Aaron
I'm back.
The city breathes like a beast beneath my feet, and I've missed the scent of it—the mix of cigarette smoke, rain-soaked asphalt, and unspoken secrets. I inhale deeply as I stand at the top floor of my newly acquired building, my eyes fixed on the one that matters most.
She's one floor below.
Aurora Rosanera. My hellfire. My beginning and my end.
I didn't need a second office. I bought the building next to hers for one reason only: to be close. To watch. To wait. To own what should've always been mine.
She doesn't know I'm back yet.
She doesn't know I orchestrated the collapse of her deal. That I made the Martinez family tremble like children in the dark. That I've laid out each piece of the game with her at the center.
But she will.
She'll know soon. And she'll rage.
God, I miss her fury.
Even now, through the glass, I watch her pacing—sharp, lethal, beautiful. Her silhouette still burns into my vision the way it did all those years ago. Her temper was always like a storm, uncontrollable. I used to tease her just to feel the heat of her wrath. And now?
Now, I plan to bathe in it.
I've waited thirteen years to come back stronger than ever. I built a kingdom of shadows to match hers. And now I'll pull her into it, willingly or not.
Love was never soft between us. It was war. And I plan to win.
The door to my office exploded open—literally. Ilan, of course.
"You're a menace," I muttered. "Ever heard of knocking?"
"We've got a situation," he snapped.
I raised an eyebrow. "What now?"
"You'll want to see it yourself."
I followed him to the elevator, cursing his recklessness, when he smirked and muttered, "Still busy stalking your beloved?"
"Watch it."
The doors slid open to reveal chaos.
Guards stood in a semi-circle around a young girl. No—not just any girl.
Melitza Rosanera.
All grown up.
A ghost from my past suddenly alive in my present.
She looked terrified. Small and trembling, her hands clenched to her chest as if her bones might give way. Her face—so similar to Aurora's it stopped my breath—was stained with tears.
"What the hell is she doing here?" I growled.
"She asked for Leone," one of my men said.
Melitza's voice quivered. "Please... he told me to come here if I ever needed help."
I knelt down, leveling my eyes with hers.
"What business do you have with my brother?"
Her lips trembled. "He's… we're… I had nowhere else to go."
You're kidding me.
Leone.
Of all the girls in the city, he had to fall for her?
I clenched my fists. My jaw.
This changes everything.
Aurora would think I planted him. She'd think this was a scheme—a weak ploy to get to her through her sister. And she'd kill him. Or try.
"I'm begging you," Melitza whispered. "Please don't let her find him. She'll hurt him."
I should've sent her home. Should've walked away.
But as I looked into those eyes—so full of desperation—I remembered Aurora. At sixteen. The fire. The ache. The wild defiance.
No. I wouldn't let her be broken like Aurora had been.
"Take her to the hotel," I told Ilan. "No one sees her. No one knows she's here. And bring Leone to me."
"What are you going to do?" Ilan asked.
"Meet her sister."
Aurora
"So you're telling me my sister was inside that building?"
"Positive," Antonio said. "We traced her heat signature. She was there. Alone."
I stared at the steel-and-glass tower. Cold. New. Anonymous.
"And who owns it?"
"Records say Ilan Vanencho. Thirty-five. Moved here last week. No clear business background."
Something itched at the back of my mind. This felt orchestrated. Too perfect.
"Search it. Top to bottom. No inch left."
Forty minutes passed.
Nothing.
No Melitza. No staff. No signs of life.
I took the elevator to the top floor, gun in hand, flashlight ready.
The office was pristine. Too pristine. No papers. No tech. Just a shell.
Then I felt it, The shift in air, The presence.
A cloth pressed over my nose. Strong arms. A chemical sting. Cold panic.
I fought. Kicked. Bit. But no help
The last thing I heard was his voice—silken, low, dangerously soft.
"Been a long time, Aurora. Don't worry. Things are about to turn bright."
I woke to the sound of the sea. A strange ceiling above me. Sheets too soft. A scent I remembered all too well. I bolted upright. My head pounded.
Where the hell am I?
I stumbled toward the door, heart hammering. Opened it. A hallway stretched like a labyrinth. No windows. No light, Then a voice, from behind.
"You're awake. You should've told me."
I turned and froze immediately.
Aaron Giuramento.
He stood there—impossibly tall, sharply dressed, a glass of whiskey in one hand, eyes like polished obsidian.
The man I swore I'd kill. The man who ruined everything. I didn't even let him get to speak before I ran as fast as I could. Through corridors. Down flights of stairs. My breath ragged. Panic gnawed at my ribs. No exits, Just darkness.
I found a back door. Opened it to cold rain and wilderness.
I ran into the forest. Branches scraped my skin. My lungs burned and I didn't care. Anything was better than being in a room with him. He chased me. Of course he did, Like a wolf hunting his wounded prey. I collapsed in the mud, trembling, exhausted and drenched. As I admire the sky, I hear Footsteps approached.
He stood above me, watching me. A silhouette in the rain. A predator savoring the fall of its prey. I blacked out and when I woke again. Same bed. Same cuffs on my ankle. I fought them with bloody hands, I didn't care at all if I ripped my skin off.
Then came his voice.
"You've always been beautiful when you're angry." He sat in the shadows, watching.
"You're insane," I spat.
"I'm patient," he said. "And persistent."
"You drugged me. You kidnapped me."
"I gave you a place to rest. You looked tired."
"I will kill you, Aaron. I will burn everything you touch."
He smiled.
"That's the fire I missed."
He stood. Walked toward me. Towered over me.
"I came back for one reason. You."
"You took everything from me!" I shouted. "My father—"
"Your father was a coward," he said sharply.
The silence was deafening.
My pulse stopped.
I wanted to scream, to strike him, to demand the truth he kept buried—but all I could do was stare. His expression didn't waver. No guilt. No triumph. Just cold certainty. He wasn't here to explain himself. He was here to own the narrative. To claim me, piece by piece, even if he had to drag me through hell to do it.
He leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek with an intimacy that made my skin crawl.
"You just don't remember," he whispered.
His touch was maddening—gentle, possessive, undeserved. Like fire that pretends to warm you just before it burns.
"I don't need memories to know this much," I said, my voice a low blade. "You betrayed my family. And for that, I'll spend the rest of my life resenting you."
He smiled, slow and cruel.
"You still don't get it," he murmured, voice dipped in dark honey. "If your hatred is the price for keeping you close, I'll pay it in blood and silence. Every day. Gladly." He paused. "Little tiger."
He stood, straightened his cuffs, and walked away. His voice trailed behind him, echoing like prophecy:
"And when you do... you'll understand why you've always belonged to me."