AURORA
I swear I tried to act normal after lunch. I ate my packed lunch like someone who hadn’t just run into an eerily cold CEO in a cafeteria that smelled like… I don’t know… a threat? Mystery? Something no one should be smelling?
I went back to my department at a quick pace, trying to convince my brain that everything was fine, everything was under control, everything was normal. Adrian was just an eccentric businessman. Filthy rich. Antisocial. My run-in with him? Just a coincidence. The strange atmosphere? An electrical problem. The intense smell? Maybe my lunch was leaking iron or something. My imagination had always been hyperactive.
Yes. Completely normal.
Totally, absolutely normal.
Too bad my body didn’t believe me.
I was tense and freezing, with that primal instinct screaming like a fire alarm: danger.
But at the same time… something in me wanted to understand. To know. To see him again.
Because part of me—that slightly arrogant, slightly dreamy part—thought he wasn’t just strange. He was… important. Like a turning point in my life. Something big, frightening, and irresistible.
The perfect mix for everything to go wrong.
I sat down at my desk. Took a deep breath. Opened my email.
And then I noticed it.
On the side of my desk, there was an envelope.
Sealed. No name. No company stamp. Nothing.
The kind of envelope that shouldn’t have been there, because no one in the office left things like that without identification. Much less for an intern.
I touched it with absurd caution.
The paper was cold. Nothing unusual.
But there was something about the texture… I don’t know… it seemed strange. Thick. Like paper that hadn’t been used since… another era.
I opened it slowly, because my curiosity always won out over my common sense.
There was only one thing inside:
A card, made of equally thick paper, with elegant, precise handwriting.
One sentence.
Simple.
Direct.
“Don’t stay alone after hours.”
My stomach turned into a black hole.
My brain tried to come up with logical explanations:
— it had to be a prank from one of my coworkers
— maybe it was a warning about building security
— perhaps something had happened in the building and no one had told me
But no.
That card… had his fingerprints all over it.
I should clarify one thing:
There was no signature.
But it carried the unmistakable mark of Adrian’s presence—that elegant, calculated, cold… and slightly possessive way about him.
As if he were making the decision for me without bothering to consult me.
I put the card in my purse, trying not to shake.
But my mind? Racing.
And as the irresponsible curiosity addict I was, instead of keeping my head down, I did the exact opposite.
When the workday ended, I didn’t leave with the flow of employees.
I stayed for another fifteen minutes.
Just to see.
I wanted to confirm whether it was paranoia or… I don’t know… concern?
Or maybe he’d written it for another reason… a less logical one.
Maybe… because of me.
Yes, I was an idiot.
But a determined idiot.
When the office was mostly empty, I started gathering my things slowly.
That was when I noticed it again.
The sensation.
That faint pressure in the air.
As if someone were watching me… from very close by.
I looked up.
And there he was.
Adrian.
Standing in the hallway.
Motionless.
Classic.
Impeccable posture, one hand in his pocket, a neutral expression—but his eyes swept over me from head to toe as if he were assessing my entire existence.
“Working late?” he asked, in that far-too-calm voice.
“Just… finishing up a few emails,” I replied, putting my purse away. “You’re still here?”
“It would appear so.”
He said it with a dry edge, almost irritated with himself. As if he hadn’t liked his own answer.
“I was just leaving,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I just… wanted to avoid traffic.”
Lie. I didn’t even drive. But I tossed the excuse out there quickly.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
As if they’d read the lie.
But he didn’t comment.
He only watched me for a few seconds.
Long seconds.
“Did you receive the warning?” he asked suddenly.
My heart tripped over itself.
“What warning?”
He didn’t answer right away.
He simply took a few steps toward my desk.
Far too silent for Italian shoes.
But I ignored it. Because I had to ignore it. Because the alternative was panicking.
When he stopped in front of the desk, his eyes settled on the open envelope, still there because I’d forgotten to put it away completely.
And his voice came out… low.
Lower than usual.
“Ah,” he said. “Then you received it.”
I froze.
“That… came from you?” I asked, my voice higher than I would have liked.
He held my gaze.
And that was when I realized: he was… almost irritated.
But not with me.
With the situation.
“This floor has been becoming far too empty,” he replied, choosing his words with a precision that was almost frightening. “And there are… employees moving around without authorization at odd hours.”
Employees.
Moving around.
Without authorization.
He said it in such a cold, incisive tone that it seemed to conceal something much bigger underneath.
“Are you saying it’s dangerous?” I asked.
He looked away for one second.
Just one second.
But it was enough to make one thing clear: there was something he didn’t want to say.
“It is not… ideal,” he finally replied.
And then, for the briefest moment, something appeared on his face.
A microexpression.
Something like… concern?
“Let us go,” he said suddenly. “I will escort you to the exit.”
“You don’t have to—” I began.
“It is not a request,” he cut in, with a cold seriousness that sent a shiver down my spine.
And that was that.
He turned his back and started walking, waiting for me to follow.
And I followed.
Because, honestly, my heart was already beating so fast that maybe staying there alone really would have been dangerous.
We went down the silent hallway.
The lights were still flickering.
The air was still strange.
And, in one very, very quick moment…
In the split second when my hair fell across my face and I turned to fix it…
I saw it.
His shadow on the floor—cast by the ceiling light.
It completely covered mine. I almost wanted to laugh just remembering that the owner of that shadow was as tall as it was large.
And before I could blink, before I could be sure…
He stopped and turned his face toward me, completely expressionless.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
My heart leaped.
I hesitated.
I wanted to tell him.
But my mouth went dry.
“No…” I replied. “I’m just tired.”
He stared at me for long seconds.
Far too long.
Almost as if he knew exactly what I had seen.
Or almost seen.
And then he spoke, quietly, seriously, almost threateningly:
“Do not try to understand everything so quickly, Aurora.”
And he continued on.
While I took a deep breath and thought:
He didn’t say, “There’s nothing to understand.”
He only said… don’t try.
As if there were so much to understand that it could break me in half.
And at that moment, for the first time, I began to suspect something much worse:
Maybe I wasn’t afraid of him.
Maybe I was afraid… of being right.