Chapter 8 Aria

• Thorne's worried look reminds me of King Caelum's intrigued gaze. The similarity between the two is not limited to the expression in their eyes; their hair shares the same shade, a dark blonde. I gently tuck a long strand of my son's hair behind his ear.
• "You just had a dream, my little angel. Go back to sleep, okay?" I reassure him, stroking his silky hair.
• "Okay, Mommy. But I am sorry that Daddy hurt your arm. In the dream, he was furious. It scared me," Thorne says with a yawn. He snuggles back into bed, and I adjust the surrounding blanket.
• "It was just a dream, nothing like that will happen. I promise," I reply softly, though deep down, his words stir an unease within me.
• I have always tried to believe that the twins were Alexander's. After all, what were the chances that I could get pregnant from a single encounter with a stranger? Even if the chances were higher than one percent, the possibility that my children are actually King Caelum's bastards should be zero.
• I try to recall the features of the young man I slept with five years ago, but the only image that now comes to mind is that of King Caelum. I leave my children's room, denying the possibility that it was King Caelum with whom I had a night of pleasure.
• "It cannot be that he is the Greek god from the bar… it is simply impossible. I would have recognized him that night," I mutter quietly to myself as I drag my tired body to my room.
• My bed embraces me with its softness, and I feel my body completely relax. I am drawn into my memories, into a troubled dream of a night of passion and desire five years ago, intertwined with the night of terror and death I witnessed today. My sleep is restless, and I hardly manage to rest for the following day.
• "Mommy, wake up, Mommy, wake up!" Elowen shouts excitedly and jumps on the bed with joy, waking me up quickly.
• My five-year-old daughter's small, soft body aligns above mine, pressing against my still aching belly. I let out a groan of pain, and she quickly gets off me, alarmed.
• "Mommy, are you okay? Are you hurt?" Elowen asks, worried. Her green eyes make me gasp, so similar to King Caelum's.
• "Yes, I am fine, my little kitten. I just fell at work yesterday and got a few small injuries, but Mommy will be okay," I explain, my voice still sleepy.
• Elowen sits on the bed beside me, staring at me. Her wavy brown hair is all tangled, and her cheeks are rosy from jumping on the bed so hard. I have always attributed some of Elowen's features to Alexander, hoping he was the father. But now, after the strange conversation with Thorne, my doubts about their father cause me confusion and fear.
• "Can we have pancakes for breakfast today? Grandma said we cannot because she does not want to make them," Elowen says in a sweet voice, tinged with sadness at her grandmother's refusal.
• I pull her close, hugging her with care and affection.
• "Yes, yes, my little kitten! Of course, we can have pancakes today. Mommy will make them for you. Now go to your room and take off your pajamas. Mommy will be there soon, okay?"
• Elowen nods excitedly and quickly gets off the bed, running down the hallway to her room. I lie back down, feeling the exhaustion still dominate my body.
• "He cannot be the father. I am just too traumatized by what happened yesterday, that is all!" I murmur to myself as I get up.
• Breakfast time is always hectic at home. My mother yells at the children to get ready faster while I prepare the meals. Subtly, she leaves some pain medication on the counter and says nothing more about today. On the radio, they report on the attack at the palace. While the children are in their room getting dressed, I focus on the information about the dead and wounded.
• "King Caelum Frost and Queen Seraphina Ravenshire Frost are unharmed and have been relocated to a secret and secure location. The Wolfspawn Renegades were neutralized, and some were captured. During the attack, the words 'out with the half-bloods and enchantresses. Long live the true lycan, the king' were spray-painted inside the hall," the announcer reports in a deep voice.
• My body shivers at the news. The lives of Caelum and Seraphina have been under attack relentlessly for the past two years, making me feel pity for them, even with the king being so brutal and insane.
• I turn off the radio as soon as I hear the loud, shrill voices of Thorne and Elowen coming down the hallway with my mother. Breakfast becomes a time full of laughter, arguments, and a mess with the twins, but it is something I would not trade for anything in this world.
• When I arrive at work, the atmosphere is heavy with tension, almost palpable. The whispered conversations among the staff are filled with a mix of fear and disbelief, as if at any moment, another disaster might occur. The palace attack has become the only topic everyone discusses, their low, tense voices forming a disturbing chorus.
• Nicole approaches me with slow, hesitant steps. The look in her eyes is one of pure suffering, as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her eyelids are swollen, and her hands tremble slightly as she crosses them over her chest, trying to shield herself from the memory of the horror.
• "I am glad you managed to escape," I declare sincerely, trying to offer some comfort. My words, though true, feel empty in the midst of the anguish-filled atmosphere. Nicole's expression softens slightly, but the pain remains, evident in every line of her face.
• "Yes, but it was close. I went into shock, and it was horrible," Nicole recounts in a trembling, fragile voice, as if she is on the verge of breaking. Her words carry the weight of the traumatic experience we shared, and I can only nod, unable to find anything else to say.
• "I can still hear the screams and the sound of the werewolves tearing people apart," I confess, my voice heavy with remorse and guilt. The sounds of agonizing screams and the terrible roars of the werewolves are etched in my mind, like a macabre soundtrack I cannot turn off. The sight of those bestial creatures attacking mercilessly, the feeling of being on the brink of death—everything still weighs on me like a shadow I cannot escape.
• Nicole shudders at my words, her pale face contorting into an expression of disgust and fear.
• "I never want to set foot in that place again," she declares with conviction, her voice taking on a firmer, almost resolute tone. "Not even for twenty thousand gold coins would I step foot there," she adds, trying to push away the fear with a bravado that sounds forced.
• I want to agree with her, to push away any thought of ever returning to that hell, but for a moment, I hesitate. A part of me, the part that is always concerned with survival, with the constant need for money, stops me from categorically stating that I will never go back. The image of Thorne and Elowen flashes in my mind, their innocent faces that rely on me for everything. Reality is cruel, and the payment for that night is still something I desperately require.
• "Do you know when they are going to pay us? If we get any payment at all, that is?" I ask, worried. The uncertainty about the payment is a dark cloud hovering over me, an additional source of anxiety amid the chaos. I require this money to support my children, and the idea that we might come out of this with nothing, not even compensation for the horrors we lived through, leaves me even more distressed.
• "I hope so, and with a bonus. After all, we could have almost died!" Nicole responds with veiled bitterness. Her voice carries the indignation of someone who knows that despite everything we faced, the system that employs us rarely values us as we deserve. She tries to maintain a facade of bravery, but I know that the idea of receiving what is fair is a fragile hope.
• However, the tense atmosphere and the memories still burning in our minds are abruptly interrupted by the authoritative voice of our boss, echoing through the space, cutting through the air like a knife.
• "Okay, folks. Enough small talk. Let's get to work; the only disaster that could happen here is your lack of organization for today's event, understand?" His voice is rude, almost indifferent, as if he has the slightest consideration for what we went through. The tone of ignorance in his words is like a bucket of cold water, bringing us back to the harsh reality of work. "Aria, after the shift, I need a minute with you. I need your help," he adds, his tone shifting to something more calculated, making me feel a slight pang of discomfort. My stomach churns at the mention of a private conversation with him; the last thing I need is to deal with more problems after what I went through.
• "Alright, sir," I reply, trying to keep my voice firm and controlled, despite the unease beginning to spread inside me. The words leave my mouth almost reflexively, an instinct of obedience I have learned over the years to avoid further complications.
• The hours pass in a blur of repetitive and mechanical tasks, with each minute dragging on as if time is determined to prolong my anxiety. The hall and kitchen are finally clean, the smell of cleaning products mingling with the remnants of food and sweat, creating a suffocating atmosphere. All my coworkers have already left, leaving me alone, awaiting the inevitable conversation with my boss.
• Finally, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway, and the nervousness tightens my stomach like a clenched fist. My boss appears at the entrance to the hall, his expression hardened and impassive.
• "Come to my office, Aria," he orders in a gruff voice, and I take a deep breath, obeying his command.
• The office is small and stuffy, the walls covered by a layer of yellowed smoke that reveals years of neglect. The strong smell of cheap cigarettes is almost suffocating, a mix of nicotine and despair that seems to seep into my clothes and skin. The furniture is old and worn, the wooden desk marred with cigarette burns.
• My boss leans against the edge of the desk, watching me with a look that makes my stomach turn. His eyes, covered by swollen and red eyelids, possess a glint that makes me uncomfortable. There is something predatory in his gaze, as if he is undressing me with his eyes, and it makes me wish I were anywhere else but here.
• "I heard about you and Nicole being at the castle last night, working. Is that true?" he asks, leaning slightly forward. The curiosity in his voice is evident, but there is something else, something dark and obsessive. Every word he says carries an insidious tone that makes my skin crawl.
• "Yes, I needed extra income to make ends meet," I respond, trying to keep my voice steady and controlled. Inside, I feel my heart pounding uncontrollably, as if it wants to escape my chest.
• "Oh, Aria. You should have told me…" he murmurs, his voice tinged with false lament. He moves closer to me, his intentions becoming clearer as the distance between us decreases. He fiddles with a strand of my hair with a touch that makes me shiver with revulsion. His proximity, the smell of cigarettes mixed with his heavy breath, everything causes me nausea. "I am always willing to pay more, you know," he continues, his voice now taking on a seductive tone, but to me, it sounds more like the hiss of a snake.
• His face, flushed from alcohol and lascivious excitement, is so close that I can see the tiny broken blood vessels on his cheeks. I feel my body stiffen with the unwanted proximity, my instinct for self-preservation screaming for me to move away. With considerable effort, I pull away from his touch, taking a step back in an attempt to put some distance between us.
• "I appreciate it, but I prefer to stay in the position I am in here at the company," I retort, my voice wavering slightly as I struggle to remain calm.
• I do not want to be ignorant or provoke his ire because I know very well that one misstep could cost me my job. And right now, the last thing I can afford is to lose my job.
• "Are you sure, Aria? You are such a beautiful woman… you surely know how I could help you. Get out of the manual labor and into something more… pleasurable," he insinuates, his voice full of a malice that makes me want to vomit. The implicit suggestion in his words is clear, and every fiber of my being screams in protest.
• "Sir, I prefer to keep things as they are," I respond, trying to disguise the growing disgust inside me. "After all, you are a married man; I believe your wife would not find any of this right. Making such vulgar proposals!" I add, letting a touch of anger slip into my voice. I can no longer hold back the disdain I feel for him, but at the same time, I am aware that these words could cost me dearly.
• My boss's face twists with rage, and his eyes narrow into an expression of contempt. I can clearly see that my words have struck his ego and pride, and I know a reprisal is coming. The atmosphere in the small office becomes even more suffocating, the air heavy with the growing tension.
• "Listen here, you sl*t…" he begins to say, his voice filled with fury as he reaches out to grab my arm with unexpected force. His brutality is sudden and shocking, and I feel the painful grip of his fingers on my skin, like claws digging into raw flesh. Fear explodes inside me like an electric current, my body instinctively reacting, wanting to pull away.
• But before he can finish his sentence or do something worse, the sound of a loud thud interrupts the scene. The office door swings open violently, slamming against the wall with a crash that echoes in the small space.
• "What the hell?" my boss exclaims, releasing my arm as he turns his head to see who dares to interrupt.
• At the door, the imposing figure of King Caelum stands out, his presence dominating the room like a storm about to break. Behind him, five armed men accompany him, their expressions grim and alert, ready for anything. The king's gaze is hard and purposeful, his green eyes fixed on my boss with an intensity that makes the air in the office feel even heavier.