Her Sweetest Temptation

I've watched and watched her from afar.

Her beautiful skin, her smile, her bright eyes.

And yet, the minute she turns to her side to look at her husband, rage takes home inside of me. I can't escape through these paparazzi in front of her wedding venue. Security is tight. Hundreds of cameras.

Being hidden is better.

But her husband, that fake husband standing next to her, makes me want to paint everything red.

She is mine.

Aurora Torre is mine. Not Remo Cainn's.

She kissed him at the alter. He touched her, and she let him.

I clench my fists, trying not to think.

No.

She is pure. I can make her pure.

All she has to do is accept me this time. This time, it will work for sure. I'm not going to stop until I have her.

She's mine.

My sweet, sweet Aurora.

Who told you to run away the first time?

1

When flowers bloom, they are the most delicate, fragile, and alluring.Days pass, and their lifespan shortens. They start to lose their colour. Each petal slowly trickling to the ground until it's nothing but a distant memory.

I believe love is like that and wanting it isn't anything out of the ordinary.

But so far, I have been unsuccessful, despite desperately praying and hoping I get to experience it someday.

Maybe it could be because of the people sitting around me at the dinner table right now.

Thunder booms outside. The faint sound of it emphasises the silence that cloaks the dining room. The clinking sound of cutlery only further making me shift in my seat as I roll the prawn on my plate around.

I clear my throat and glance at my wristwatch. It's nearly time for me to leave. I need to send my new design to the manufacturers in time for the deadline.

I'm not rich by any means. Despite my father's wealth and our media presence, I know it won't be passed down to me. I'm not the eldest child nor the heir the Torre fortune will be given to. I'm making my own name, making my own wealth, and living my own life.

"Aurora? How is your little business doing?" Father asks as he takes a bite of the grilled prawns the cook has prepared today.

The darkened sky outside lights up, quickly followed by another smaller crack of thunder. My eyes drift away from the window, and my attention floats down the dining room towards my father.

It's not little. It's actually starting to become more popular, and my designs are loved by thousands on social media. I'm proud of myself for creating what I have.

"It's doing well." My hand tightens around the fork, knowing what is about to follow.

Just a few more minutes, and I will be out.

"Hm... If you worked for Father, you wouldn't be just barely making it," my older sister, Ambrose, counters, her eyes narrowing at me over the rim of her glass.

"I worked for my job, and you didn't," I mutter beneath my breath, hoping no one heard it, because one thing in this house that shouldn't happen is me insulting Ambrose.

"Ex-excuse me?" she stutters.

Father looks up from his plate, his black hair not displaying a single white hair. His eyes crinkle in the corners, and the moustache on top of his lips quivers with the bottled-up distaste he has for me. He looks anything but the sweet and doting father the media sees.

"Aurora, are you being rude to your older sister again?"

I guess, even after all these years of neglect, I still want him to think of me as his daughter for once. I am biologically his, but it doesn't feel like it. It never has.

"No." That one word takes all my might to reply, and my throat clogs up with emotions that I can never get rid of.

My eyes dart to my sister. She is frowning like I just suddenly ruined her day.

What about the things she says to me? Do they not matter?

"Don't make me do something I don't want to," Father warns. His eyes narrow, and it makes him look worse. The dim light from the chandelier above our heads casts a shadow over his face, accentuating the thin moustache he sports above his trembling lip.

He should retire. His weak, wrinkled hands can only do so much. But he knows how to rule a big empire. And he does it well. He's the owner of the fashion magazine, Glamorous. A globally recognised name that people are dying to always read or get their hands on a copy of their own that features their favourite celebrities. With each edition selling out quickly, the celebrity gossip magazine never fails to keep its audience salivating.Ambrose doesn't reply, nor does she speak any further; yet I catch her glancing at me again a couple of times. The way her bleak eyes look over me is unsettling.

I check my watch again.

It's fifteen past. Time to go.

I grab my purse, and my chair scrapes back when I stand.

"It's getting late, so I'll take my leave," I softly announce.

There is no answer or change in the clicking of utensils on the plates, so I take it as my cue to leave while I can. I quietly make my way outside, my heels clicking on the marble of the house that Mum has chosen.

Leysa Torre.

The thought of what my mother has turned into makes my heart clench painfully.

A woman in the Torre mansion who doesn't speak more than is required; a ghost of a woman whose physical health is stable but whose mental health has taken a toll. The days when her health was worse than ever due to depression that she has always had, I took care of her and stayed in the mansion; however, those were some of my worst days, due to Ambrose trying to get rid of me.Shaking away the haunting thoughts, I make my way towards the front doors.

My white heels make me smile, only for it to drop when I hear thunder once more. Rain splatters outside the front doors. I can barely see anything through the haze of the rain. My car is parked just up ahead on the driveway, but it's a good distance from the front porch. I sigh because my dress will suffer. It's white and fitted, reaching my knees with a beautiful sweetheart neckline, where a simple pendant rests.

I grab the umbrella from the stack near the front door, opening it before walking down the extensive driveway towards my car. I quicken my pace, keeping my eyes down and trying to avoid the small puddles of water. I don't want to ruin the colour of my heels.

"Just a couple more steps," I mutter, then pause, lifting my head. I've walked farther from my Range Rover than I meant to when I was trying not to step into dirty water.

Shaking my head at my foolishness, I raise my umbrella, so I am able to see better, and make my way to the right, where my car is parked.

A rumble of a car turning into the driveway stops me for a second. It stops right next to me, leaving only a few metres of space. I frown at the black Range Rover.I shut my umbrella, taking the last few steps to my car, but I can't stop my curiosity. I give in to the desire to look. I blink, attempting to rid the water that is falling on my face, and squint, trying to make out the figure stepping out of the car, but it's too dark, and I'm getting drenched.

Shaking my head, I quickly open the backseat and drop my umbrella on the floor before shutting the door and opening the driver's side. The cold droplets of rain feel like piercing stabs on my skin. Not a good choice of outfit today, I guess.

I hear the car door close shut behind me, and my head snaps up again. I squint one last time at a tall figure. He opens his umbrella and walks towards the front doors of our main house, completely ignoring me standing right here beside his car.

Is he one of Father's friends?

The umbrella hides his head, so I can't see his face. The only thing I can see is his big physique, the strong muscles that his suit can't fully disguise. Soft lights flicker on around the driveway as the sky darkens, and thunder crackles in the sky, making me flinch.I look down at my dress. It is starting to become see through. "Oh God!"

I quickly climb into the driver's seat, then shut my door. That's when the figure stops at the front of the house under the small coverage the roof is giving from the rain.

I start my car, turning the heating to the maximum to warm my shivering body. The deep hum of the car and the buzz of the heat blasting makes me sigh. It almost drowns out the raindrops falling against the windows of my car.

As I am pulling out of the driveway, I notice the head of the mysterious man turn towards me while the front doors open of our house, revealing Ambrose.

He turns his head back to her, and without exchanging any words, he disappears inside.

I guess they wanted me gone so they could invite other people over. It's not the first time this has happened and definitely won't be the last. I'm happy being away from my family. These dinners really test my patience.

Sighing, I turn onto the main road, and when I stop at a red light, I grab my phone and connect it to Bluetooth to call Kamari.

"Princess Aurora, I thought you would be sleeping by now."

A laugh escapes me for the first time since the morning.

"You need to stop making jokes about me being a princess, because I am certainly not. It's just a name." Even if I complain, I don't mind the jokes. They are pretty amusing sometimes.

"Well, it's been what? Four years, and you are still complaining?"

Kamari's voice makes me smile. She knows how much of an impact she made in my life. Not just as a friend but as a mentor. She may be the same age as me, but her support has helped my confidence. With her busy schedule as a football manager, we don't get enough time together.

"I know you just came back from your parents' house, so that calls for some cheesy jokes,"

I sigh at how pathetic it sounds that she has to make jokes to cheer me up after that dinner.

Insulted. Degraded for doing something I love to do. Disgust for not working with my father. Belittled for wanting to get away from their toxicity.What is stopping me from cutting them off?

It's because I don't want to run away when I have lived in London my whole life. I don't want to give them a reason to chase after me and after everything I have.

The biggest reason of them all, I don't want my father to abuse his power to bring me down.

I work and have money but not as much as my father. Not nearly enough to get rid of him.

Does it make me weak that I can't escape the shackles they put around my feet? Dragging me to the bottom with them?

"Yes, it does. I wish you'd come over. I'm pretty sure they even invited some people over after I left. This man came, and he... I don't want to talk about them, actually." I look outside at the depressing rain.

The dark grey clouds cover the night sky, and not a single star peeks through the curtains of the clouds. The sound of the rain on the road somehow cools my heart, and the blurry figures of groups of friends running under the rain, smiles on their faces as they reach for cover, makes something twist inside of me.

The rain in London has always been unpredictable, coming at the most inconvenient times, and yet, I find myself wishing I could stand under the cold drops.

Maybe it'll wash away my worries. Maybe I'll find someone looking at me in wonder as I stand under the pouring clouds. Or maybe I just want a moment of peace. I don't know which one it is.

Sometimes I love it, and sometimes I just utterly hate it.

"Okay, how about going to get midnight dessert with me, even if it's not midnight yet? I'm free tonight. How about that place just down the road from your apartment?" Kamari offers.

"That sounds amazing. I just need to quickly change my clothes," I agree.Thirty minutes later, I run my fingers through my hair as I sit and wait for Kamari in a booth at the back of the café.

My phone pings. Opening it, I notice it's a text from Dad.

He never texts.

Dad: Tomorrow morning at ten. Come to the house. I need to talk to you.Either it's about my behaviour again, or Ambrose complained. Or maybe he needs something.

I want to walk away and never look back, but only once I know I can earn enough that I can do something. I've built my Blushing fashion brand, and it's rising off the ground, but not enough that I can do something. I'd need a strong support system to get me away.

The doorbell dings, and I spot familiar curly dark hair and beautiful dusty brown eyes. I know who it is.

"Kamari!" I get up from the seat and hug her.

Her arms tighten around my shoulders, making all the worry go away.

"Sit down. I have something to tell you."

My eyebrows rise at her frantic tone, but I sit down.

Kamari Ali is the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Her mother is from Albania and her father is British. I always tell her that instead of being a manager, she should try being a model; a face like hers shouldn't be wasted behind the scenes. But she always shrugs me off, so I drop the topic.

"I think Ruel is definitely dating someone, yet he is trying to hide it from me." She frowns as she dumps the information straight away.

"Oh." I blink, trying to make sense of this random piece about the footballer she is managing.

"I know it." She sighs, her eyes narrowed as she looks at me.

"Well, my news is nothing big compared to your theory, but Dad asked me to come to the house tomorrow morning."

Her eyes don't move from the table as she thinks about something, probably Ruel. That's what happens whenever she thinks about something related to her job. She thinks. Hard.

"Have you tried asking him?" I ask.

Her eyes snap up to me. They narrow even further.

"You don't think I have?" she asks in disbelief, as if I am questioning her detective skills.

"How do you know?"

She quickly takes her phone out of her bag and bites her lip as she scrolls, trying to find them for me. "Evidence and everything, huh?" I laugh as she turns her phone to me and swipes as I look at the items.

White flowers of all kinds, but they each are in their own bouquet.

Blue roses on the kitchen counter, purple lilies in a vase, yellow tulips, white gerberas, and all kinds of flowers amongst them. All placed in different places in Ruel's home, I assume.

"Maybe he suddenly likes flowers," I mutter, and Kamari takes that as her chance to jump and goes into the many ways she thinks he is dating but isn't telling her. They could be for anyone, really, so we are both in the dark.

"He keeps ordering them and telling me to keep them on his kitchen counter as each one dies a couple days later. He has football practice till late, then sessions for media and photoshoots, so he doesn't take care of them. He wouldn't do that unless someone was visiting him in his apartment, right? He is trying to impress someone, right?""Could be. Why is that a problem, though?"

She sighs, her shoulders dropping.

"If he is, then I will need to know, to avoid bad PR and to keep it under wraps. He has many female fans." She sounds troubled, a frown on her face as she chews on her lip.

I met Kamari four years ago when Ruel was modelling with a female model who was wearing pieces from my clothing line for my father's magazine cover shoot. Kamari chatted my ear off the entire time, then got my phone number somehow and said she would call me soon because she loved how easily we got on together. Deep down, I loved talking to her, too. She didn't know anything about me and was making me feel so loved and special. I didn't think much of that until she actually did call me.

Now she is here, still chatting away, but I don't mind her talking. She isn't directing her anger or anything hurtful to me.

My phone pings again, and I glance down at it. My smile becomes strained.

Dad: Don't forget. Don't wear white again.