The Alpha Behind The Mask-Chapter 121: The Guilt
Aurora’s POV
The first thing I felt was the silence. It was heavy, ringing in my ears like the aftermath of an explosion.
I tried to move, but my body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, aching, and thrumming with a lingering, ghostly heat. My wrists were cold. I blinked, my vision blurry as I realized the silk scarf was gone, and the blindfold that had kept me in the dark for hours was nowhere to be seen.
I was under my duvet, tucked in as if I were a child, but the soreness between my thighs and the sharp sting on my shoulder told a much more carnal story.
"Raymond?" I whispered. My voice was a shredded wreck, barely audible in the morning light filtering through the curtains.
No answer.
I sat up slowly, a hiss of pain escaping my lips as the friction of the sheets brushed against my sensitive skin. The apartment was empty. The air was cold, devoid of the scent of leather and that dark, intoxicating musk that had filled my lungs all night.
He was gone.
Memories flashed through my mind—vivid, terrifying, and beautiful. The feel of his rough hands, the weight of him pinning me to the wall, and that one moment... that one moment where he had let me touch his face.
He had felt like a god. His skin had been warm, his jawline sharp and familiar in a way that made my heart ache.
But then I remembered what I had said. I had told him about Oliver. I had told the monster that the King was perfect, all while begging the monster to ruin me.
A wave of shame washed over me, hot and suffocating. I pulled the duvet tighter around my chest. What was wrong with me? I loved Oliver. He was my man, my safe haven, the man who had promised me a future. And yet, the moment Raymond showed up, I had crumbled. I had craved the darkness he offered. I had screamed for it.
I caught my reflection in the dresser mirror. My hair was a wild nest, my lips were swollen, and there was a faint reddish mark on my shoulder.
"I’m a mess," I choked out, a lone tear tracking down my cheek.
He had saved me from Caspian, but he had destroyed something else inside me. He had made me realize that as much as I loved the light, there was a part of me that belonged to the shadow.
My phone buzzed on the floor, having fallen during the chaos. I reached for it, my heart jumping into my throat.
[3 Missed Calls: Oliver]
[1 Message: Oliver]
My breath hitched. I clicked the message, my thumbs shaking so hard I almost dropped the device.
"Aurora, I’m so sorry I missed your calls. Canada was a nightmare. I’m heading to the airport now. I’ll be home in a few hours. I love you. Stay safe."
The guilt hit me like a physical blow, making me nauseous. He was coming home. My perfect, gentle King was coming back to me, thinking I was the same woman he left behind.
How was I supposed to look at him? How was I supposed to let him touch me, knowing that just hours ago, I was calling another man ’master’?
I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
The silence of the apartment was shattered by the sharp ping of my phone. My heart leapt into my throat as I looked at the screen.
[New Message: Oliver]
"I’m at the penthouse, baby. Where are you? The place is empty."
Panic, cold and sharp, replaced the lingering heat in my veins. I scrambled out of bed, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. I rushed to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror—bruised, swollen, and branded by a man who wasn’t supposed to exist.
I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it, scrubbing my skin until it was raw. I wanted to wash away the scent of Raymond, the feel of his leather jacket, the memory of his rough palms. I used half a bottle of jasmine body wash, praying it would mask the dark musk that seemed to have seeped into my very pores.
After dressing in a high-necked sweater to hide the marks on my throat and shoulder, I checked my reflection one last time. My eyes were puffy from crying, but I’d have to tell him I just missed him too much. I dashed out of my apartment, hailed a taxi, and sat in the back with my hands clenched so tight my knuckles turned white.
When I reached the penthouse, my heart was screaming. I rang the bell, and the door clicked open automatically.
I stepped inside, the familiar scent of expensive sandalwood and bergamot hitting me. Oliver was seated on the leather couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked exhausted—his shoulders were slumped, and his hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it for hours.
"Hi," I whispered, my voice trembling.
"Hi," he replied, his voice low and weary. He set the glass down and stood up, his tall frame looming in the dim light of the living room.
I froze as he walked toward me. Every instinct told me to run, to hide the evidence of my betrayal. Would he smell him? Would he perceive the lingering scent of Raymond on my skin?
"The penthouse... it felt too big and lonely," I said, the lie tumbling out before he could ask. "So I went back to my apartment for the night. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you landed."
Oliver didn’t say a word. He just nodded slowly, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made me want to shrink. Then, he reached out and pulled me into a hug.
He held me tight—too tight—and I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of my King. But he felt different. He seemed emotionally drained, his usual aura of quiet power replaced by a heavy, somber weight. I could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart hammered against mine.
I swallowed hard, pulling back just enough to look at his face. His eyes were shadowed, filled with a guilt I didn’t understand, mirroring the one eating me alive.
"Oliver?" I asked softly, my hand resting tentatively on his chest. "Are you okay? You seem... you seem like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened in Canada?"
