Chapter 112

Aurora POV

Ever since meeting that couple at the spa—and especially after talking with Elise over dinner—I can’t stop thinking about the future.

My future.

It’s ridiculous how one conversation with a stranger can worm its way so deep into my head. But I keep hearing her voice echo as she told me to go back to school, that life was too short not to.

I keep seeing her leaning across the table, speaking with that kind of assured confidence that comes from someone who’s figured out their place in the world. It’s something I’ve always wanted for myself but have always been too scared to reach out and take.

That only selfish thing I’ve ever done for myself had been running to Mexico and look how that turned out.

I don’t know if it was the encouragement itself or the simple fact that she saw me as a person with potential, not just an accessory to the man sitting next to me.

Dominic didn’t like it, I could see it in his eyes whenever she spoke about going to school. He had a slight narrowing of his eyes, his gaze shifting to me like I’d said something strange and he had no idea how to entertain it.

Maybe it is a little silly considering I’m not eighteen anymore. I’d be the oldest one in the classroom, the one people glance at twice and think, what’s she doing here?

But at the same time, the alternative is spending the rest of my life as nothing more than Dominic’s wife, his arm candy, the hostess to his dinner parties and that makes something cold and hollow settle in my chest.

Dominic’s world will always move forward. It will always expand, consume and dominate whatever it touches. That’s who he is and that’s the nature of the world he’s surrounded himself in.

So where does that leave me in the aftermath?

I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I’ve been living in his shadow for so long that I’ve forgotten who I am.

After Dominic leaves for a meeting—one of those vague jobs he doesn’t elaborate on but I know will most likely have him coming back to the penthouse smelling faintly of blood and gun residue—I sit down with my laptop and start searching.

Just to see what’s out there.

Where’s the harm in being curious?

There are several universities in the city to my surprise. A few are well-known and expensive, and also from the looks of it, highly competitive. Others are smaller and easier to get into.

I filter my search to those that offer on-campus programs but don’t require students to live there. I’m not interested in moving into some tiny dorm room with a stranger when I’m only a few months out from being married.

I want my own space and my own schedule to do what I want when I want. I’ve only now just been given the freedom to do so.

The truth is, I’m not even sure what I’d study.

My interests have always been scattered, bits and pieces of things I’ve read, hobbies I’ve abandoned halfway through because of my family or losing interest. But maybe just being in that environment again, surrounded by other people who are chasing something like me, would be enough to spark something in me again.

For the first time in months, maybe years, the idea makes me feel… excited.

I find myself clicking “download brochure” on a few of the programs and printing them in Dominic’s study. Their thick, glossy pages with stock photos of smiling students and sunny campus lawns excite me even more as I hold them in my hands.

I gather them into a neat little stack on his desk and then bring them out to the living room to place on the coffee table, smoothing the corners until they’re perfectly aligned and tell myself I’m just preparing. That there’s no harm in showing Dominic and talking it through with him even though he pretty much told me I’d be wasting my time.

The thought of him saying no makes my stomach twist. When we last discussed this, or rather when I brought it up, he seemed less than thrilled.

Would he have the final say?

Would he be the kind of husband who decides what’s acceptable for me to want and ban me from everything else he doesn’t deem “worth it”?

I’m not sure.

I hope not.

The sharp knock at the penthouse door jolts me out of my thoughts.

I glance toward it, frowning.

No one knocks, we’re on the top floor. A special passcode has to be entered for the elevator to even come up this high and not even our doorman has it.

Besides, everyone who does have access all have keys to get in and they all walk through that door like they own the place. Anyone else would have to get security to call us first to let them up.

The knock comes again, firmer this time.

My heart races a little.

I set the pamphlets aside and move toward the door, my bare feet silent against the polished wood floor. My pulse ticks a little faster. Not out of fear exactly, but in that jittery uncertainty of not knowing what to expect.

Who would come up here at this time of day?

When I unlock the door and pull it open, I freeze.

Standing there, framed by the hallway’s golden lighting, is Gianna.