Chapter 5 - Sunday Morning at the Estate
Morning sunlight streamed through the sheer silk curtains of the East Wing suite, painting golden patterns across the polished hardwood floor. I woke up with a start, my body instantly tense, half-expecting Regina to be banging on a door or shouting from the hallway.
Instead, there was only the gentle rustle of wind through the ancient oak trees outside and the faint, delicious scent of freshly brewed espresso and toasted brioche drifting up from somewhere downstairs.
I sat up, pulling the soft white duvet around my shoulders. My clothes from the night before had vanished, replaced by a neatly folded stack of fresh, high-end clothing resting on a velvet chair by the bed—a pair of soft dark denim jeans, a cashmere cream sweater, and comfortable leather flats.
After a long, steaming shower that washed away the last lingering exhaustion of my life on the run, I dressed quickly. My wrist was still tender, but Mrs. Higgins’ medical ointment had worked wonders on the bruising, fading the ugly purple marks to a faint yellow.
When I stepped out into the hallway, the estate felt completely different in the daylight. The grand architectural details—the soaring ceilings, the polished marble, the magnificent crystal chandeliers—shone with crisp elegance.
Before I could figure out which way led to the dining room, a small door down the hall clicked open, and Zach popped his head out.
He was dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and navy shorts, his dark hair neatly combed. When his eyes locked onto mine, his face split into a massive, triumphant grin.
"Aurora!" he gasped, practically skipping down the hallway toward me. "You're awake! I told Dad you were sleeping, but he said princesses need beauty sleep."
I knelt down as he reached me, unable to stop the smile spreading across my own face. "Good morning, fiancé. Did you survive the night without running away?"
"I didn't run away," Zach corrected proudly, crossing his little arms over his chest. "I made an engagement contract. That's legally binding. Dad said so."
A sudden footstep echoed down the corridor, and I looked up to see Michael Moretti walking toward us. He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing strong, sun-bronzed forearms. He looked devastatingly handsome, an effortless combination of dangerous power and refined sophistication.
"He has been quoting contract law to me all morning," Michael said, his deep voice carrying a dry, amused undertone as he stopped a few feet away. His gray eyes swept over me, lingering for a fraction of a second on the cashmere sweater before meeting my gaze. "Good morning, Aurora. Did you sleep well?"
"I did," I admitted, standing up slowly. "Thank you. For the room, and the clothes, and... everything."
"You don't need to thank me for providing basic shelter under my roof," Michael replied smoothly. He looked down at his son. "Come along, gentlemen—and lady. Breakfast is waiting."
The dining room was a sun-drenched conservatory overlooking a sprawling stone patio and a pristine garden lined with blooming white hydrangeas. A massive breakfast spread covered a mahogany table—fresh fruit, pastries, eggs Benedict, crispy bacon, and silver pots of coffee and tea.
As we took our seats—Zach sitting eagerly beside me, while Michael sat at the head of the table—I felt a sudden pang of surrealism. This wasn't a hostage situation. This wasn't a trap. It felt, impossibly, like a family breakfast.
"So," Michael said casually, pouring himself a cup of dark espresso while his eyes remained fixed on me. "Now that you are fed and rested, perhaps we should discuss the terms of your... engagement."
I choked slightly on my sip of water, coughing into my napkin. Zach looked between us with wide, innocent eyes, taking a bite of a chocolate croissant.
"Mr. Moretti," I began, my voice tight. "We both know that little arrangement last night was... well, it was a desperate kid trying to avoid a doctor's appointment, and a terrified girl trying to survive a loan shark."
"Are you saying your commitment to our family is in question?" Michael asked, a slow, dangerous smile touching the corner of his lips—a look that was entirely teasing yet carried an undeniable weight of authority.
"I'm saying I can't stay here pretending to be your son's fiancée," I said, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to shrink back. "My stepmother is out of the picture, Tony Marcone’s men are dealt with. I can leave today. I'll find a job in another city, I'll pay my own way—"
"And go back to running?" Michael interrupted softly, setting his coffee cup down with a faint clink against the saucer. "To sleeping in motels, dodging shadows, and looking over your shoulder every time a car backfires on the street? Is that what you want, Aurora?"
"It's my life," I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction.
"It was your life," Michael corrected, leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "Until last night. In my world, when someone enters my orbit, especially someone who has been abused and hunted like you were, they do not simply walk back out into the cold."
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"Dad's right!" Zach chimed in around a mouthful of croissant, pointing his fork at me. "You're my fiancée now. If you leave, who's going to play Monopoly with me on rainy afternoons?"
I looked from the brilliant, gap-toothed smile of the six-year-old boy to the intense, unwavering slate-gray eyes of his father. The air in the conservatory suddenly felt very warm, very heavy, and entirely inescapable.
