I don’t ask any of the staff to bring my car and, instead, quicken my pace towards it, not sparing a glance behind me.
If you don’t look behind, no one finds you.
Or so you think.
I shake my head at that sinister voice. His voice. The devil I’m acquainted with.
My fingers are unsteady as I pull out my keys from my bag. I push the button on my car keys, causing my Toyota to unlock with a beep.
The moment I open the door, a hand comes from beside my head and slams it shut. I flinch as the same strong woodsy scent I’ve never forgotten invades my nostrils.
Jonathan’s hot breath leaves goosebumps on my face as he whispers in a low, almost threatening tone, “Long time no see, Aurora. Or should I call you Clarissa?”
4
Aurora
I’m trapped.
This sensation of being in a confined place with no way out was supposed to be over eleven years ago.
I’m supposed to be free.
But am I? Really?
I step away from Jonathan’s clutches, and that leaves me with my back against the closed door of my car.
Jonathan towers over me like a large wall. I miscalculated his height. I’m not short by any means, yet in order to meet his gaze, I have to tilt my head up.
I have to step out of my comfort zone and pay the price for the risk I took.
Clarissa.
He remembers. Why does he remember a name he’s only heard twice in his damn life?
Alicia wouldn’t have talked about me. She came to see me in secret and told me it was our private little world that no one needed to know about. We even did it behind my father’s back as I grew up.
We only shared a mother who died soon after I was born, and then Alicia wanted to fulfil that role.
She tried to, anyway.
But I was already acquainted with the devil and I had no way out. Nothing Alicia could’ve done would’ve saved me. If anything, it might’ve accelerated her death.
Bottom line is, Jonathan shouldn’t care about my existence, let alone remember my old name.
“Aurora. My name is just Aurora Harper now.”
He remains motionless like a mountain. “I see you’re killing your association with Maxim Griffin.”
Black images assault my head. The cries. The shouts. The assault of the angry crowd.
My bottom lip trembles and I trap it under my teeth to put a halt to it.
“Don’t.” I wrap a hand around my waist and hug myself. The old scar is way underneath my clothes, but I feel the burn as if it’s happening right now.
“Don’t?” he repeats.
“Don’t say his name.”