Aurora's POV
I walked down the hotel corridor until I spotted Elliot waiting for me. His eyes kept darting to my face.
"Darling, your lipstick is a little smudged," he noted, keeping his tone light to break the awkward tension. "Did he really get that close?"
I instinctively raised my hand and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand in sheer disgust.
Once we were in the car, Elliot watched me, his fingers lightly tapping the steering wheel, his expression unreadable. He was handsome—a slightly messy, effortless kind of good looks, with dark, tousled hair. His eyes, which usually danced with a playful light, were dark and unfathomable right now.
"So," he murmured, "what's the plan now? Rekindling the old flame? Or are you ready to unleash the full fury of a woman scorned?"
I shrugged, resting my head against the cool window glass. "He's already out of my life, Elliot. That's the only plan I need. I'm not looking back. Never."
"I just want him to disappear completely. To become a total stranger."
He used me, threw me away, and made me feel invisible. Now, I was making him invisible. It seemed the universe really did have a twisted sense of humor.
Elliot flashed his signature cynical grin. "Good," he said, taking one hand off the wheel to make an exaggerated gesture. "Because if he ever tries to mess with you again, I'll make sure he regrets it."
I laughed, a genuine, joyful sound.
My phone buzzed, vibrating against my leg. I pulled it out. It was a new text message.
Seeing the sender's name—Conrad Gallagher—made my stomach tie itself into knots.
The message was brief: "You left your favorite pen in my office. Pick a time and come get it."
My favorite pen. It was a limited-edition Montblanc, a graduation gift from college.
I drew all my most important design sketches with it.
"Damn it," I cursed under my breath. "He actually kept my pen. My good pen." I needed that pen. It was a tool, yes, but it was also a symbol of my career and my independence. I absolutely refused to let him keep it.
I quickly fired back a text, keeping up the amnesia charade.
"Hello, Mr. Gallagher. A pen? I'm afraid I don't recall leaving anything in your office. Could you please mail it to my studio address? I'll cover the courier fees." I deliberately included the full address of my studio, right down to the zip code and instructions for the front desk. Every detail had to be perfect to maintain the illusion.
I hit send, assuming that would be the end of it. A simple transaction, no big deal. But almost immediately, another message popped up.
"I also have your copy of The Master and Margarita. The one with all your annotations."
I held my breath, my heart rate skyrocketing. That book was incredibly precious to me. Its margins were filled with my thoughts, my dreams, pieces of my very soul.
The thought of him holding that book, reading my private thoughts, made my skin crawl.
It felt like a violation. He had never paid any attention to my academic interests before, always brushing them off as "cute" or "quirky." Now, suddenly, these things mattered to him?
It infuriated me. He was actually weaponizing my own past against me.
God, he was a manipulative bastard.
I replied, my fingers trembling slightly with rage. "Mr. Gallagher, your messages are making me uncomfortable. If those items were truly so important, why didn't you return them sooner?"
The three typing dots appeared on the screen. Then they vanished. Then they appeared again. He was hesitating. Good. Let him sweat.
I let out a humorless scoff, locked my phone, and tossed it onto the dashboard. I was done indulging him. He wasn't worth my energy. My right hand involuntarily bunched up the fabric of my dress, twisting it tightly. The anger was just a thin veil masking the lingering hurt underneath.
Later that night, long after I had tried venting my frustrations to Elliot, my phone buzzed again on my nightstand. It was another text from Conrad.
"Aurora, you used to love me so much."
"You lost your memory. Maybe... we can start over."
A wave of nausea hit me. I deleted the message before even finishing it.
I wasn't going to reply. I wasn't giving him an inch.
After that, Conrad went quiet for a while.
I threw myself entirely into my work, designing branding for a new startup while simultaneously planning my wedding to Elliot. The sheer busyness of it all was a welcome distraction.
One afternoon, I was hunched over the drafting table in my studio, hard at work.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed.
"Elliot," I muttered, my eyes glued to the screen. "Could you check that for me? I'm knee-deep in this design."
Elliot was lounging in a cozy armchair in my studio, a half-eaten sandwich dangling over his chest as he studied a blueprint.
He sighed dramatically. "Do I have to? It's probably another desperate plea from your ex-admirer. Who knows, maybe he's seen the light and wants to donate his entire fortune to charity, just for your forgiveness."
He picked up my phone, his eyes scanning the message.
In a high-pitched, theatrical voice, he mocked what he imagined to be Conrad's tone. "'Dearest Aurora, I found your childhood teddy bear, Mr. Snuggles. He misses you, and so do I. Please come back to me.'"
I glared at him. "Elliot, stop being an ass. Just tell me what it says."
He chuckled, but then his expression shifted slightly. "Alright, alright. It says, 'I'll be dropping by your studio this afternoon to return your things.'"
I was just about to tell him to reply with a hard "No," when my eyes caught sight of a half-eaten bag of chips on the coffee table. My stomach rumbled loudly. I had been so hyper-focused on work that I'd forgotten to eat.
"Chips!" I exclaimed, practically leaping out of my chair.
Elliot grunted, swiping the bag of chips just out of my reach. "I am supervising your wedding prep, making sure everything is perfect for our big day. Someone has to do it, seeing as you seem far more interested in consuming your own body weight in snacks."
I waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. It's just a wedding, it's fine. We're only doing it for our families, remember? Just to get them off our backs."
Elliot's usually fluid movements suddenly froze. His back was to me, but I could see his posture go rigid.
A strange, almost desolate silence filled the room.
My heart sank. I had crossed a line. I had forgotten the unspoken undertones beneath this "marriage of convenience."
Yet, when he finally spoke, his voice was very soft. "Aurora," he said without turning around, "this might be convenient for our families, but to me... this is still our wedding. It matters."
