Chapter 11:
The Maybach glided through the mid-morning traffic, the silence inside the cabin heavy with unspoken questions. Elias was studying her again, his gaze calculating, intrigued.
Aurora watched the city blocks pass by. She knew Elias meant well, but arriving at her secret headquarters in a Thorne vehicle would send the wrong message. It would look like patronage. She needed to arrive as a CEO, not a passenger.
“Stop here,” Aurora said suddenly.
Elias frowned, signaling Graves to pull over. “This is a street corner, Aurora. Not an office.”
“I know,” she said, her hand already on the door handle. “But I prefer to arrive on my own terms. Getting out of a Thorne car in front of my new venture… it complicates the narrative. I need them to see me standing on my own two feet.”
Elias looked at her, a flicker of respect passing through his grey eyes. He didn’t argue. He simply nodded.
“As you wish,” he said.
Aurora stepped out onto the curb. She closed the heavy door, watching as the tinted window rolled up, obscuring Elias’s face.
The taillights of Elias Thorne’s Maybach disappeared into the grey slurry of mid-morning traffic, leaving Aurora standing on the curb.
The air in Midtown was heavy with exhaust and the impending threat of rain, but for the first time in three years, it didn’t feel like it was pressing down on her. It felt like space.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Her finger brushed against the phantom weight on her left ring finger. The skin there was slightly paler than the rest of her hand, a thin line that marked the duration of her captivity. She rubbed the spot with her thumb, the friction grounding her.
A black sedan pulled up to the curb, gliding silently to a halt. It wasn’t a Maybach, and it wasn’t a taxi. It was a sleek, unmarked vehicle with tinted windows that were illegal in three states.
The rear window rolled down an inch.
“Boss?” the driver asked. His name was Miller. He was ex-military, hired by Victor King as part of the new security detail included in her contract.
Aurora opened the door and slid into the backseat. The interior smelled of new leather and sanitizer. It was a stark contrast to the cloying vanilla air freshener Sterling insisted on using—a scent that masked rot with artificial sweetness.
“Pulse HQ,” Aurora said. Her voice was level.
Miller nodded and merged into traffic.
Aurora pulled her laptop from her bag. She didn’t look out the window at the city she used to rule from the shadows. She opened the lid, and the screen illuminated her face with a cool blue light.
She brought up the digital copy of the divorce decree she had scanned before handing it back to the lawyer.
Decree Absolute.
The words looked clinical. Final.
Sterling had walked out of that courtroom thinking he had discarded a liability. He thought he had cut off a limb that was dragging him down. He didn’t realize he had actually severed his own head.
She remembered his face in the lobby, the way he had sneered when Lance, his assistant, handed her a small envelope.
“A cab fare voucher,” Lance had said, his voice dripping with the same arrogance as his employer. “Mr. Thorne is generous.”
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