PROLOGUE

AURORA

PROLOGUE

I learned early that the world never goes easy on people who don't fit the mold.

While other kids were carried home by loving parents, I clutched the same threadbare blanket between my fingers and waited for the dormitory door to open, imagining — in vain — that someone would come for me. But no one ever did. The orphanage was my home, my school, and my training ground for surviving in a world that loved to crush anyone it considered weak.

And to them, I was always the perfect target.

Fat. Orphan. Outside the norm.

The complete trifecta for becoming a joke.

When I was eight, one of the older girls shoved me in the cafeteria. The tray of rice and beans went flying, and the laughter echoed through the hall. Aunt Marlene just sighed and told me to clean the floor, as if humiliation were a natural part of my meal.

When I was twelve, they gave me the nickname that stuck like cheap glue: "Aurora the Whale."

Zero creativity, maximum cruelty.

That was when I discovered that the weak don't survive — but the bold do.

So I built my own shield: a sharp tongue and zero patience for anyone who tried to tear me down.

At first it was hard. My voice trembled, my hands sweated. But I realized that when I answered back, when I matched their energy, when I held their gaze — they backed off. Nobody likes playing with fire once they figure out they might get burned.

And I burned a few of them.

"Aurora, you should stop eating so much — otherwise not even a doorframe can hold you!" a girl said once.

I smiled, bit into my apple calmly, and replied:

"Yeah, honey — but thank God, the one paying for my weight isn't you. Relax. Your wallet's just as empty as your personality."

It was the first time I'd ever seen someone go speechless. The feeling was warm, liberating.

That was the day the version of me was born that no one could ever break again.

But don't be fooled: being tough didn't heal me.

I just learned to survive.

I graduated, left the orphanage with a cheap suitcase and the certainty that I'd never let anyone else decide who I was. I worked hard, became a secretary, learned to be flawless at what I did — because women like me don't have the luxury of making mistakes.

Now I was about to walk into the biggest cosmetic surgery tech company in the country — straight in as personal assistant to the most arrogant, insufferable CEO alive.

Ethan Cavallieri.

Cold. Prejudiced. Zero empathy.

A man who thought the world revolved around his own navel.

Joseph, his brother, had warned me about everything. But I just shrugged and said what I always say when someone tries to scare me:

"I'm not the kind of woman who keeps her head down. If he humiliates me, I hit back."

And Ethan Cavallieri was about to discover that fire and gasoline might destroy — but they can also set everything ablaze in a way that's... unforgettable.

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