CHAPTER 3

AURORA

I woke up with a heavy head, as if yesterday's argument with Ethan Cavallieri had slept beside me, pressing down on my chest, reminding me that nothing in my life had ever come easy. And honestly, I didn't expect it to be any different here.

It was my second day at this colossal company that seemed to breathe arrogance through its walls. And I needed to come back with the same strength -- or more.

I got out of bed, stretched my shoulders, and went straight to the shower. The hot water fell over me and I felt the tension from day one drain away. I couldn't carry the weight of the past -- or the present -- on my face. I needed to look steady. Prepared. Unshakable.

After the shower, I did my makeup slowly: light foundation, highlighter in just the right spots, mascara to sharpen my gaze, and a nude lipstick with a hint of rose. The kind of makeup that says "I'm in control," even when I'm not.

I slipped on my black pencil skirt, my red satin blouse, and let my blonde hair fall loose in waves that brushed my shoulders. Perfume? A sweet, woody scent that always gave me courage. The kind of fragrance that walks into a room before I do.

I went downstairs, had my coffee, and felt that cold knot in my stomach. It wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I knew today would be worse -- because his ego was wounded. And men like Ethan Cavallieri don't know how to handle that.

I called a cab, took a deep breath, and left.

The mirrored building rose before me, reflecting the city and my own nerves. Second day or not, the place still left me speechless. It was beautiful, imposing... and cold. Like Ethan.

I walked in, greeting everyone I passed. And unlike yesterday, I noticed curious glances. Some even... respectful?

The rumors had probably already started. A new assistant who talked back to Ethan Cavallieri? Yes. A feat rare enough to become the talk of the building.

I rode up to the twentieth floor. When the doors opened, I felt the heavy atmosphere, as if the air had been compressed by someone's irritated hands.

Someone six-foot-three.

Someone named Ethan Cavallieri.

I went to my desk, reviewed the materials I was supposed to deliver, and just as I was about to get organized, the desk phone rang.

I took a deep breath and answered.

"Aurora" -- his voice was low and blunt -- "conference room. Now."

He hung up.

No good morning. No explanation. Typical.

I grabbed the tablet and headed to the conference room. When I walked in, I noticed the shareholders were already there, settled into expensive chairs, holding expressions of boredom and power.

And at the head of the table sat him.

Ethan Cavallieri.

White dress shirt fitted tight, tattoos visible on his forearms, an obscenely expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. His scent... dark wood with a trace of coffee. Impossible to ignore.

But his gaze was worse.

Cold. Sharp. Full of calculated contempt.

He wanted to test me. Wanted to break me. Wanted to humiliate me.

"Aurora," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "present the reports I requested yesterday."

My blood ran cold for a moment. Not because I didn't have the reports -- I did. He'd ignored me all day yesterday, but I wasn't about to waste time waiting for his instructions. I'd gone to the documentation department and prepared everything myself. Well done. Complete.

What shocked me was his tone. The way he said "Aurora." As if it were an insult. As if the name tasted bitter in his mouth.

I took a deep breath and walked to the front of the table. Every pair of eyes turned to me. The crooked smiles, the raised eyebrows, the air of people who wanted blood.

They were waiting for me to fall.

But I didn't grow up in an orphanage just to crumble under corporate snickering.

I connected the tablet to the screen and launched the presentation.

"Here are the reports, gentlemen," I announced. "Updated, organized, and analyzed based on the last thirty days."

A few shareholders exchanged glances. One nudged the other, impressed.

I saw it. I heard it.

Ethan saw it too.

His jaw tightened. And he smiled. But it wasn't a pleasant smile. It was venomous.

"Interesting," he said. "Can you repeat the data from the last chart without reading it?"

A trap.

I knew it.

He knew nobody memorizes numbers with that level of detail.

But he wasn't counting on one thing: I'd already read that report about six times.

So I lifted my chin and answered from memory. Number by number. Percentage by percentage. Summary, projections, risk factors.

The entire room went silent.

One of the shareholders even let out a quiet "hm."

Ethan leaned his arms on the table, tilted forward, and said with venom:

"Impressive. For someone who probably spends half her day thinking about food, you've got a decent memory."

Laughter. Several of them.

My stomach locked up. My blood boiled.

But I smiled.

Slow.

Cruel.

And I answered loud enough to echo:

"Don't worry about what I think about during my day, Mr. Cavallieri. I've already noticed that the only self-control problem in this room isn't my appetite... it's your ego."

Silence.

The laughter died instantly.

One of the shareholders coughed, another looked away, trying to pretend he didn't find it funny. But he did. They all did.

Ethan sat motionless for a second.

Then he exploded.

"GET OUT! NOW!" he shouted, his voice slicing the air like a blade. "YOU -- HOW DARE YOU? WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

My heart leapt in my chest, but my spine stayed straight.

"I'm Aurora, Mr. Cavallieri," I replied with a calm I didn't feel. "The assistant you're not going to be able to intimidate. Excuse me."

I turned my back and walked out of the room.

But this time...

I heard it.

Clearly.