CHAPTER 4

AURORA

I didn't realize I was shaking until I pushed open the door to the women's restroom and locked it behind me. My breathing came out ragged, hot, heavy -- not from tears, but from rage.

Rage at him.

Rage at the entire room.

Rage at that laughter.

Rage at the man who thought he could reduce me to a stereotype.

I braced myself against the white marble sink, stared at my reflection, and saw my eyes shining -- not with tears, but with the fury burning inside my chest. My makeup was still flawless -- a miracle -- but my expression gave away everything I was feeling.

"Fuck it," I whispered to myself. "He's not going to break me."

I splashed water on my face, careful not to ruin anything. Just enough to cool my skin, to get my thoughts in order. My heart was racing too fast, as if I'd run an emotional marathon. The restroom was empty, silent... which only made the echo of his voice hammer louder in my head:

"GET OUT! NOW! HOW DARE YOU!"

I closed my eyes.

Took a deep breath.

Counted to five.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

When I opened them, I wasn't the same Aurora who had walked out of that room.

I was the Aurora who'd grown up hearing worse.

The Aurora who'd survived the orphanage.

The Aurora who'd learned to defend herself before she even understood what injustice was.

I knew exactly what kind of man he was.

Ethan Cavallieri was the rich, powerful, muscular version of the boys who'd laughed at me in school. Except now, he had an entire company to applaud his cruelty.

I dried my hands slowly.

"He wants a war?" I murmured. "He'll get one."

I pushed the restroom door open, ready to head back to my floor. But before I could take two steps, I heard the unmistakable sound of expensive shoes echoing down the hallway. Quick. Heavy. Determined.

And it came with a voice I could already recognize in silence:

"Aurora."

I swallowed hard.

It wasn't a greeting.

It wasn't a summons.

It was a warning.

Ethan Cavallieri was right there.

I should've expected it. Of course the great CEO wouldn't swallow being challenged in front of his shareholders. Men like him don't know how to lose. Don't know how to be contradicted. They only know how to bite harder.

But I didn't expect him to come this... fast.

When I lifted my gaze, he stood in the middle of the hallway, imposing, like an agitated predator who'd just lost control of his own prey.

His face was tense.

His eyes, darker than usual.

His jaw locked tight.

And that cologne -- God help me -- hit me like a punch.

Wood.

Coffee.

Rage.

He didn't move. He just stared at me, as if he were trying to decipher what kind of creature dared to go head-to-head with him.

"Ran off quick," he said, his voice low but razor-edged. "Can't handle the pressure?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I came to breathe," I replied. "But if you want to read that as cowardice, be my guest. It's not like I care about your opinion."

He took a step forward.

And I took a step back automatically -- not from fear, but because my body reacted before my mind could. He moved closer with the confidence of a man who'd never heard the word "no" in his life.

"You embarrassed me in front of my shareholders," he said, his tone cold enough to frost metal.

"No." I crossed my arms. "I just gave back what you gave me."

"Don't talk to me like that," he shot back, stepping closer.

"Like what?" I lifted my chin. "Like the way you talk to me? Sorry, but I don't have that 'obedient' switch you seem to think exists."

He stood just inches away from me.

And I noticed something.

He was rattled.

Truly.

Rattled by me.

Which was, in a way... delicious.

"You have no idea what you've done," he growled.

"Yes, I do," I answered, shrugging. "I held up a mirror, and you didn't like the reflection."

The flash of irritation in his eyes burned brighter, but there was something else there. Something I'd already seen the day before but hadn't wanted to admit.

Interest.

An interest that seemed to infuriate him more than my words.

He looked at me as though trying to understand why I didn't crumble in front of him. As if I were an equation he couldn't solve.

"You're insolent," he said.

"Thank you." I smiled. "And you're arrogant. I'd say we're even."

He clenched his jaw, the veins in his neck becoming more defined. Ethan was fighting himself. And I was watching. He wanted to yell at me again, wanted to intimidate me, wanted me to shrink back.

But I wouldn't.

I never would.

He took a deep breath. A heavy, hot, furious breath.

"You should've been fired just now," he said.

"Then why didn't you fire me?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

His eyes wavered. It was subtle, but I caught it.

He also realized that I'd caught it.

"Because I..." he started, then stopped.

Stopped.

And that was the biggest mistake he made.

Because I pressed forward.

Not physically -- but verbally.

"Because you need me," I finished for him. "Because I'm competent. Because I do the work nobody else can handle. Because the last assistant cried, the one before her requested permanent leave, and you can't stand people who can't stand you."

He stood frozen.

"I don't need you," he countered, but without conviction.

I smiled. Not just any smile. That smile. The smile that says "gotcha."

"You don't?" I arched an eyebrow. "Then fire me."

He went silent.

Heavy silence.

Angry silence.

Telling silence.

He wasn't going to fire me.

And we both knew it.

"I thought," I continued, "that a CEO this powerful would have the guts to admit when he needs to keep someone, even when that someone irritates him down to his last nerve."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You're too bold."

"And you're too used to people who obey without questioning." I leaned slightly toward him. "I'm sorry to break it to you, Cavallieri, but I'm not one of them."

He took another deep breath. Again. As if the very existence of my mouth were a threat to his sanity.

"You talk too much," he said.

"Only when it's worth it," I fired back. "And with you, it always is."

He took another step closer.

And for the first time since I'd met him... he smiled.

But it wasn't kind.

It was dangerous.

"You provoke me," he murmured.

"I just give as good as I get," I answered.

He stood silent for a few seconds, studying me, dissecting me, trying to find whatever button would make me tremble.

Spoiler: it didn't exist.

And then he said:

"The meeting's over, but you're coming back with me to finalize the internal reports. And, Aurora..."

"What?" I asked, without breaking eye contact.

"If you speak to me that way again, I'll--"

"You'll what?" I stepped forward this time. "Yell louder? Call me names? Humiliate me? People tried that back in grade school. Didn't work then. Won't work now."

His breath caught.

And I decided to land the final blow.

"Want to know the difference between us, Cavallieri?"

He didn't answer.

So I continued:

"You shout to impose yourself. I speak firmly because I don't need to shout for people to hear me."

The silence thickened.

He was furious... but also intrigued.

And for one brief moment -- a microsecond -- I saw something different in his eyes.

Desire.

But as fast as it appeared, it vanished.

And he retreated behind his cold exterior.