Billionaire's Betrayal a contracted revenge (Aurelia) novel Chapter 3

Chp 3: The scent of prey.

Aurelia’s POV

I didn’t sleep. I just lay there, wrapped in a duvet that cost more than my college tuition, shivering despite the climate-controlled air. The scent of Rieck’s cologne—sandalwood and cold, metallic rain—still clung to the suit jacket I’d refused to let go of. It was pathetic. I was clinging to the scent of a man who had looked at me with the same emotional detachment one gives a spreadsheet.

The guest room was silent. I could still hear the phantom echoes of that woman’s laughter from the living room. “Who’s the stray?”

A stray. That’s what I’d always been.

I closed my eyes, memories of the orphanage washing over me. The scratchy blankets, the hand-me-down shoes that pinched my toes, the desperate need to be chosen. When Dawson had picked me out of the lineup of interns at his company, I thought I’d finally found a home. I thought I was Cinderella. I didn’t realize I was just the mouse he’d keep in a cage until he found a better pet.

A sharp rap on the door shattered my pity party.

“Come in,” I croaked, sitting up.

The door opened, and a woman stepped in. She wasn’t the half-naked brunette from last night. This woman was severe, dressed in a charcoal pantsuit, her hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. She held a garment bag as if it contained the Crown Jewels.

“Mrs. Valerius,” she said. The title sounded foreign. Wrong. “I am Elara, Mr. Valerius’s personal assistant. He requires your presence at the Solstice Gala tonight.”

“Tonight?” I rubbed my swollen eyes. “I… I don’t have anything to wear. My clothes—”

“Mr. Valerius is aware of the state of your wardrobe,” Elara cut me off, her tone clipping the air. She walked over and hung the bag on the wardrobe hook. “He had this commissioned this morning. Hair and makeup will be here in twenty minutes. Do not be late. Mr. Valerius does not tolerate tardiness.”

“Where is he?” I asked, looking past her.

“The Alpha is busy,” she said simply. The Alpha. The way she said it—with a mixture of fear and reverence—sent a chill down my spine. “He will meet you at the venue.”

She left before I could ask another question.

I unzipped the bag. The fabric spilled out, cool and heavy against my skin. It wasn’t just a dress. It was a statement. A floor-length gown of liquid midnight blue velvet, darker than the ocean, with a slit that went dangerously high up the thigh. It was modest in the front, high-necked, but when I turned it around, the back was entirely backless, dipping low enough to be scandalous.

It was a dress meant for a queen. Or a very high-priced courtesan. With Rieck, I couldn’t tell the difference.

Three hours later, I stood at the entrance of the Valerius Grand Hall.

I felt like an imposter. The makeup artist had painted over my dark circles, and the hairdresser had swept my hair into a sleek, severe bun that emphasized the sharp bones of my face. I looked like a weapon. I felt like glass.

I handed my invitation to the doorman. He paused, scanning the name. Aurelia Valerius. He looked at me, confusion flickering in his eyes. He knew Dawson. He knew the divorce rumors. But the invitation was valid.

“Right this way, ma’am.”

I walked in. The room was a sea of black ties and glittering jewels. The air smelled of money and expensive wine, but underneath it, there was that subtle, primal scent I had only recently started to notice around the Valerius family. Musk. Earth. Danger.

I scanned the room for Rieck. He wasn’t there.

But Dawson was.

He was standing near the champagne tower, looking devastatingly handsome in a white dinner jacket. And clinging to his arm, rubbing her barely-there baby bump like it was a golden Buddha, was Charlotte.

I tried to turn away, to blend into the shadows, but luck was not on my side. Charlotte’s gaze snapped to me. Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. She whispered something to Dawson, then detached herself and made a beeline for me.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Fight or flight.

“Oh my god,” Charlotte’s voice was high, carrying over the hum of conversation. She stopped in front of me, looking me up and down with a sneer. “Aurelia? What on earth are you doing here?”

Heads turned. The humiliation burned my cheeks.

“I was invited,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Charlotte laughed, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. “Invited? By who? The catering staff?” She reached out, fingering the velvet of my sleeve. “This is… exquisite. Where did you steal it? Did you max out Dawson’s credit card one last time before he cut you off?”

“Don’t touch me, Charlotte,” I whispered.

“I’m just worried about you, sweetie,” she purred, stepping closer, her perfume—sickly sweet lilies—choking me. “You look desperate. Crashing your ex-husband’s gala? It’s sad. Really sad. You should be at home, looking through the classifieds for a studio apartment, not pretending you still belong in our world.”

“She’s right, Aurelia.”

The deep voice came from behind me. Dawson.

I spun around. He was looking at me with pure annoyance. “I told you to leave town. Why are you here? To beg?”

“I’m not here for you, Dawson,” I said, lifting my chin.

“Look at this dress,” Dawson scoffed, his eyes raking over the expensive velvet. “Who are you trying to impress? You think dressing up will change the fact that you’re barren? That you’re useless?”

The cruelty of it took my breath away. Tears pricked my eyes, threatening to ruin the makeup.

“Security!” Dawson snapped his fingers at a passing guard. “Escort this woman out. She’s trespassing.”

“No, I’m not—” I started, backing away.

“Don’t make a scene, Aurelia,” Charlotte hissed, grabbing my wrist. Her nails dug into my skin. “Just go. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Let go of me!” I tried to yank my arm back, but Dawson grabbed my other arm.

“You need to learn your place,” Dawson growled, his grip bruising. “You are nothing. You are nobody. Now get out before I throw you out myself.”

The room had gone quiet. People were staring. Whispering. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I was the discarded wife. The failure. The stray.

Then, the air in the room changed.

It wasn’t a sound. It was a shift in pressure. The temperature plummeted ten degrees. The fine hairs on my arms stood up.

Every conversation in the room died.

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