Aurora’s POV
My heart began to pound violently against my ribs.
How could two n be so... identical in such an intimate way?
I tried to tell myself I was just traumatized, that I was seeing Raymond everywhere because I was scared. But the similarity was so striking it made my head spin.
"Your turn, Aurora," Oliver rumbled, his voice pulling back to the present.
He was watching with those piercing blue eyes, waiting for to join him.
I reached for the zipper of my red dress, my fingers trembling so much I could barely grip the tal. I felt exposed, not just because I was about to be naked, but because the ghost of Raymond was driving insane.
Because of the possibility that sothing wasn’t right.
I pushed the thought away and let the dress fall to the tiles, standing there in only my lace underwear. Oliver didn’t move; he just watched , his gaze heavy and possessive. I quickly stepped toward the water and dove in, the cold shock of it finally silencing the panic thoughts in my brain.
I surfaced near the edge, pushing my wet hair back. Oliver was already in the water, gliding toward like a shark. He didn’t stop until he was inches away, his large, warm hands finding my waist under the surface.
"The water is good, isn’t it?" he whispered, pulling flush against his chest.
"Yes," I breathed, trying to focus on the feeling of his skin.
But as my hand brushed against his subrged wrist, I felt sothing strange. It wasn’t the smooth skin I expected. It felt slightly tacky, like a layer of sothing thick was starting to dissolve in the water. I pulled back slightly, my brow furrowing as I looked down through the clear blue water at his wrist.
I squinted through the crystal-clear water, my heart stopping for a beat as I stared at his wrist, but I saw nothing... just his clear skin...
I blinked, shaking my head. What was I thinking? My mind was playing cruel tricks on . Oliver was a King and Raymond was an assassin...
They couldn’t be the sa person. The thought of him must have been making hallucinate.
"Is sothing wrong, Aurora?" Oliver asked, his voice low and cautious. He didn’t move his arm away, but I could feel the sudden tension in his muscles, as if he were holding his breath.
"No," I whispered, my voice regaining its strength. "Nothing is wrong. I’m just... I’m just overwheld by you."
I didn’t want to think about ghosts anymore. I didn’t want to think about tattoos or similarities or the man who had broken my heart. I wanted the man who was standing right here, protecting . To silence the screaming doubts in my head, I leaned forward and captured his lips with mine.
The kiss was desperate and hungry, a silent plea for him to make forget everything else. Oliver didn’t hesitate. He groaned into my mouth, his hands tightening on my waist before he surged upward, lifting out of the water.
I gasped as the cool air hit my wet skin, but the heat of his body was everywhere. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, my fingers tangling in his damp hair to pull him closer. The friction of our skin—slick with water and sparking with that undeniable electricity—sent shivers racing down my spine.
We both moaned into the kiss, the sound echoing off the glass walls of the penthouse.
When we pulled away, we were both breathless, and shyly I swam away while hearing the soft chuckle of Oliver behind .
We enjoyed the water for a while before Oliver carried into one of the guest rooms. He didn’t put on the bed right away. Instead, he grabbed a thick towel and went down on his knees before .
My heart skipped a beat at the sight—the Alpha King, a man who ruled thousands, kneeling at my feet. He worked with a surprising tenderness, drying my legs and arms with slow, deliberate strokes. His touch was grounding, erasing the last of the "Raymond" shadows that had been flickering in my mind. When he was done, he reached into a drawer and handed one of his own black shirts.
It was massive on , the hem reaching mid-thigh and the scent of his woodsy cologne enveloping like a hug. As I pulled it on, he looked up at , his eyes dark and soft.
"You look better in my clothes than I do," he murmured, standing up. "What do you want for lunch, Aurora? I want to make sure you’re fed before... well, before we lose track of ti."
I bit my lip, thinking for a second. "Can we have pasta? Sothing simple, like aglio e olio?"
"I’ll prepare it," he said, nodding.
"Let’s do it together," I countered, reaching out to catch his hand. "I don’t want to just sit and wait. I want to be near you."
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "As you wish, darling."
I followed him into the huge modern kitchen. As he began pulling ingredients from the fridge—fresh garlic, parsley, and olive oil—I found myself leaning against the marble counter, just watching him. The way his muscles moved under his skin, the focus in his eyes as he chopped the garlic with professional ease... I felt like I was falling in love with him all over again, deeper than before.
He must have felt the weight of my gaze because he paused, his knife hovering over the cutting board. He looked over his shoulder, a playful glint in his blue eyes.
"What?" he asked teasingly. "Is there garlic on my face?"
I laughed softly, but then a question popped into my head—one I hadn’t planned, one that felt far too intimate for our complicated situation. "Do you... do you ever wish to beco a father one day?"
The kitchen went silent. Oliver froze, his entire posture stiffening for a heartbeat. I suddenly felt breathless, wondering if I had overstepped. We weren’t even "official," and here I was asking about kids. I didn’t even know why the words had left my mouth.
He slowly turned around, leaning his hands back against the counter. He looked at for a long ti, his expression unreadable.
"A father," he repeated, the word sounding heavy in the quiet kitchen.
I swallowed hard. "Yeah."
He went quiet for a mont... then simply said, "No."
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