Aurora's POV
The morning after didn't greet me with sunlight. It greeted me with silence. Heavy, intimate silence.
Ace Wolfe's arm was still draped across my waist, possessive even in sleep. His breath warmed the back of my neck, steady and calm—a cruel contrast to the chaos unraveling in my chest. I stayed still, afraid to move. Afraid to admit how much I liked the weight of him around me. Afraid to admit how dangerously close I was to forgetting everything this arrangement was supposed to be.
Just a contract. Just survival. Nothing more.
But last night… it hadn't felt like business.
He shifted, pulling me closer. His hand slid against my bare waist, fingers brushing my skin in a way that didn't feel accidental—it felt like a claim.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it carefully, but his voice, low and husky, slid down my spine before I could touch it.
"Who is it?"
I glanced back. His storm-grey eyes were open, locked on me. Calm. Unreadable. Dangerous.
"My sister," I whispered. "She stayed with our mother last night."
He said nothing.
I answered, checked in, listened as she told me our mother had slept through the night with no relapses. Relief loosened the knot in my chest. When I hung up, Ace was no longer beside me.
He stood by the tall window overlooking the endless ocean, shirtless, his body carved in shadow and light like a sculpture meant for war. Every line of him radiated restraint, precision, power.
"Is everything alright?" he asked without turning.
"Yes."
A pause.
"I've arranged brunch on the yacht. Be ready in an hour."
His tone was neutral. Professional. Like nothing had happened between us.
I almost laughed. Or screamed. Or both.
"Is that it?" I asked, slipping from the bed. "Back to orders already?"
His jaw ticked. "We had an understanding, Aurora."
"No—we had a contract. But you made it something else."
"I didn't force anything."
"I never said you did."
The air between us stretched tight. Finally, he turned, those cold, storm-grey eyes meeting mine with brutal clarity.
"Don't mistake last night for weakness. I wanted you. But that doesn't change the terms."
My throat ached as I swallowed hard. "You don't need to remind me what I am to you."
"Good." He turned back to the window. "Because I don't intend to."
I left him there, closing the bathroom door behind me with a sharp click.
⸻
The yacht gleamed like a floating palace, white against sapphire waters. Clarke looked radiant in a silk wrap dress and oversized sunglasses, sipping something chilled and expensive. Matt, all awkward charm, was trying to flirt with the crew. Clarke rolled her eyes—but not entirely in annoyance.
Ace sat across from me, silent, brooding. Every time our eyes met, something unspoken sparked between us. But neither of us struck the match.
After lunch, I slipped down to the lower deck, craving air. Or distance. Or maybe clarity. Instead, I got him.
He followed without a sound.
"I said something wrong?" I asked, not turning.
"No."
"You've been quiet."
"So have you."
I faced him. "That's how you want to play this? Pretend nothing happened?"
"I don't pretend, Aurora. I move forward."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his voice low. "You're not like other women."
"And that's supposed to flatter me?"
"No," he murmured. "It's inconvenient."
My chest tightened. "Then let's end this here."
He paused, studying me. "You want out?"
"No," I admitted. "But I don't want to be treated like a liability either."
Something dark flickered in his eyes. His expression shifted.
"You're not a liability, Aurora. You're a temptation I can't afford."
He turned to leave, but not before throwing over his shoulder—
"We fly back tomorrow. Be ready."
And just like that, he was gone.