Aurora’s POV
I leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
He moved with a quiet, practiced grace. He wasn’t clumsy or out of place in the small kitchen; he seed completely at ease, as if standing over a stove was just as natural to him as holding a weapon.
As I watched his back, the way his shoulders moved as he whisked the eggs and the way he tilted his head to check the heat of the pan made my breath hitch. It was like a ghost was standing in my kitchen. It reminded so much of Alpha Oliver that day in his mansion, moving through his own kitchen with the sa effortless confidence.
No, I told myself, shaking my head slightly to clear the thought. Stop it. You’re just traumatized. Two n can have the sa build. Two n can move the sa way.
The sizzle of the butter and the scent of toasting bread filled the tiny room, replacing the awful sll of blood that had been stuck in my nose. It was a dostic, peaceful sound that felt completely wrong for a night that had started with a murder.
He didn’t speak while he worked. He just focused on the food, his movents steady and calm. Seeing him like this—this terrifying man—doing sothing as simple as making breakfast for dinner made my chest ache with a confusing mix of hatred and safety.
He plated the food—simple scrambled eggs and perfectly browned toast—and turned around. He didn’t bring it to the small table; he walked straight toward the bed where I was sitting.
"Eat," he said, handing the plate.
I took the plate from him, my fingers brushing against his warm skin. My heart hamred against my ribs. "Thank you, Raymond."
He didn’t go back to the chair. Instead, he leaned against the small counter just a few feet away, crossing his arms over his chest, watching intently through those green eyes.
I took a bite of the eggs, and I almost groaned out loud. It was incredible: rich, buttery, and cooked to perfection. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that mont. I kept eating, but I could feel his gaze on the entire ti. It was heavy and unblinking. Why is he looking at like that? I wondered, a chill running down my spine. Am I his next victim? I shook my head; if he wanted to kill , he could have done it a long ti ago.
When I finished every last bite, I whispered another thank you. He stepped forward, took the empty plate from my hands, and set it on the counter before sitting back down in the small chair.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11 PM. My body was exhausted, but my mind was racing like a high-speed train. Every ti I closed my eyes, I saw the alley. Every ti the building settled with a creak, I flinched.
"I’m sorry," I said, my voice small in the quiet room. "I just... I can’t sleep."
He nodded slowly. "Take your ti. I’m not going anywhere."
We sat in silence for a long while. The tension was thick, and the silence was starting to make feel itchy. I needed a distraction—sothing to keep the dark thoughts away.
"Let’s play cards," I said suddenly.
He stiffened, and for a mont, he looked genuinely annoyed. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and the air grew cold again.
"I’m sorry!" I quickly added, pulling the blanket higher. "Forget I said anything. It was a stupid idea."
"No," he said, his voice a low rumble. He looked away for a second, his jaw tightening. "It’s okay. It’s not you... I just rembered sothing." He let out a long breath, then looked back at . "Bring the cards."
I nodded, reached into my nightstand, and pulled out a worn deck.
I moved to the floor, and he did the sa, his long legs folding easily as he sat opposite . The sight was ridiculous. An Alpha assassin sitting on a stained rug in a tiny apartnt, preparing to play a card ga with a girl who had just committed a cri.
"We’re playing Speed," I said, shuffling the cards with slightly steadier hands. "Do you even know how to play, or do you only know how to... you know...."
He let out a dry, gravelly huff that might have been a laugh. "I think I can manage a card ga, Aurora. Deal."
We started playing, and at first, the tension was thick. But as the ga sped up, the adrenaline from the match started to replace the adrenaline from my fear. I was fast, but he was faster. His hands moved like lightning, slamming cards down before I could even blink.
"Cheat!" I giggled, trying to block his hand with mine. "There’s no way a human is that fast."
"I’m not exactly ’just’ human, rember?" he reminded , his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I actually managed to win the third round by distracting him with a fake gasp toward the window. When I slamd my last card down, I let out a genuine, bright laugh of victory.
"I beat the Great Dom Raymond!" I cheered, leaning back and shaking the deck at him.
And then, it happened.
He let out a low, deep chuckle. It started in his chest and rumbled out—a warm, rich sound that filled the small room. My laughter died in my throat as I froze, staring at him.
Damn.
He laughed exactly like... no. I searched my mory. Had I ever actually heard Alpha Oliver laugh? He was always so cold, so stony and professional. But I had heard him hum once, and the vibration was identical. This laugh was heavy, masculine, and felt like shivers against my skin. It was a beautiful sound, and it belonged to a monster.
He caught staring, and the laughter died away, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness. The fun evaporated, leaving us sitting inches apart on the floor.
"You have a nice laugh," I whispered, the cards forgotten in my lap. "I didn’t think n like you... laughed."
He looked at his hands, his voice dropping into a murmur. "n like usually have very little to laugh about, Aurora."
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