Page 20 of Vendetta Vows

I feel a familiar emptiness. Not from Aurora's absence—though that stings more than I'd anticipated—but from the theatricality of it all.

Sienna's calculated rage, the predictable chaos, the cleanup that will follow.

I run my finger along the rim of Aurora's glass, examining the lipstick mark preserved on the abandoned glass like evidence. Those same lips had pressed against mine with unexpected hunger.

She intrigues me in ways I haven't felt in years. Not just her beauty. Beautiful women are Hollywood's most common commodities. But by her contradictions.

Startling boldness yet a veryrealfear about being seen.

Both of those qualities came to the surface when Sienna snapped that photo of her.

Something tells me this isn't the first time she's disappeared when cameras start flashing.

I walk to the bar, glass crunching under my shoes, and pour three fingers of vodka. Not the inferior American swill but proper Beluga Gold Line I keep stocked for myself.

I didn't see her exit through the front door where I'd been. Which means she found another way, likely through a bathroom window.

Clever. Resourceful. Frightened.

Most women I meet are transparent in their motivations: seeking status, money, connections, or the thrill of danger that surrounds men like me.

Aurora is different.

The way she spoke about the script and her innate understanding of trauma. The way she carried herself, simultaneously vulnerable yet fiercely independent. The hunger in her kiss that threatened to rip away the careful mask of control I keep around myself.

And her fear of being seen. Always that goddamn fear.

She's running from something.

Or someone.

I bring the glass up and take a sip, but the moment it touches my lips, I gulp the entire thing down. The burn feels right.

"What are you hiding,zarechka?" I ask the empty room at her lingering coconut scent. "What makes you run when others would stay?"

I pull out my phone and quickly compose a message to Artyom, my head of security.

I need information on an Aurora Castellanos. Props department. Thorough but discreet.

I pause, considering, then add:

Possible identity change as well. Expand that search to anyone who popped up in the last seven years without a real history.

I delete this last part before sending.

No. Not yet.

If Aurora is hiding, then someone else must be searching as well.

Learning her secret means potentially intersecting with whoever is pursuing her.

I pour another glass and Pushkin's words rise to my lips:

"Ya ponyat' tebya khochu, zarechka."I want to understand you, little dawn. "Smysla ya v tebe ishchu." I'm searching for meaning in you.

With that, I finish my vodka, already planning my next move. Aurora Castellanos might be gone for now, but no one truly disappears in this city.

Not from me.

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