The Widow's Price: Owned By Adrien

4

The voices were getting closer. Flashlight beams cut through the twilight like searchlights.

Aurora dropped to her knees in the mud at the edge of the pond. The damp earth soaked into her skin, cold and slimy. She didn't hesitate. She grabbed handfuls of the muck-black, stinking silt-and smeared it over the white cotton.

She ruined the shirt. She rubbed mud into the fabric until the crisp white was gone, replaced by stains that looked like a struggle.

She reached into the water, her fingers tangling in the slimy pond weeds. She ripped a handful out and shoved it into her hair, matting the dark strands against her skull.

It wasn't enough.

She looked at a sharp rock jutting out of the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut and dragged her forearm across it.

The skin split. Blood welled up, bright and hot, mixing with the mud.

Pain sharpened her mind. She let out a sob-half real, half performance-and collapsed onto the grass, curling into a ball just as the first beam of light hit her.

"There! Over by the water!"

Footsteps thundered on the grass.

"Oh my god!" Chloe's voice was high, theatrical.

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut against the glare. She was surrounded.

"Aurora?" Ingrid's voice was sharp. "What the hell are you doing?"

Aurora sat up slowly, trembling. She looked pathetic. Mud-caked, bleeding, wet.

"I..." She coughed. "I slipped."

Chloe pushed to the front, her eyes scanning Aurora's body. She saw the shirt. Her eyes narrowed.

"Where is your dress, Aurora?" Chloe asked, her voice dripping with fake concern. "And whose shirt is that?"

Ingrid laughed, a cruel, barking sound. "That's a man's shirt. Did you slip out of someone's bed and fall into the pond?"

The crowd murmured. Phones were out. Flashes popped, blinding her.

"Disgusting," someone whispered. "At her husband's funeral."

Eleanor Holden, the matriarch, pushed through the crowd. She leaned on her cane, her face a mask of fury.

"Explain yourself," Eleanor demanded. "Now."

Aurora opened her mouth, but her throat was dry. The drug was still humming in her system, making it hard to form words. The accusations were piling up like stones, ready to crush her.

"I fell," Aurora whispered. "I just fell."

"Liar," Ingrid spat. She reached out, grabbing the collar of the shirt. "Let's see who this belongs to. Maybe there's a monogram."

Aurora flinched back, slapping Ingrid's hand away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Enough."

The word was spoken softly, but it cracked through the air like a whip.

The crowd parted instantly. Silence fell over the garden, heavy and sudden.

Adrien Larsen walked into the circle of light. He had changed his jacket, but he was still wearing the same trousers. He looked impeccable. Untouchable.

He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at Eleanor. He walked straight to Aurora.

He looked down at her-at the mud, the blood on her arm, the weeds in her hair. His expression was unreadable.

Chloe stepped forward, a flirtatious smile plastering itself onto her face. "Adrien, I'm so sorry you have to see this. My sister is clearly having a breakdown..."

Adrien ignored her. He took off his suit jacket.

With a fluid motion, he draped the heavy, warm wool over Aurora's shoulders, covering the muddy shirt. He crouched down, bringing his face level with hers.

"You're hurt," he said. It wasn't a question.

Aurora stared at him, her heart stopping. Was he going to expose her? Was he going to tell them she broke into his room?

Adrien turned his head, looking up at Eleanor.

"She didn't slip out of a bed," Adrien said, his voice bored. "She slipped on the moss. I saw it happen from the terrace."

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