Aurora's POV
The room was silent now, but the air still felt heavy with the metallic smell of blood. The bodies of the dead men had been dragged out, and the staff had cleaned the floors, but the scene kept replaying in my head like a broken film. Every few seconds, I heard the deafening crack of the gunshot and felt the ghost of his hands shoving me out of the way.
I sat stiffly on the edge of the large, velvet bed, my fingers digging into the silk of my emerald dress. My mind was a mess of confusion and fear. Who were those men? And why did he throw himself in front of a gun for me?
As the minutes stretched into an hour, my gratitude began to sour into restlessness. I stood up, my legs feeling shaky, and walked over to the heavy oak door. I grabbed the handle and twisted.
It didn't budge.
I pulled harder, rattling the brass handle, but it was useless. That bastard had locked me in.
"Hey! Open the door!" I yelled, banging my fist against the wood. No one answered.
