Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
I step closer, heart pounding out of my chest, curiosity fueling every muscle. My brain is telling me not to do this, to go back to the living room and tell the men there’s someone in here.
But my heart … My heart aches the second I carefully peel away the curtain to reveal a boy, probably the same age as I am, huddling in the corner of the tub.
Shivering.
I’m overcome with fear.
Fear of what might happen when they come inside.
Anger at the mere idea they could kill an innocent boy.
That my father could make that decision.
Instinct tells me to stay away, but my heart forces me to reach for the boy, despite my hesitation. My fear. His.
Because I can see the terror in his eyes. The hope lost with every passing second.
How do I make it go away?
He must’ve heard what happened out there to his mom and dad.
I pluck at my hair and take out the single pink flower my personal assistant put there when she did my hair, and I offer it to the boy as a gesture of peace.
He glares at me without saying a word.
I push it into his hand and fold it over, adding a gentle smile.
I know it’s not a lot. In fact, it’s not anything when faced with death.
But I want to give him something.
Anything.
Even if it means nothing to him now.
It could mean everything later. When the dust has settled and all that’s left is the silence of the dead … At least there will be life in his hands.
“What’s going on in there?” My father’s harsh voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I yank the curtains to quickly close them again. “Nothing!”
My father peers inside. “Someone in there?”
“No, I checked. I’m on my own. I’m just sick.” I cover my stomach with my hand. “Had to vomit from all the blood.”
My father’s face contorts at the sight of the sickness on the toilet seat. “Well, finish up. We’re leaving.”
I nod and wait until he’s gone before I peek at the boy over my shoulder, who has remained silent all this time.
My lips part.
I don’t know what to say.
Nothing I say could ever undo what just happened.
Nothing I do will ever stop my father from handling his business exactly the way he always has.
Violently.
Present
Papa never took it kindly that I tried to save that kid from his wrath.
Once he found out, he returned to the apartment, of course, to no avail. The kid was long gone, along with my father’s patience for me.
One attempt at making a choice, and already I had all of them taken away from me just like that.
“AURORA!” My father’s booming voice makes me step on my own dress.
“Fuck,” I mutter, stumbling across the carpet. I really wish he wouldn’t scare me like that, but nothing I say will ever make him change his mind. I learned that a long time ago.
I open the door while also putting on the straps of my heels.
“Come downstairs. The guests are here,” he hisses. “You’re taking way too long.”
“Yes, Papa. Coming,” I say, and I hurry down the stairs.
“Where are your gloves?!” he mouths. He grabs my shoulders, spins me, and pushes me back up. “Get them. Now.”
Sighing, I run back upstairs on my heels, clutching my little black dress with one hand while I open the door to my bedroom with the other. I fish my favorite pair of gloves from my closet—white with a rose embroidered on top—and put them on.
I run downstairs, sliding my hands down the banister just as my father’s guests enter the hallway.
“Oh, how lovely. Is that your daughter?” says a woman with puffed-up brown hair and a voluptuous body. Next to her is a suited-up man with a chiseled jaw.
But all I can stare at are her red fingernails with such intricate details that they’re almost like a painting. And it makes me jealous.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself, young lady?” my father says, wearing a fake smile.
“Hi, my name is Aurora Blom.”
“Walter Janssen,” the man says. “And my wife, Dana.”
I offer them both a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, and so well-mannered too,” Dana says, nodding at my father.
My father seems chipper at the compliment, but all it does is make my lip twitch.
If only they knew what it cost me.
I ignore the little voice in my head.
“Let’s head toward the coffee room to discuss this new venture, shall we?” my father says.
The two follow him through the hallway, and we all sit in the coffee room where our housekeepers have placed three steaming hot coffees and a plate of expensive cookies filled with cream.
Everyone takes a cup, except me, because no cups are left.
For a reason.
My father doesn’t like it when I drink coffee. It makes me spirited. Happy.
He doesn’t like that either.
I grab a cookie and chomp it down just like my feelings.