Aurora's POV. 67.
The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I regretted it.
Not because of the chores I knew I was being forced into, or the fact that I hadn’t even touched a pan since Luther dragged me into his hellish palace. No. I regretted it because of the woman standing by the counter, arms folded, lips curled in that permanent sneer of disapproval.
Mother in-law.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched me—head to toe—as if the very sight of me gave her indigestion. Her gaze locked on the shirt I wore, Luther’s shirt, barely buttoned up to my thighs. I hadn’t bothered to change. Why should I? If Luther didn’t mind seeing me like this, why should she?
But mother was already biting down on the opportunity. I could see it in her face.
“What an entrance,” she said finally, her
