Page 65 of Vendetta Crown

I squeeze her hand gently. "Good. She doesn't deserve absolution."

Aurora's gaze drops to our joined hands. "But I can't stop feeling like I did something wrong. The way she ran out crying..." She trails off, chewing her bottom lip. "I showed her these." Her fingers trace the fading bruise on her face, then the bite mark on her shoulder. "I told her I was pregnant when Kristofer took me."

"All you did was tell her the truth," I say firmly. "Sienna needs to understand that actions have consequences. Let her cry. Her tears don't compare to what you suffered."

Aurora nods, but the troubled look doesn't leave her eyes. "It just felt... cruel. In a way I'm not sure I want to be."

I pull Aurora into my arms, feeling her warmth against my chest as I breathe in the coconut scent of her hair.

"Zarechka," I murmur, running my palm down her back in slow circles. "You were forced to deal in a world that has done nothing but be cruel to you. What choice did you have?"

Aurora's fingers curl into my shirt. "Mikayla told me something once. That to survive in this world, I have to become a monster willing to do monstrous things." Her voice trembles. "Is this one of those monstrous things? Refusing to absolve Sienna of her guilt?"

Something clicks into place, a realization that's been gnawing at the back of my head ever since I first met her in that alleyway.

Aurora has never had a chance to advocate for herself.

Seven years in hiding, constantly looking over her shoulder, erasing every trace of who she was. All that time, she never once demanded justice. Never sought retribution.

Never even allowed herself the dignity of her own name.

Jamie Fields became a ghost, and Aurora Castellanos learned to make herself invisible.

It's why she let Tamara intimidate her at our wedding. Why she feels guilt at feeling anger at the woman who helped Kristofer find her. Why she is so concerned with others before she can even contemplate concern for herself.

She has spent so long trying to disappear that she's forgotten how to take up space in this world.

I've always sensed this about her—this hesitancy, this deference—but seeing her struggle with guilt over simply telling Sienna the truth makes it painfully clear.

Where I was raised to demand what is mine, to command respect through fear if necessary, Aurora was forced by terror to shrink, to accommodate, and to survive through invisibility.

"Tamara threatening to kill Sienna in order to expose you for Kristofer to find? That's a monstrous thing." I tilt her chin up, meeting those haunted hazel eyes. "Semyon trying to kill me and potentially even my nieces? That's a monstrous thing. Gregor sanctioning the death of my brother and nephew in exchange of peace with the Triads? That's a monstrous thing."

I trace the fading bruise on her cheek with my thumb. "Accepting the apologies of a woman who wronged you without absolving her of guilt? That's not monstrous, Aurora. That's human. It's well within your right."

She nods, but I can see in the tightness around her mouth that something else is bothering her. The way her eyes won't quite meet mine. The slight tension in her shoulders that even my touch can't soothe away.

"But that's not what's really bothering you, is it?" I ask softly. "What is it,zarechka? Tell me."

Aurora takes a deep, shaky breath. Her hands press instinctively against her stomach where our child grows.

I watch Aurora's face carefully as she takes a deep breath, her fingers still fidgeting with her shirt hem.

"I couldn't do it," she finally admits. "The casting. I just couldn't go through with it."

"Why not?" I ask gently, keeping my voice low and steady.

"Because I couldn't bear the thought of someone else playing my Mom." Her voice cracks on the word 'Mom,' and something inside my chest aches at the sound. "Hannah suggested that I play her myself, but..."

"But what,zarechka?"

Her eyes finally meet mine, wide and vulnerable. "I'm scared, Ruslan. It means I'd have to step onto that set we're creating and essentially relive the worst day of my life." She takes a shuddering breath. "I have no idea how I'll react seeing all the details of my childhood home brought back to life. Both when it was filled with happy memories and when it became a nightmare that still haunts me."

I nod slowly, understanding washing over me. This isn't just about making a documentary anymore. This is about confronting her trauma head-on, to walk back into the scene of her family's murder.

"Even now," she continues, voice barely above a whisper, "just going over these details of the house is more triggering than I thought it would be."

I brush a strand of hair away from Aurora's face and tuck it behind her ear.

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