Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 95

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

**Opening Up**

Aurora’s POV

The IV drip in my arm thrums softly, a rhythmic reminder of my heartbeat. I find myself staring at the ceiling, my gaze tracing the intricate web of cracks that mar the sterile white tiles above me. Each pulse of the IV seems to echo the sting in my throat, a sensation I desperately wish would dissipate. Beside me, Raphael remains steadfast, occupying the chair with an air of quiet vigilance. His legs are stretched out, and the book resting in his lap lies closed, untouched. I can tell he’s been pretending to read for the past thirty minutes, but not a single page has turned.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he fears shattering the fragile silence that envelops us. “Can I ask you something?”

I blink slowly, turning my head to meet his gaze. My entire body feels like it’s encased in a heavy, suffocating weight, each ache resonating deep within me.

“Yeah,” I manage to whisper, my voice faint and shaky. Raphael studies me intently, his expression a mixture of concern and patience. After a moment, he asks, “Do you want to talk? About… anything?”

I avert my eyes, feeling the fabric of the hospital blanket beneath my fingers. I dig my nails into the edges, grounding myself as I feel like I’m teetering on the brink of something sharp and profound.

“I-I,” I stammer, hesitating as my voice barely escapes my lips. A part of me is terrified to delve into the darkness that looms over my thoughts. But another part, the part that knows I can trust Raphael, yearns to share. “I… want to.”

He sets the book aside with a gentle motion, his full attention now directed toward me. Yet, he doesn’t lean in closer or rush me. Instead, he remains where he is, giving me the space to breathe.

“I won’t make you say anything you don’t want to,” he reassures me softly, his tone laced with understanding.

I gaze down at the blanket, my trembling hands revealing the scars and bruises that map my struggles.

“It started… a long time ago…” I whisper, feeling the words claw their way to the surface.

And then, in an instant—A flash.

A door slamming shut.

A voice, cruel and loud, echoes in my mind: “If you cry, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

The memory crashes over me like a wave of icy water, and I flinch, instinctively recoiling from the pain it brings.

“But it was bad,” I confess, my voice trembling.

Another flash—

A cigarette pressed harshly against the skin of my arm.

The hiss of burning flesh. The acrid smell. The suffocating knowledge that I wasn’t allowed to scream.

“It wasn’t just at school,” I murmur, my heart heavy with the weight of my truth. “It wasn’t new. I’ve been… hurt. Before. For a long time.”

“Chapter 95”

“57.93%”

“People who were supposed to love me… they didn’t,” I continue, the words spilling forth like a dam breaking.

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