Page 124 of Crucible

Grabbing my shampoo, she squirts some in her small palm and then starts to lather her hair. “Is that why you don’t do it anymore?”

“No. Zeke needed me more, and nothing was going to keep me away. Desertion wasn’t an option, so I got myself discharged.”

“How?”

“I punched out my CO.” After an awkward silence, I say, “Don’t worry. He had it coming.”

“Wow. Extreme. You must love Zeke.”

“He’s my brother,” I say simply.

Aurelia nods her understanding but looks sad for some reason. “I wish I had siblings.”

“We’re not related.”

“No, I know. I just…I don’t have friends either.”

My head cocks to the side while my eyes narrow. She’s got to be bullshitting me. “None?” She gives an abrupt shake of her head, and since I can’t stand to watch her struggle to wash her hair any longer, I turn her around and take over. “How is that possible?”

Aurelia is an international icon with more power and money than one person should have. Surely, there have been people—even if their intentions are self-serving—who have gotten close.

“Other than the obvious?” she returns wryly.

I grunt as I work my fingers over her scalp and watch her lashes flutter. “You’re not that bad, wolf. Have you met me?”

“You’re not…that bad.”

I laugh and use my grip on her hair to pull her against me until my dick is nestled between her plump ass. “Careful,” I warn playfully.

“Are we seriously bonding over being terrible people?”

Grinning, I kiss her neck, and then I ask again as I work the shampoo through her hair, “So, why don’t you have friends?”

“My uncle wouldn’t let me.”

My hands pause as something cold and angry rises in my chest. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Aurelia tenses, and I force myself to chill the fuck out. Marston George hasn’t been the only villain in her life. The fact that I don’t want her to be afraid of me should be enough for me to leave this shower right now, but I don’t. Something changed after we got Aurelia back to the cabin, and I don’t want to ruin it before I can figure out whatever the hell this is.

“Tell me what you mean,” I demand a little gentler.

“It’s not a big deal, really. Haven’t you heard that it’s lonely at the top?” Aurelia tries to mask her pain by chuckling through it, but only stony silence follows. “I, uh…I wanted to be a singer since I was nine,” she explains. “When my dad died a few years later, my uncle became my guardian. He said I had to stay focused if I was serious about being a star. I had to make singing my whole world, so I did. Nothing came before it—not my mom, who was in rehab or even school. I dropped out before I even got to high school, and my uncle hired a private tutor and called it homeschooling, but most of my days were spent building my voice and learning how to perform.”

“What about others in the industry?”

“Oh, sure. There were people I met on my way to the top. My uncle even set me up to “date” or befriend other high-profile celebrities whenever I had a new album or tour coming up, but none of it was ever real. And I learned the hard way how fast clapping can turn to stabbing. My uncle didn’t have to convinceme of shit after that. Life is the best teacher, right? Once I hit the big time and everyone knew me, the only thing that mattered was my image. My persona was so carefully curated and protected that I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. How could I ask someone to like me for me if I didn’t know who I was, you know?”

I nod but don’t speak as I rinse the shampoo from her hair.

Aurelia is pensive for a few moments before she says, “The last meaningful relationship I had was with my bodyguard. Tyler. He was the closest thing I had to a friend, but I knew if I ever actually believed it, my uncle would catch wind, and I would never see him again.”

Her voice softens when she says his name, and I stare at the top of her head as my hands continue their task. I barely keep the possession out of my tone when I ask, “And was Tyler more than just your bodyguard?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

And just like that the spell that made her pliable and forthcoming is broken. “Crying over spilled milk, Thorin? That’s so unlike you,” she mocks.

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