Chapter 4 4.

AURORA'S POV

The bell rings, signaling the end of class, and I gather my things, shoving them hastily into my bag. Maria and Luca are already waiting for me by the door, looking as relaxed as always. We move through the crowded hallways, their voices filling the air with casual chatter, but my mind is miles away.

I don't even really hear their conversation, my thoughts drifting back to that one person who always seems to linger in my mind-Amalia.

It's lunchtime, and as we head toward our usual spot behind the stage in the drama studio, I feel the familiar weight of frustration settle in my chest.

I don't know why I keep thinking about her, but I do.

She was supposed to be my sister, right? The one who promised she'd always be there, that I'd never have to feel alone. But when I needed her the most, when I was lost in that orphanage with no one to turn to, she disappeared.

She left.

And it hurt. It still hurts, even if I try not to show it.

Amalia's selfishness stings more than anything. She wanted everything-all the love from our adoptive parents, as if they were hers to keep. And when she left, she took that love with her, leaving me behind. I spent years alone, cold, unwanted. Until she decided to come back.

She took me in like I was some charity case, as if everything could be fixed with a roof over my head. But I don't know why, because I didn't feel like the same person anymore. How could I, after being cast aside for so long?

I wanted to hate her, to scream at her for being so cruel. But when she opened the door to her house, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Because, somehow, I was glad to be out of the orphanage, even if it meant putting up with her.

I swallow the bitter taste of resentment, trying to shake it off. Maria nudges me, catching my attention.

"You alright?" she asks, her voice laced with concern.

I give her a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, just... tired"

She seems to buy it, her focus returning to Luca, who's too busy messing with his phone to notice anything.

I keep walking, my footsteps echoing in the empty hall, my mind still swirling with thoughts of Amalia. What's wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking about her, after everything?

I don't even know if I want to fix things between us. Maybe it's better if we just stay apart. After all, we were never really a family, were we?

꧁☆꧂

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the car park as I lean back against the car, trying to distract myself with random thoughts. The hum of the engine and the distant chatter of students walking home fade in the background. I'm waiting for Luca and Maria, but my mind keeps drifting back to school, to home, to everything.

Maria has been unusually quiet, tapping her fingers nervously against the car door, glancing at her phone every few seconds. I'm used to her bubbly, confident personality, so this silence feels out of place. I glance over at her, wondering if she's going to say something.

And then, like a punch to the gut, she says it.

"We're moving to Los Angeles."

I blink, thinking I didn't hear her right. "What?" I say, my voice hoarse.

Maria turns to face me, her expression soft but serious. "Dad got a great job opportunity. It's a big deal for him, and... well, we're moving on Saturday."

The words don't register at first. It's like my brain refuses to believe it. The world around me blurs, my stomach sinking lower and lower with each passing second.

"Maria," I start, my voice barely a whisper. "You... you're leaving?"

She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I didn't want to tell you like this. I didn't know how to say it. But it's happening. I'm sorry, Rory. I really am."

I try to keep it together. I really do. But my throat tightens, my eyes burn, and before I know it, I can't hold back the tears.

I've been through so much in my life-abandonment, pain, loneliness-but Maria and Luca, they've been there for me. Through everything. The three of us have been inseparable, like a team, like family. And now they're leaving. Just like everyone else.

The car door opens, and Luca slides into the seat next to me. He looks between us, frowning when he sees the tears on my face.

"Maria already told you, huh?" he says softly, not needing to ask.

I nod, my chest heaving with emotion. "I didn't even get to... I didn't even know."

Before I can say anything else, both of them are there, wrapping their arms around me. Maria hugs me tightly, her cheek pressed against mine. Luca squeezes in from the other side. The warmth of their embrace is all I have left in this moment.

"I'm sorry, Aurora," Maria whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't want this to hurt you. But we're not leaving yet. We still have a few days together."

Luca joins in, his voice quieter than usual. "You're not alone, okay? You'll always have us, even if we're miles away."

I choke on a sob, holding onto them tighter. It feels like the world is breaking apart around me. How am I supposed to let them go? How am I supposed to survive without the two of them by my side?

"Tonight," Maria says after a while, her voice determined. "Let's make tonight the best night of our lives, Aurora. No sad stuff, okay? We've got time left, and we're going to spend it doing everything we love. No goodbyes tonight."

I pull back slightly, wiping my tears with the back of my hand, trying to take in her words. I nod, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "Okay," I manage to whisper. "Okay. Let's make it count."

The car starts, and for the rest of the ride, I focus on being present-on cherishing these last few days with them. Because no matter what happens after Saturday, I know that they'll always have a piece of me, and I'll always have a piece of them.

꧁☆꧂

The house is eerily quiet when I step inside, the usual hum of life absent. I frown, hearing voices from the living room as I close the door behind me. My footsteps falter as I catch sight of Amalia, her back to me as she argues with three large men. The air feels thick with tension, and my stomach churns in response.

I can hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but it's hard to make sense of it from where I stand. They're towering over her, their voices low but harsh. The man at the front is saying something about "giving it up," and Amalia's tone is sharp, her voice unwavering.

"...I don't fucking have it," she says, sounding almost... uninterested.

The man doesn't take it well. His voice rises, full of anger, and before I can even process what's happening, he pulls out a gun. My heart stops.

Dafuq?

I freeze, my body going stiff as I fight the instinct to gasp. My eyes are locked on the scene, but it's like my body isn't listening to me anymore. My feet want to run to her, but I can't move.

But Amalia? She's calm-way too calm. The gun aimed at her doesn't seem to faze her. She's not backing down, not showing fear. It's terrifying to watch, this version of her that I've never fully understood.

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. Instead, she says something-quiet but firm-and within moments, the men back down, grumbling as they leave the house.

I stand frozen, barely breathing, trying to process everything. What did she just say to make them leave? What is this? What is she mixed up in?

When they're finally gone, the door clicks shut behind them. Amalia locks it without a second thought, her movements deliberate, mechanical. She leans against the door, sliding down until she's sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. Her face is hidden, but I can tell she's shaken. She looks... small. Vulnerable. For a second, I almost want to go to her.

But I don't. Instead, I stay hidden at the top of the stairs, unable to tear my eyes away from her. I feel something stir inside me, something that's almost guilt, almost regret. Maybe I've been too harsh on her. Maybe I don't even know her at all.

But just as quickly as it comes, the feeling disappears when she stands up, her expression hardening again. She walks upstairs without sparing me a glance. I wait for a beat, maybe hoping she'll come to me or say something. But she doesn't.

I don't know what else to do, so I run to my room. I don't even know why I'm running-maybe it's instinct, or maybe I'm just scared. But I don't want her to know I was listening. And I sure as hell don't want to deal with whatever that was.

I lock my door behind me, my heart still pounding in my chest. I don't know what the hell just happened, but I can't shake the feeling that things are about to get a lot more complicated.

AMALIA'S POV

The living room of Sebastian's safe house is dimly lit, the faint hum of an overhead fan filling the silence as I sit cross-legged on the couch

The living room of Sebastian's safe house is dimly lit, the faint hum of an overhead fan filling the silence as I sit cross-legged on the couch. Eliana is pacing, her brow furrowed, and Sebastian is sprawled in his chair, one hand raking through his messy black hair as he scrolls through his laptop.

"So, these guys," I start, breaking the silence. "They came out of nowhere, knew where I lived, and had the audacity to point a gun at me in my house." My voice drips with annoyance, but inside, I'm still reeling from last night.

"Any connections?" Eliana asks, finally sitting down.

"Not yet," Sebastian replies, his voice unusually serious. "I've run their faces through every database I have access to. Nothing screams Russian mafia or Perun assassin ties. If they're connected to something big, they're staying quiet about it."

Eliana sighs, pulling her knees to her chest. "So what? A bunch of random nobodies show up to threaten you, of all people? That doesn't add up, Mal."

I shrug, pretending like it doesn't bother me. "Maybe they're just idiots who bit off more than they could chew."

But even I don't believe that.

We sit in silence for a moment before the conversation shifts, as it always does when the topic gets too heavy.

"Alright, tacos," I announce, standing up. "I'm making tacos, and you're both going to sit there and be grateful."

Sebastian smirks. "Grateful is my default setting when you're cooking, amore."

Eliana grins but looks skeptical. "Do you even know how to make anything other than tacos?"

I roll my eyes, heading to the kitchen. "Keep talking, and you'll get nothing."

The two of them laugh, and for a moment, it feels normal-like none of us are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders.

I move around the kitchen with practiced ease, chopping, seasoning, cooking. The familiar rhythm of it helps drown out the mess in my head. By the time I'm done, the smell of spices fills the air, and I call them over to eat.

Eliana is the first to grab a plate, practically bouncing with excitement. "You're the best, Lia," she says with a bright smile.

Sebastian grabs his plate next, but he pauses before digging in. "What about you?"

"I already ate when making them," I lie smoothly, waving him off.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. But he doesn't say anything-not yet.

As they eat, the conversation turns to something lighter, Eliana teasing Sebastian about his terrible music taste, Sebastian firing back with his usual sarcastic quips. I sit back, sipping water and nodding along, trying to keep up the act.

But Sebastian isn't fooled. He keeps glancing at me, his blue eyes full of that knowing look that says, We're going to talk about this later.

I avoid his gaze, pretending I don't notice. But deep down, I know I can't avoid the conversation forever. Sebastian always sees through me, no matter how hard I try to hide.

꧁☆꧂

The drive back from the airport is quiet, the absence of Eliana already making the world feel a little emptier. I glance over at Sebastian, who's focused on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming absently on his thigh. Neither of us says much-it's that rare kind of silence between us that doesn't need filling.

When we finally pull into the driveway of his safe house, I grab my bag from the back seat and follow him inside. The place feels too big with just the two of us here.

I head upstairs to grab some clothes from Sebastian's room, still wearing the jeans and hoodie from earlier. As I rummage through his dresser, the familiar sound of his footsteps approaches, stopping just outside the door.

"Mal," he says, his voice softer than usual.

I pause, pretending not to notice the shift in his tone. "Yeah?"

He steps into the room, leaning casually against the doorframe, but his eyes are serious. "We need to talk."

I sigh, already knowing where this is going. "Sebastian..."

"No, don't even try," he interrupts. "You didn't eat earlier, and you haven't been eating. How long has it been this time?"

I close the drawer a little too hard, my shoulders tense. "I told you, I'm fine. I just..."

"When was the last time you ate?" His voice is calm but firm, like he's not going to let this slide.

I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. "Four days ago," I finally admit.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, looking at me with those unreadable eyes that always make me feel exposed.

"And why?" he asks quietly.

I fold my arms, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. "I'm scared," I whisper. "Every time I try, I think... what if someone tampered with it? Even if I made it myself, I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong."

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. "Mal, no one's trying to poison you. And even if they were, you'd taste it first and shove it down their throats before it did anything to you."

That earns him a weak laugh, and his lips twitch into a faint smile.

"You're the most paranoid person I know," he continues. "But you can't keep starving yourself. You know that's not going to fix anything."

I look away, my throat tightening as tears threaten to spill. "I don't know how to stop," I admit, my voice breaking.

He doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he stands and walks out of the room. My heart sinks, thinking I've annoyed him, but then he comes back a minute later with one of the leftover tacos from earlier.

"Watch," he says, sitting back on the bed. He takes a big bite, chewing and swallowing before giving me a pointed look. "See? Still alive."

I roll my eyes, but it's more out of habit than defiance. "Seb-"

"Nope," he cuts me off, holding out the taco. "Your turn."

I hesitate, my stomach twisting in knots. But the look on his face-the quiet patience, the stubborn determination-makes it impossible to say no. I take a small bite, and he waits, watching me carefully.

When nothing happens, I take another bite. And then another. Before I know it, I've finished the taco, and my body feels a little less hollow.

I don't realize I'm crying until Sebastian moves closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest. "See? Told you, amore," he says softly, brushing a hand through my curls.

I don't say anything, just bury my face in his shirt as the tears keep coming. I don't deserve this-his patience, his kindness-but he gives it anyway, and it breaks me in the best way.

When the tears finally stop, we lie down on his bed, his arm still around me as he pulls me closer. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, makes me feel safe in a way I haven't felt in a long time.

"Get some sleep, I'll be right here with you," he murmurs, his voice already heavy with drowsiness.

"Ian?"

"Yes, amore?"

"I love you"

"I love you too, Mal"

And for the first time in weeks, I finally get some sleep.