Aurora’s POV 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

​The heavy silence filled the small entryway. I could hear the rhythmic thud of his heart against my chest, fast and hard. Behind the mask, his eyes darkened, the pupils blowing out until they were twin pits of black fire. The "Raymond" I knew seemed to settle into his bones, but he didn’t move to claim me. Not yet.

​"What happened, Aurora?" he asked again, his voice dropping with concern, vibrating through my sternum.

​"Don’t fucking ask me, Raymond," I snapped, my voice cracking as a fresh wave of agony washed over me. I grabbed the front of his jacket, trying to pull his mouth back down to mine. I needed the heat. I needed the feeling. "Just fuck me. Make me forget. Put your hands on me until I can’t breathe, until his name is burned out of my brain. Just do it!"

​But he didn’t move. He stood like a statue of black marble, his boots planted firmly on my rug. "No."

​I froze, my hands falling limp against his chest. "What?"

​"No," he repeated, and for the first time, he sounded less like a killer and more like a man who actually gave a damn. "We aren’t doing this. Not like this. You’re bleeding out internally, little bird, and you want me to use you to plug the wound? Let’s talk. What did he do?"

​The rejection hurt worse than the scratch of his mask. A sob ripped from my throat, raw and ugly. I collapsed back against his chest, my strength finally failing me. I couldn’t hold the walls up anymore. I told him everything. Between painful breaths and heaving sobs, I told him about the lunch. I told him about Genevieve. I told him how Oliver had looked right through me, treating me like a stranger, like a mistake he was finally correcting.

​Raymond’s arms tightened around me as I spoke, his gloved fingers tracing patterns on my back that felt far too much like a caress. He let me cry until my voice was hoarse and my eyes were swollen shut.

​"If you love the Alpha King that much," Raymond said quietly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room, "why aren’t you with him? Why are you here, in my arms, asking me to ruin you?"

​I swallowed hard, the bitterness of my mission rising in my throat. Because I have to kill you, I thought. Because you’re a monster who destroyed my world, and the only way I can get close enough to end you is to let you think you’ve won me.

​But I couldn’t say that. I stayed silent, my face buried in the scent of whiskey and leather.

​When I wouldn’t answer, he grabbed my chin, forcing my face off his chest. He made me look at him, those dark eyes behind the mask searching mine with a terrifying intensity.

​"Aurora, why are you really with me?" he asked again, his voice stripping me bare. "And don’t tell me it’s about the sex. If it were just about the pleasure, I’m pretty sure the Alpha King could pleasure you more than the way I do. He loves you."

​I flinched. The mention of Oliver’s love felt like a physical strike. I remained silent, my heart sinking. How could I tell him I was an assassin in a lover’s mask? How could I tell him I was counting down the days until I put a silver blade through his heart?

​He didn’t let go. He stepped closer, crowding me back against the door again. "Is it because of his status? Is it because you’re wolfless and he needs a Queen who is strong? Is that it? You think you aren’t enough for him?"

​He was asking so many questions, each one hitting a nerve I had spent days trying to numb. The air in the room felt like it was disappearing. I felt suffocated by his proximity, by his words, by the sheer weight of the lies I was telling.

​I wanted to scream. I wanted to push him away and run, but my body wouldn’t obey. I was falling—not into the revenge I had planned, but into the strange, dark comfort of the man I was supposed to destroy.

​"Stop," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Just stop asking."

​"I won’t stop," Raymond argued, his voice a low, relentless vibration in the small entryway. "I won’t stop until you look me in the eye and tell me why you’re really with me, Aurora."

​The suffocating weight of his questions finally snapped the last thread of my control. The sadness curdled into a hot, white-hot flash of rage. I shoved his chest with both hands, my palms stinging against the cold leather of his jacket.

​"You want to know why?" I screamed, the sound raw and jagged in the quiet apartment. "You want to know why I’m here instead of with him? Fine! Maybe I’m just as broken and twisted as you are! Now, just fucking leave, Raymond! Get out! I didn’t ask for a therapist, I asked for—"

​I choked on the word, my chest heaving as I waited for him to snap back, to growl, to show the monster I knew lived under the mask.

​But he didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, his boots planted on my rug, his arms folded over his broad chest. Those dark eyes behind the mask never left my face, watching the fire in me burn down until there was nothing left but ash.

​"I’m not leaving, little bird," he said calmly.

​The lack of anger in his voice was more unsettling than a shout would have been. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I turned on my heel and walked toward the bed, my legs shaking so hard I had to sit on the edge of the mattress. I buried my face in my hands, listening to the silence of the apartment, waiting for the sound of the front door closing.

​It never came.

​I felt him before I saw him. The air in the room shifted, growing heavy with his aura. I peeked through my fingers and saw him standing at the door. He stood there for a long time, just staring at me, his presence a silent, immovable weight.

​Eventually, he moved. He didn’t come to the bed. Instead, he pulled the single armchair over, placing it a few feet away from me. He sat down, leaning back and resting his elbows on the armrests, his gloved fingers interlaced.

​The room fell silent again, the only sound being the clock and my heart beating fast. He sat still, like a statue, watching me in a way that made my skin tingle. He didn’t look scary anymore; he looked like he was guarding me.

​"Is Raymond even your real name?" I whispered. I just needed to know one true thing.

​"Yes," he said, his voice deep and steady. "It is a part of my name."

​I wiped my eyes and looked at him. He was so calm while my heart was breaking over Oliver and his upcoming wedding. "Are you married? Do you have kids?"

​He let out a short, dry laugh, but it wasn’t mean. "No. No wife. No kids. My life isn’t really made for family dinners, Aurora."

​"Do you have brothers or sisters?"

​"Yes," he said. For a second, his voice sounded heavy, like he was carrying a big weight. But he didn’t move. He just stayed relaxed in the chair.

​I bit my lip. Every answer felt like a piece of a puzzle I couldn’t finish. I looked at the black mask that hid his face. He had seen me at my worst, but I didn’t even know what he looked like.

​"Have I ever seen you?" I asked, my voice shaking. "I mean... without the mask. Have we ever been in the same room when you were just... a man?"

​The air in the room suddenly felt heavy and tight. He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at me, and I could feel his eyes on me behind the leather.

​"Yes," he finally said.

​My eyes went wide. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a cold chill run down my back. "I’ve seen your face?"

​"Yes," he said again, his voice very low.

​"Where? When?" I leaned forward, my mind racing. I tried to remember every face I had seen lately—every guard at the packhouse, every person in town, every stranger on the street. "How could I see you and not know it was you?"

​He laughed again, a dark, quiet sound. "I can’t tell you that, little bird. Not yet."

​I stared at him. I looked at his broad shoulders and the way he moved like a hunter. I looked at his big, strong hands. He seemed to fill up the whole room.

​The only person I knew who was that big and had the same build was Oliver. But it couldn’t be Oliver. Oliver was the Alpha King, not an assassin. Oliver had red hair, not black. Oliver didn’t have tattoos around his wrist or green eyes...

​Then, I stopped breathing for a second. My eyes grew wide as a different name came to my mind—a person who looked just like Oliver... a person who fit this masked man description...

​"Is he..." I whispered to myself, my heart thumping in my ears like a drum. "Is he... Alpha Oscar?"