SINS OF THE FATHERS

: The First Night

Aurora’s POV

The master bedroom of the Hamptons "honeymoon suite" is a study in coastal chic and oppressive silence. White linen, driftwood accents, the relentless sigh of the ocean through the open balcony doors. It’s a prison with a five-star view.

Elias hasn’t spoken since we were "ushered" here by a smirking valet. He prowls the perimeter like a caged panther, examining abstract paintings and running a finger along dust-free shelves. He’s shed his suit jacket and tie. The white dress shirt stretches across his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. My eyes, against my will, are drawn to the corded strength of his forearms, to the faint, pale lines that crisscross his skin. New scars. A topography of pain I wasn’t there for.

*Stop it.*

I pour a glass of the absurdly expensive Burgundy left for us, my hands shaking so badly the bottle neck clinks against the crystal. I need the oblivion, or at least the pretence of calm.

"Celebrating?" His voice is a dry rasp from behind me.

I don’t turn. "Drowning my regrets. I’d offer you some, but…"

"But I’m the primary regret?" He’s closer now. I can feel the heat of him at my back.

I down the glass in one go, the wine burning a path to my hollow stomach. "Top three, at least."

A low chuckle. Then his fingers are at the nape of my neck, moving my heavy, upswept hair aside. I freeze. His touch is shockingly gentle. His breath is warm on my bared skin.

"You kept it," he murmurs.

*Oh, God.* I know what he’s seen. The tiny, delicate script tattooed just below my hairline, hidden by my hair. E.S. A stupid, sentimental secret from a girl who believed in forever.

Humiliation, hot and acidic, floods me. I spin, slapping his hand away. "Don’t."

His eyes are dark, unreadable pools. "Sentimental, Aurora? For the man you framed?" The mockery is back, edged with something raw.

"It’s a brand," I spit out, the lie tasting bitter. "A reminder of what happens when you trust a monster."

Something flashes in his eyes—a fracture in the icy facade. Hurt? Anger? It’s gone too fast to tell. "A monster," he repeats softly. Then he barks a laugh, sharp and ugly. "You have no idea what monsters look like."

He reaches for the wine bottle. I act on pure, venomous instinct. I snatch my half-full glass and throw the remaining wine in his face.

Deep red liquid splashes across his cheek, drips from his jaw onto his pristine white shirt. He goes utterly still. For a terrifying second, I think I’ve finally pushed him over an edge I can’t see.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifts a hand and wipes the wine from his cheek. Then he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean, his eyes locked on mine. The gesture is indecent, primal.

"Just as fiery as I remember," he says, his voice a low thrum. "Pity the passion is only for revenge now."

Something inside me snaps. The weight of the day—the public shame, the impossible deal, the ghost of my parents in this gilded cage, the terrifying, persistent pull of his presence—comes crashing down. A sob tears from my throat, harsh and ugly. I clap a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The tears come, hot and silent, carving paths through my carefully applied makeup.

I hate crying in front of him most of all. It’s the ultimate vulnerability.

The mockery drains from his face. He stares at me, bewildered, as if my tears are a weapon he doesn’t know how to counter. The ruthless ex-con, the master manipulator, looks… young. Lost.

"Aurora…" He takes a half-step forward, hand hesitantly outstretched.

"Don’t touch me!" I stagger back, wrapping my arms around myself. "Just… don’t."

He drops his hand, fist clenching at his side. The silence stretches, broken only by my ragged breathing and the distant ocean.

"Why didn’t you believe me?" The question leaves his lips quietly, stripped of all armor. It’s the voice of the man I once knew, the one who looked at me like I hung the stars. The one I betrayed.

The question hangs there, a guillotine blade over every lie I’ve told myself for four years. *Because I heard you. Because the evidence was there. Because my world ended and you were part of the wreckage.*

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. What truth could I possibly offer?

My phone, discarded on the bed, vibrates. The screen lights up. A text message. In Braille transcription software.

DOMINIC: *Everything alright in there, my love? Do you need assistance?*

A cold dread, deeper than my fear of Elias, slithers down my spine. He’s listening. Or guessing. Or just playing his part with psychotic precision.

Elias follows my gaze. He sees the message. His expression shutters, the moment of vulnerability gone, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. He gives a sharp, disgusted shake of his head, as if clearing the last of the wine—or the weakness—from his system.

"Get some sleep," he says, his voice once again flat and impersonal. "The performance starts early tomorrow."

He grabs a pillow and a blanket from the oversized bed and throws them onto the plush sofa by the window. He lies down, turning his back to me and the vast, empty bed.

I stand there, shaking, tears drying on my face, feeling more alone than I ever did in my cramped studio apartment. The man on the sofa is a stranger. The man I’m married to is a monster in the shadows. And I am trapped between them.

Hours later, a sliver of pre-dawn light paints the room gray. I haven’t slept. I slip out of bed, my silk nightgown whispering against my skin, and creep toward the balcony for air.

Elias is already there. Leaning on the railing, shirtless, staring at the dark, churning ocean. The wind ruffles his hair. And in the faint light, I see it clearly: on the pale skin of his forearm, fresh amid the older scars, are three parallel, angry red lines.

Fresh cuts.

My breath catches. He hears it. He doesn’t turn, but his posture goes rigid.

"Go back to bed, Aurora," he says, his voice rough with sleeplessness and something else. Something that sounds like despair.

I do. But the image of him, bleeding silently into the Hamptons night, is seared behind my eyelids.

---