Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 65

**Stars Refuse To Blink by Asa River Knox**

**Aurora’s POV**

The house has succumbed to a profound silence, a stillness that feels almost suffocating.

I remain ensconced in my room, a sanctuary that feels increasingly like a prison.

The echoes of raised voices, the cacophony of objects crashing against one another, the chaos that had engulfed us just moments ago—now it has evaporated, leaving only an oppressive quiet in its wake. One by one, the sounds have retreated to the upper floors, like shadows fleeing from the light. I can hear the faint click of doors shutting, the distant sound of water cascading from the showers.

They must all be busy tidying up, scrubbing away the remnants of their fury, trying to erase the traces of their anger.

With a tentative breath, I step out of my refuge, my footsteps whispering against the worn wooden floorboards. The kitchen is merely a few steps down the staircase. I only need a quick drink of water. Simple. Quiet. Just a moment of invisibility, a brief escape from the turmoil that hangs in the air like a thick fog.

As I inch closer to the counter, a sudden jolt of fear courses through me, and I freeze. He’s there. Luka.

At first, he remains oblivious to my presence. His back is turned, his lanky frame leaning casually against the counter, a can of some fizzy drink held loosely in his hand. He tilts his head slightly, taking a sip, his demeanor as cold and distant as ever, a fortress of indifference that I find both infuriating and unsettling.

My heart leaps into my throat, and instinctively, I contemplate retreating, fleeing back to the safety of my room. But before I can make a move, his voice slices through the silence like a sharp blade. “Running again?”

His tone is calm, flat, and laced with disdain.

I feel my body lock up, my fingers trembling at my sides, caught in a web of indecision. Slowly, I turn to face him, though he still hasn’t acknowledged my presence.

With a soft clink, he sets his glass down, finally lifting his gaze to mine. The scowl on his face is all too familiar, as if it were etched there by some cruel hand of fate.

“Do you just wander around here like a ghost or something? Always popping up like a stray.”

I part my lips, desperate to respond, but the words refuse to come. My voice seems to evaporate, swallowed whole by the heavy air between us. He scoffs, a sound dripping with derision. “Pathetic.”

That single word.

It pierces through me like a shard of ice, chilling my very core.

All the air in my lungs rushes out, leaving me gasping. “Pathetic.”

The echo of that word reverberates in my mind, morphing into another voice—deeper, colder, and hauntingly familiar. A voice I haven’t heard in months, yet it lingers in the shadows of my thoughts. My father.

“Pathetic little girl.”

And then, as if summoned by my own memories, my mother’s voice joins in, a cruel chorus of mockery.

“Pathetic bitch can’t do anything right.”

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