Chapter 004
Morgan's POV
"Aurora, pulling over on the highway like that could've killed all three of us!" I exclaimed, my heart still racing from her sudden brake maneuver.
Aurora remained silent as she started the car and drove toward her private airfield. She didn’t say a word the entire way, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
When we arrived at the private hangar, she led me to a quiet corner of the lounge, where sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows onto polished stone floors. She ordered two espressos, and when the drinks arrived, she pushed one toward me with a look that brooked no argument.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The low hum of jets outside filled the silence. Aurora was the kind of woman who could command a room with a glance, but now she seemed to be holding something back, as if measuring every word before saying it.
"I know you’re scared, Morgan," she said finally, her voice softer than I expected. "But running away without telling him? That’s not you."
I stared at the swirling crema in my cup. "I only found out about the baby this morning. I haven’t even had time to think straight."
Aurora’s lips pressed into a thin line. "You’re not the only one who’s blindsided. Alexander deserves the truth. Whatever else he’s done, he has a right to know."
A tremor ran through me. The memory of Alexander’s cold indifference, the echo of Olivia’s laughter from behind closed doors—I wanted nothing more than to disappear, to erase myself from their world. "He’s made his choice, Aurora. He’s with her. Why drag him back into my mess?"
Aurora leaned forward, her gaze unyielding. "You think you’re protecting him, or yourself? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re just avoiding another painful conversation."
Her words stung, mostly because they were true. I’d spent years sidestepping conflict, convincing myself that silence was a form of strength. But this was different. A child was different.
Aurora’s own story was complicated. She’d built her empire from nothing, but the cost was high—estrangement, misunderstandings, years of resentment toward a father she’d only recently reconciled with. I’d watched her navigate that minefield, seen the toll it took.
She sighed, her posture softening. "Morgan, I know what it’s like to grow up with half-truths. I spent most of my life believing my father didn’t care, when all along, my mother was just trying to protect me. It didn’t make the hurt any less real."
She exhaled, tension rippling through her. "Secrets like this—they poison everything. I lost years to silence, Morgan. Years I can’t get back. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t do it to your child."
My fingers tightened around the cup, the porcelain slick against my skin. "I’m not trying to rewrite the past. I just want to escape before it gets worse."
Aurora’s laugh was brittle, almost dangerous. "Escape to where? You’ll carry this with you, wherever you go. You think you’re leaving pain behind, but you’re just packing it in your suitcase."
Her words sliced through my defenses. I met her gaze, desperation flickering in my chest. "What if he doesn’t care? What if he’s relieved to be rid of me and this—this complication?"
"Then at least you’ll know," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "At least you’ll have given him the chance to step up—or not. But you won’t spend years wondering what might have happened if you’d just told him the truth."
A silence stretched between us, heavy and uncertain. Outside, a jet engine roared to life. Aurora slid a boarding pass across the table, her company’s logo gleaming in the corner.
"You can still go," she said quietly. "But not like this. Not with a secret that big."
I hesitated, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. The urge to flee, to put miles between myself and the mess I was leaving behind, was overwhelming. But Aurora’s words echoed in my mind.
"He deserves to know," she repeated. "Whatever happens next, you’ll be able to look your child in the eye and say you did the right thing."
My hands shook as I typed. The message was short, clinical, nothing like the storm raging inside me. When I finished, Aurora watched with a hawk’s intensity.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
My voice barely above a whisper. "I texted."
Aurora’s exasperation flared, her hand darting out to snatch my phone. "Morgan! This isn’t news you deliver by text."
I managed a weak smile. "I didn’t trust my voice not to break. Besides, if he wants to talk, he’ll call."
Aurora rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further. We waited in silence, the minutes stretching out, my phone screen stubbornly blank.
For a full hour, we sat in the VIP lounge, my eyes fixed on my phone screen. Aurora's expression grew increasingly sad, while strangely, I remained calm. Perhaps I was used to disappointment, or maybe I hadn't held much hope this time. After the intense crying in the car earlier, it seemed I had little emotion left now.
Aurora checked her watch. "The private jet is ready. The crew is waiting for us. Are you still waiting?"
"Five more minutes," I said softly, my fingers continuously sliding across my phone screen, making sure I hadn't missed any messages. I knew the private jet would wait indefinitely—a privilege Aurora had granted me, but also a burden—with no fixed departure time to use as an excuse to leave.
Just as Aurora stood to leave, my phone rang. Aurora turned excitedly, but it wasn't Alexander calling.
Three cold words flashed on the screen: [Robert Montgomery calling...]. My heart froze. I didn't want to answer his call.
"Hello," I heard my own detached voice say.
"Catherine's had an accident. Come back." With an even colder voice, Robert hung up before I could respond.
What happened to mom? My heart clenched.