Chapter 19 – Fractures Beneath the Surface
Chapter 19 – Fractures Beneath the Surface
[Aurora]
Rain tapped against the windowpane like a soft lullaby as Aurora stood by the tall French windows of Luca’s downtown loft. The city below shimmered with the reflection of headlights bouncing off wet streets. Yet despite the romantic haze outside, her mind was miles away.
Luca had been in the kitchen for some time, cooking something Italian and elaborate, humming lightly as if everything was perfect. But perfection scared Aurora now. It felt like pretending.
“I’m terrible at waiting,” he called out with a boyish charm that tugged at the corners of her lips.
She turned slowly, folding her arms. “I never asked you to.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said, emerging from the kitchen with a plate in hand. “But I like the chase.”
He walked toward her and offered a plate of handmade ravioli, garnished with something green and aromatic. The warmth of the dish curled up into the air, but Aurora’s stomach was in knots.
“Luca…” she began, her voice low and conflicted.
He set the plate down on the table and closed the space between them. “You don’t have to explain. I know your heart’s still with him. But I’m not here to steal what isn’t mine. I’m just here… hoping there’s room for something real.”
She blinked up at him, heart racing. “You’re not just a distraction, are you?”
“I want to be more. But only if you let me,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “And only if you’re ready.”
Aurora didn’t know what to say. Her body responded to Luca’s closeness, the way his eyes searched hers with gentle intensity. But every heartbeat echoed another name—Damon.
A part of her wanted to feel something different, to leave behind the pain, betrayal, and fire Damon had scorched into her soul. But Damon's love lingered in her bones like ink she couldn't scrub away.
“I need time,” she finally whispered.
Luca smiled gently. “Then I’ll give you time. But I’m not going anywhere.”
---
[Damon]
Damon awoke in cold sweat again.
The nightmare was always the same—Aurora standing just beyond reach, her eyes burning with sorrow, her mouth opening to say something he never heard before she faded into mist.
Beside him, Celeste stirred. “Another dream?”
He swallowed, sitting upright. “Yeah.”
“Was it about her?” she asked, her voice calm but tinged with hurt.
Damon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Celeste sat up beside him, her blonde hair falling like silk across her shoulder. The moonlight cut across her cheekbones. She looked at him, not with anger, but something deeper—resignation.
“I know you still dream of her, Damon,” she said softly. “Even when you’re awake.”
Damon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I hate her, Celeste. She walked away when I needed her. She sided with the enemy—”
“No,” Celeste cut in. “She walked away because you made her choose between your pride and her heart. And now, you’re punishing both of you.”
He looked over at her then. Really looked.
“You deserve better than this,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, smiling sadly. “But I didn’t fall in love with a perfect man. I fell in love with a man who’s still healing. So if there’s a chance—just a chance—that I can help you move forward, I’ll stay.”
His heart twisted. Celeste had been his rock in recent months—loyal, beautiful, understanding. But she wasn’t Aurora.
And no matter how deep he buried it, some nights, his heart whispered her name like a prayer.
---
[Aurora]
Later that evening, Aurora found herself walking through the quiet exhibit halls of the local museum. Luca had insisted on giving her space after dinner, and she needed somewhere to think.
She paused in front of a sculpture—two abstract forms reaching for one another but never touching. The plaque beneath read: "Lovers in Limbo."
She exhaled slowly. “That’s us, isn’t it?” she whispered to the art.
“Talking to stone now?” a voice behind her teased.
Aurora turned sharply. “Caleb?”
The older man approached, wearing a coat and scarf. “I saw your name on the sign-in book. Figured you could use some company.”
She smiled faintly. “You always find me when I’m brooding.”
“It’s my special talent.”
They walked together silently, the soft hum of the museum filling the void between them.
“Still thinking of Damon?” Caleb asked.
Aurora didn’t need to answer. Caleb could read her too well.
“I’ve seen him,” he continued. “He looks… lost.”
Her eyes clouded. “I don’t want to be the reason he stays broken.”
“But you’re also not the reason he broke,” Caleb said gently. “Gregory did that. And Damon’s guilt won’t go away until he forgives himself.”
“Or until I forgive him,” she whispered.
Caleb looked at her. “Do you?”
Aurora stared at the sculpture again.
“Yes,” she said after a long silence. “But I’m afraid forgiveness will pull me back in.”
Caleb placed a hand on her shoulder. “And maybe that’s exactly what you need.”
---
[Damon]
Later that night, Celeste was fast asleep, her soft breathing steady beside him. Damon couldn’t sleep.
He rose, padded barefoot to his study, and opened his sketchbook. Drawing had always calmed him—an escape, a reflection. Tonight, he let the pencil glide across the page as if guided by a force stronger than his will.
When he finished, he stared at it.
It was Aurora.
Her eyes looked up at him from the page, alive with pain, strength, and something that resembled longing.
He snapped the book shut.
“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, standing abruptly. He poured himself a drink—something strong—and sat by the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames.
That’s when Celeste entered the room in her robe.
“You drew her again, didn’t you?” she asked.
He didn’t deny it.
Celeste knelt beside his chair, her expression unreadable.
“You love her,” she said simply. “So stop pretending you don’t. Stop punishing me, and yourself.”
Her voice cracked just slightly, but her posture remained poised.
“I thought I could help you forget,” she continued. “But I realize now—forgetting her isn’t healing. And I don’t want to be the woman you use to erase someone else.”
She kissed his cheek gently and stood.
When she reached the door, she looked back. “If you ever decide to chase what your heart really wants, I hope she’s still there.”
And then she left the room, leaving Damon in silence.
---
[Aurora]
That night, Aurora dreamed.
She stood in a field of wildflowers, the wind pulling at her dress. In the distance, Damon stood barefoot, the sun behind him, smiling like he used to.
She walked toward him, but the field kept stretching—an invisible force keeping them apart.
“Come back,” she whispered.
He extended his hand. “You have to come to me.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed.
Then suddenly, he was there, close enough to touch. He brushed her cheek and leaned in, his lips brushing hers. The kiss was soft, sweet, desperate.
She awoke with a gasp, her fingers trembling.
And she realized—with a mix of dread and longing—that she’d never truly let go.