Page 76 of His Son's Brid
After we hang up, the silence in my room feels heavier.
What is Axel doing? And why won't anyone tell me?
Dinner that night is a nightmare.
The dining room feels like a battlefield before the war starts. Dad's at the head of the table, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. Axel's to his right, staring at his untouched plate. Leo's across from me, already drunk, wine glass clutched like a lifeline.
I'm at the end, watching all of them, fury building with every second of loaded silence.
"This is ridiculous," I say.
Everyone looks up.
"Aurora—" Dad starts.
"No. No more 'Aurora, stay out of it' or 'Aurora, we'll handle this.'" I stand, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What the fuck is happening?"
"Watch your language," Dad warns.
"I don't care about my language! For two days, the three of you have been locked in that office. Two days of shouting and arguments and security increases, and no one will tell me anything!"
Leo laughs—a drunk, bitter sound. Mutters something about "my right" and "fight for what’s mine."
I ignore the drunk bastard and focus on Axel and Dad.
"I'm the one this is about, aren't I? My engagement. My future. My life." My hands are shaking. "But somehow I'm the only person who doesn't get to know what's being decided about me."
"Aurora, this is complicated—" Axel's voice is rough.
"Then, uncomplicate it! Tell me what's going on!"
"We're trying to figure out the best way to—"
"The best way to what? Break off my engagement? Keep it? Rearrange my life without asking me?" My voice cracks. "Do you even see me as a person? Or am I just a piece on a chessboard that you move around whenever it's convenient?"
Guilt flashes across both their faces.
"It's not like that," Dad says quietly.
"Isn't it? First, you tell me I'm getting married—no warning, no discussion. Now you're telling me what, that maybe I'm not? That plans have changed again?" I'm shaking harder now. "But God forbid you actually explain anything to me. God forbid you treat me like an adult who deserves to know what's happening in her own—"
The window explodes.
Glass detonates inward like a bomb, and I don't understand what's happening—why is there glass flying, why is Dad diving under the table, screaming words at me and crawling towards me in panic, why is—
Gunfire.
Oh God.
Oh God oh God oh God—
The sound is deafening. Rapid cracks that make my ears ring, make my whole body freeze.
Not again. Please not again.
"GET DOWN!" I finally hear Dad's screaming.
But I can't move. Can't think. Can't do anything except stand there while bullets tear through the dining room, shredding curtains and splintering wood and—
