Chapter 10 – Storms and Shadows
Chapter 10 – Storms and Shadows
The wind howled outside Aurora’s apartment as midnight swept across the skyline. The lights of Manhattan blinked like sleepy eyes refusing to shut, and Aurora couldn’t sleep either. Not when every creak in the floorboards sent her heart racing. Not when she’d just found out someone had been inside her home—her sanctuary.
Caleb was safe, nestled in bed beside her, his small hand curled around her wrist. That comforted her more than it should have. But Aurora had seen what the Thorne family was capable of, and she knew innocence was no shield.
Her phone buzzed.
Damon: Pack a bag for Caleb. Nothing traceable. I’m coming.
She typed quickly: What’s happening?
Damon: They know about the trust. They’ll use him. Or worse.
A tremor ran through her chest. Aurora had known things would get messy, but she hadn’t imagined this. Not like this. Not with her son as collateral in a billion-dollar power game.
She moved quickly—pulling down a small duffel, stuffing clothes, inhalers, Caleb’s favorite blanket, a photo of her mother. She paused, debating the letter from Damon’s mother, then slid it into the side pocket.
Caleb stirred in the bed. “Mom?”
She turned gently. “Hey, sweetheart. We’re going on a little adventure.”
His sleepy eyes blinked. “Are we going to the museum again?”
“No,” she smiled softly. “But we’ll be safe. I promise.”
---
When Damon arrived ten minutes later in a nondescript black car, he wasn’t alone. A woman in her early thirties stepped out with him. Brown skin, high cheekbones, sleek braids pulled into a knot. Sharp eyes.
“This is Simone,” Damon said as he ushered them into the car. “She’s head of private security. Ex-military. Nobody gets past her.”
“Ma’am,” Simone greeted with a nod.
Aurora gave a guarded smile. “And where exactly are we going?”
“A private property in upstate New York. Off-grid. Owned under an alias. No connection to Thorne Holdings.”
Caleb yawned in her lap. “Will there be pancakes?”
Damon chuckled, brushing his fingers through his son’s curls. “There will be waffles, pancakes, and whatever else you want, little man.”
Aurora watched him. This wasn’t the cold billionaire she’d seen on the cover of Forbes. This was a man, stripped raw by fear—for his son.
And yet, in that moment, she couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse.
---
The safehouse was nestled deep in the Catskills, hidden by pine trees and silence. It looked like something out of a luxury wilderness catalog—wide windows, timber beams, the scent of cedar and protection.
Caleb took to it immediately, marveling at the bunk beds and secret nooks. Simone swept the perimeter with quiet efficiency, already deploying surveillance blockers and encrypted landlines.
In the kitchen, Damon poured Aurora a mug of coffee.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“For what?” she asked, taking it.
“For dragging you into a world you never asked for.”
She sipped, staring over the rim. “I wasn’t dragged. I walked. The moment I fell for you.”
He didn’t reply. His eyes held too much weight for words.
“Tell me about Zurich,” she said softly.
His jaw clenched.
“Zurich was a ghost facility. My father’s personal black site for keeping people quiet. People who threatened the company. Politicians. Scientists. Victims.” He swallowed. “I found out about it two years ago. Tried to shut it down. He found out I knew and warned me—threatened to expose Caleb’s existence if I didn’t back off.”
“And you let him scare you into silence?” she asked, not unkindly.
“I let him protect Caleb, in his own sick way,” Damon admitted. “But now that Caleb holds that trust… they’ll see him as a threat. A weapon.”
“You need to dismantle it all,” Aurora said. “Every secret. Every skeleton.”
“I’m trying,” he murmured. “But if I bring everything down, I could lose everything—including the only leverage I have left to protect you two.”
She reached for his hand. “Then don’t do it alone.”
---
Back in the city, Gregory Thorne stood in his penthouse, fingers wrapped around a glass of scotch, eyes on a digital map.
A blinking dot had gone dark.
“She left,” he muttered.
“Yes, sir,” said the man beside him. “They slipped off grid.”
Gregory turned, eyes steely. “He’s gotten sloppy. Emotionally compromised.”
“Do we proceed?”
Gregory smiled—a smile that belonged to wolves.
“Plan B.”
---
At the safehouse, morning dawned with birdsong and waffles, just as promised. Aurora watched Damon flip pancakes while Caleb told him about dinosaurs and soccer.
It was surreal. The calm before the inevitable.
Simone entered with a tablet. “You need to see this.”
Damon and Aurora followed her into the study. Simone tapped the screen.
A news article loaded.
“Calvetti Scandal: Billionaire’s Secret Mistress and Illegitimate Son?”
Aurora’s stomach dropped.
It was her.
A photograph—blurry, candid, clearly stolen from a park visit—showed her holding Caleb’s hand. Another image showed her entering Damon’s building.
“There’s more,” Simone said grimly.
Another article.
“Inside the Thorne Legacy: A Six-Year-Old Heir?”
And worse:
“Will Caleb Thorne Become the Youngest Billionaire?”
Aurora sat hard. “They exposed him.”
Damon’s face was stone. “They made it public so they could claim it’s about ‘transparency.’ Now if anything happens to Caleb… it’ll look like an accident.”
Simone nodded. “You can’t go back to the city. Not yet.”
Aurora turned to Damon. “So what do we do?”
He looked her dead in the eye.
“We fight back. Not just defensively. We go to war.”
---
Later that night, Aurora stood on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the stars. Damon joined her silently.
“I was twenty-three,” she said. “When I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified. And alone.”
“I should’ve been there,” Damon said.
She nodded. “Yes. You should’ve. But you’re here now. So be here. Not just for Caleb. For me.”
He reached for her, hesitated, then pulled her into his arms.
“I want all of it,” he said softly. “The nights, the fights, the mornings, the mess. I want you.”
Aurora’s voice cracked. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“Then let me prove it. Every day. Every breath.”
And when he kissed her, it wasn’t about lust or longing. It was a promise.
One that would be tested sooner than either of them knew.
---
Far away, in a high-rise meeting room, Gregory Thorne smiled as a delivery man placed a parcel on the boardroom table.
Inside was a toy.
A red plastic dinosaur.
With a note:
“Every legacy has a weakness. Yours is six years old.”