I might be mute.
But I am not invisible.
Not anymore.
I took one last look in the mirror. My lip gloss shimmered faintly under the light, soft but deliberate. My earrings caught the glow as I tilted my head, small accents of elegance against my skin. I smoothed down my dress again, even though it already lay perfectly.
A deep breath.
Tonight.
I reached for my bag and began to tuck things inside. My phone first. Then my ear pods. I hesitated over my iPad, my fingers brushing across the screen.
A small part of me wanted the comfort of it, a silent shield against the noise of the world. But no. Not tonight. I left it behind and snapped my bag shut.
Just as I slipped the strap over my shoulder, Damien's voice carried up the stairs, teasing and impatient.
"Aurora! Come on down before we grow old waiting!"
I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at my lips. My heart thumped harder with every step as I walked to the top of the staircase.
And then—I descended.
Each step felt heavier than it should, yet lighter, too, as if I were pressing forward into something unknown but necessary. My heels clicked softly against the steps. I held onto that tiny thread of confidence I'd gathered upstairs, refusing to let it slip away.
Damien stood at the foot of the staircase, hands in his pockets, his grin ready. His eyes widened the second he saw me.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his tone teasing but his eyes openly stunned. "Would you look at that. Our little dove decided to set the place on fire."
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I kept my head lifted, refusing to shrink back into myself.
It was then I felt it—the shift. Dominic, standing near the doorway, had turned at Damien's words. His gaze locked on me, sharp and unyielding at first… but then, it faltered.
For the briefest moment, I thought I saw something flicker across his face, something that unsettled the cold control he wore like armor.
I clutched my bag a little tighter, my lips pressing together as my heels touched the last step.
And just like that, the air shifted.