Chapter 360:
“You ruined everything!” Tiffany screamed, rushing out of the bushes, her hands outstretched.
She lunged.
Aurora didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch. She simply shifted her weight.
As Tiffany brought her hands forward in a clumsy, desperate shove, Aurora stepped inside her guard. It was a move of pure efficiency.
Aurora caught Tiffany’s wrist with one hand and placed her other hand flat against Tiffany’s chest. She didn’t push—she redirected.
Using Tiffany’s own forward momentum, Aurora pivoted. Tiffany flew past her, her feet tangling in the heavy fabric of her ruined gown.
Wham.
Tiffany landed hard in an irrigation ditch that ran along the hedge. It was filled with muddy, stagnant water.
Splash.
Aurora stood on the bank, looking down. She smoothed her dress, which remained spotless.
Tiffany scrambled in the mud, her expensive dress ruined, slime covering her face. She tried to climb up the slippery bank, but her bare feet found no purchase.
“Help!” she shrieked.
Aurora whistled—a sharp, short note.
From the shadows, two Sterling security guards emerged. They hadn’t been far. They had been watching the entire time.
“Excellent reflexes, Miss Vance,” the lead guard said, shining his flashlight into the ditch.
The light revealed Tiffany, covered in muck, weeping.
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“She tried to attack me,” Aurora told the head of security calmly. “And check her purse. I believe you’ll find unauthorized recording equipment.”
Tiffany froze. How did she know?
“Escort her out,” Aurora commanded. “And ensure the police are waiting at the gate. Assault and industrial espionage.”
Two guards dragged Tiffany out of the ditch. She didn’t fight. She just sobbed, defeated and broken.
“Who needs a knight when you have gravity?” Aurora whispered to herself.
She turned and walked back toward the lights of the manor, leaving the darkness behind her.
The last limousine pulled away from the gravel driveway, its taillights fading into the misty English night like dying embers. The gala was over. The guests had left with enough gossip to fuel the London social scene for a decade.
Aurora stood on the balcony of the library, the cool wind drying the faint sheen of sweat on her neck. She felt heavy—not with fatigue, but with the weight of adrenaline leaving her system.
The door behind her opened. Elias stepped out. He had loosened his tie, the top button of his shirt undone, exposing the hollow of his throat. He held two glasses of whiskey. Xavier stood in the doorway behind him, looking exhausted but satisfied, giving Aurora a nod before retreating to handle the final police reports.
Elias didn’t speak immediately. He just handed her a glass and leaned against the stone railing beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. The contact was electric, grounding.
.
.
.