CHAPTER 5

SHATTERED PEACE

Aurora's POV

Saturday mornings used to be my sanctuary.

There was something sacred about the stillness, the gentle hum of silence, the golden light that spilled through the blinds, and the quiet hum of my thoughts finally soft enough to sit with. No war. No men. No lies. Just me, my brush, and a canvas that didn’t talk back.

I was in my studio, fingers stained with blue and crimson, painting the kind of chaos I couldn't put into words. His eyes, the cold stranger who saved me, stared back at me from the canvas, stormy, fierce, too intimate for someone I was trying to forget.

And just as I was about to soften his expression with a whisper of white, I heard them.

Heels. Sharp. Determined.

Then the voice I knew too well:

"Of course she’s hiding. That’s what rats do, isn’t it?"

Tiffany.

My spine straightened before my name even left her lips. She didn’t knock. She never did. She invaded, like always, perfectly manicured nails, designer fury, and a mouthful of venom.

I barely turned before she stormed in, sunglasses still on.

“You look... tragic,” she said, eyeing my paint-streaked robe. “Is this the new look? Heartbroken housewife chic?”

I didn’t answer. Not yet. I placed the brush down carefully, like a surgeon about to enter battle.

“You’ve got some nerve, Tiffany.”

She scoffed. “Me? I’m not the one spreading my legs for every guy passing your way in San Andreas.”

That hit, sharp and low. But I didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t give her that.

“You don't know anything about me,” I said, voice calm, too calm for even I myself.

“I know enough.” She stepped closer. “I know you are like a trash. I know you’re the reason Peter’s been a wreck. And I know you don’t belong here.”

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “I don’t belong here. Not in this mess. Not with people like you.”

She smiled, that cruel, saccharine smile. “Poor Aurora. Always playing the victim. Sweet little motherless girl, caught between bad men. Boo hoo.”

My hands curled into fists.

“You think this is a game?” I whispered. “You think I wanted this?”

“I think you liked the attention,” she hissed. “You liked having them fight over you. Makes a girl feel powerful, doesn’t it?”

That was it.

I don’t remember lunging. I don’t remember what came first, her slap or mine. But the next moment was a blur of fingernails, shouted curses, the crash of my paint tray hitting the floor, and the sickening sound of her body colliding with the edge of the easel.

She gasped, staggering back, a streak of red running from her forehead.

My heart pounded. My breath came in ragged pulls.

Silence wrapped around us like a noose.

She stared at me , stunned, bleeding, humiliated.

“You hit me,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“You asked for it, and I'll hit you more if I have to.”

She turned and stormed out, clutching her phone, already texting, probably. Telling the whole damn city how unhinged I was. How pathetic. How violent.

I sank to the floor, heart still thudding.

I wasn’t that girl. I wasn’t supposed to become her.

But today, I did.

---

The day passed in a daze. I didn’t eat. Didn’t paint. Just stared at the shattered pieces of who I thought I was, still lying on the studio floor.

By evening, the guilt had turned to fire. I wanted to cry. Scream. Run.

Instead, I showered. Dressed. Stared at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the girl looking back. My bruised knuckles, the swollen redness under my left eye, war paint, maybe. Proof.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Peter: We need to talk. I’ll be there at 7.

My chest tightened.

I looked around my room like it was someone else’s , the soft sheets, the lavender candle, the painting on the wall of a home I no longer believed in. Nothing felt safe anymore. Not even here.

7 o’clock was an hour away. An hour too soon.

I checked the door locks again. And again. Drew the curtains tight. I couldn't shake the feeling something worse was coming.

Maybe not from Peter.

Maybe from myself.

What if this night doesn’t bring peace?

What if it’s the final match to the fire?

Can I withstand the fire?.