Chapter 13
The basement's air conditioner droned low and steady. Aurora huddled in a corner, her wrists bruised purple from the ropes. Three days had passed without a single word spoken to her. Each day, at the same hour, someone would enter, forcing her to relive the pain Clara had endured.
Today, a wolf in black gloves approached, holding a steaming bowl of soup. His face was a blank mask.
"No… please…" Aurora's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. She pressed herself against the cold wall, nowhere left to retreat.
He ignored her pleas, splashing the scalding soup across her collarbone and arms.
"Ah—!!"
The searing pain tore a scream from her. Angry red welts bloomed on her skin, her body shaking as tears streamed down. The wolf gave her a cold glance and left, the door slamming shut, plunging her back into darkness.
Aurora collapsed, the burns throbbing. Her mind flashed to that hospital room, when she'd "accidentally" spilled hot soup on Clara's wounds…
On the fifth day, they dragged her to a staircase. Blindfolded, she felt the edge of the step beneath her feet. Her breath hitched, anticipating the worst. Then a shove from behind sent her tumbling.
"Ah—!"
Her body crashed down, bones slamming against the hard floor with sickening thuds. Pain exploded through her, her forehead splitting open, warm blood trickling down her face. She curled into a ball, whimpering.
"Does it hurt?" Dominic's voice came from above, cold as frost.
Aurora lifted her head, trembling, blind but certain he stood over her, looking down. "You… you're insane…" she rasped.
He let out a soft chuckle, his footsteps fading. "Tomorrow, we continue."
On the seventh day, Aurora was strapped to a chair, flanked by two guards.
"Dominic says you're fond of slapping faces," one said. "Let's give you the VIP treatment."
Crack! The first slap snapped her head to the side, blood filling her mouth.
Crack! The second left her ears ringing, vision darkening.
Crack! Crack! Crack! The blows rained down, her consciousness fraying.
By the tenth day, Dominic appeared again. Aurora was a wreck—face bruised, burns festering. When the blindfold was yanked off, she squinted, struggling to adjust to the light.
Dominic sat across from her, impeccable in his suit, a stark contrast to the grim basement. "Heard the hospital suspended you," he said, voice measured. "Three patients filed complaints—bribery, improper prescriptions. The medical board's investigation team moves into your department tomorrow."
Aurora's pupils shrank. "You… you set this up… faked the evidence…"
Dominic stood, looming over her. "Tomorrow, someone will take you back to the hospital. I told you, Aurora, this is just the beginning."
At the pack's central hospital, Aurora stood in the operating room, pale as death, her white coat hanging loosely over unhealed wounds. Her hands shook, barely able to grip the scalpel.
"Aurora! The patient's blood pressure's dropping!" a nurse shouted.
She snapped out of her daze, but her trembling hands betrayed her. Staring at the bleeding patient, dizziness hit—flashes of scalding soup, the weightless fall down stairs.
"Ah!" The scalpel clattered to the floor.
In the monitoring room, Dominic watched the live feed, his face unreadable. He tapped his phone. "Call the family."
On her last day, Aurora clutched a cardboard box as she left the hospital. Her breakdown in surgery had caused a catastrophic error, costing her medical license and her career.
Before she reached the parking lot, a crowd swarmed her.
"She killed my father!"
"My sister's leg could've been saved!"
Furious family members shoved her to the ground, her box spilling. Someone crushed her glasses underfoot; another yanked her hair, slamming her head against the pavement. In the chaos, a heavy object struck her throat.
"Urgh—!"
Aurora's scream was cut short, her voice silenced forever.
