Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 84

**Stars Refuse To Blink by Asa River Knox**
**If Only He Knew**

Aurora’s POV

The driver sits patiently just outside the school, his demeanor a blend of professionalism and ease. As I slide into the backseat, I pull my hoodie up, attempting to shield myself from the world, even though the fabric does little to conceal the turmoil twisting within me. The soft material brushes against my skin, yet it offers no solace for the bruises that have begun to bloom across my ribs or the relentless throb that shoots down my leg like a cruel reminder of my struggles.

As the door closes with a gentle click, the car begins to glide away, merging into the rhythm of the afternoon traffic. Outside, the world rushes past in a blur—trees stand sentinel along the sidewalks, clusters of children laugh and chatter as they make their way home, and a scruffy stray dog darts through a yard, its tail wagging with unrestrained joy. I observe it all, yet I feel as if I’m encased in glass, detached from the vibrant life around me.

Each jolt of the car sends a flare of pain through my side, but I force myself to remain stoic, refusing to give in to the urge to wince. I place my palm gently over the most painful bruises, taking shallow breaths to keep the sharp sting in my ribs from escaping my lips. The driver hums a soft tune, the low melody filling the silence that stretches between me and the road. I grip the strap of my bag tighter, my knuckles turning white as I cling to something solid, desperate to keep myself together. Minutes drag on, heavy and slow, until the car finally turns onto our street. A flicker of relief washes over me, though the ache in my body remains unrelenting.

—

I open the door and step inside, fighting to keep my legs steady beneath me. The house greets me with an unsettling silence, too quiet for comfort.

“Hey, Aurora,” Raphael’s voice breaks through the stillness, gentle yet unexpected, making me jump slightly. He stands in the doorway, his calm eyes observing me with a depth that seems to perceive everything—except for the pain I carry.

“Hi,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper as I avoid his gaze, feeling the weight of my secrets pressing down on me.

“How were tryouts?” he inquires softly, his tone laced with genuine concern.

I shrug, trying to project a sense of nonchalance. “They were… okay.”

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