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I smirk, amused. She’s about to shut the door in my face when I wedge my foot in the gap. She’s not deterred; her movements are controlled as she continuously tries to shut the door with my foot still in the way. This goes on for over a minute. I roll my eyes when she refuses to stop, despite it having little to no effect on me. With only one hand, I’m able to stop her, pushing against the brown oak door and forcing it open.
“You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?” I ask as I walk past her and enter the house.
That’s the first thing I’ve said to her in a decade. It’s a little disappointing. I hear her let out a soft huff of frustration from behind me.
“Get the fuck out, Nico!” she yells.
Those are the first words she has said to me in that time as well. In her case, though, those first words are oddly reminiscent of the last. I ignore her, taking in her house. She lives on the fifth floor of a high-rise apartment building. Every inch of her home speaks volumes about the owner's refined taste.
In the living room sits a large, plush sofa in a soft, neutral tone. There are a few fluffy throw pillows placed on it. The pillows are a splash of color that complements the abstract pieces of art hanging on the cream walls. Light pours in through large, elegantly draped windows, enhancing the airy feel of the space. The curtains are a soft, flowing fabric that allows just enough light to create a cozy, yet bright environment. An intricately carved wooden coffee table sits in the center of the room.
Every detail of the space is meticulously curated and cohesive. It’s all so very her.
“If you don’t leave in five minutes, I’m calling security to drag you out,” she threatens. “Who even let you up here?”
I turn around, my gaze meeting hers. “No one ‘lets’ me do anything, Aurora.”
She crosses her arm over her chest, eyes alight with fury.
“You’re trespassing. I don’t fucking want you here!”
“Do you think saying that over and over is going to suddenly make me do something I don’t want to do?” I ask seriously.
“Of course not,” she snaps. “Because it’s ten years later, and you’re still a fucking asshole with an irritating god complex who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else.”
I cock my head to the side at that. “Exactly why are you getting so emotional?”
She doesn’t usually lose her cool. The majority of the time, she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s usually focused singularly on getting what she wants. It’s a quality that I can relate to well. It’s why we used to be such good friends.
Friends. The friendship has burned to ashes now. For a plethora of reasons, not the least of which is the hate currently pouring out of Aurora and filling the entire space. It's like she wants me to choke on it. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of being bothered by her volatility. I’m here on a mission. And I’m not fucking leaving until I get what I want.
Aurora scoffs, “You’re in my space without invitation, threatening my very existence, and I’m being emotional? What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”
“Dramatics are another thing you’ve managed to learn these past few years,” I drawl. “How exactly am I threatening your existence?”
“By standing in front of me,” she replies easily, her tone biting. “By showing your face and making me even remember your existence.”
That stings more than I’ll ever admit. Because it means she forgot me, and that’s unacceptable.
“Why are you here?” she asks. “What do you want?”
“Finally. Now you’re asking the important questions,” I state.
“Answer them and get out. And while you’re at it, tell me why Adrian Rossi showed up in my office earlier today.”
I arch an eyebrow in surprise at that. I know he threatened to approach her, but I didn’t think he’d actually go through with it. Especially since we had that conversation a month ago. And, in that time, he didn’t make any moves. So why did he choose to do so today?
The only logical reason would have to be that he knew I was coming to see her. That shouldn’t be fucking possible, though. Not unless he has a spy among my men. I grit my jaw hard enough to crack it.
Aurora snaps two fingers in front of my face, and I’m surprised by how close she’s gotten. Granted, she had been inching closer the entire time she was yelling at me.
“Hello! Earth to sociopath. Tell me what’s going on.”
I roll my eyes. “So fucking bossy. I see that hasn’t changed, princess.”
She glares even harder. She hates the title and everything it stands for. She has hated it for her whole life. Instead of rising to the bait, she steps away, toward the sofa. She takes off the coat hanging on her slim frame and places it on the arm of the sofa. I watch as she takes a seat, crossing her legs and arms.
“Well, go on then. Tell me exactly what chaos is brewing that’s suddenly making all the rats skitter out into the daylight.”
