Chapter 54
Chapter 54:
Beatrice watched her go. She smiled.
“That,” Beatrice whispered, “is a Queen p>
The heavy oak doors of the Thorne estate loomed like the gates of a fortress that had never truly welcomed her. Aurora stood at the threshold, the gravel of the driveway steady beneath her designer heels. She wasn’t the girl who used to shrink into the shadows of these pillars, hoping to disappear before anyone noticed her outfit came from a clearance rack. Today, she wore a bespoke trench coat that cost more than the sedan she used to drive.
She adjusted the strap of her Hermès bag, her chin lifting an inch higher. She hadn’t planned to return, but Beatrice Thorne’s invitation had been handwritten and hand-delivered. “A private family dinner,” the note had said. “No cameras, no press. Just us.” After refusing the gala invitation weeks ago, Aurora felt she owed the matriarch—the only Thorne who had treated her with dignity—this one courtesy.
The butler, a man named Higgins who had once sneered at her for using the wrong fork, opened the door. He didn’t look at her face. He looked past her shoulder, as if expecting someone important to be standing behind her.
“The service entrance is around the back, miss,” Higgins said, his voice flat.
Aurora didn’t blink. She didn’t argue. She simply stepped forward, her presence radiating a cold authority that forced him to retreat or be trampled. She walked right through the center of the foyer, her heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic cadence on the black-and-white marble floors.
“I’m not here to serve, Higgins,” she said, her voice cool and carrying effortlessly through the vaulted space. “I’m here to dine. And if you value your pension, you’ll take my coat p>
She left him sputtering near the umbrella stand and turned toward the drawing room.
The room smelled of old money—beeswax, expensive scotch, and floral arrangements that cost more than most people’s rent. Ashley Thorne, Sterling’s sharp-tongued cousin, was lounging on a velvet settee, flipping through a fashion magazine. When she saw Aurora, she let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-choke.
M0re detailz at
“Well,” Ashley drawled, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. “I thought we took the trash out on Tuesday. Why is it back in the living room p>
Sterling was standing by the fireplace. He held a crystal tumbler of amber liquid, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked immaculate in his charcoal suit, the very picture of the grieving, magnanimous ex-husband. He watched Aurora with a heavy-lidded gaze, waiting.
He was waiting for the apology. He was waiting for her to look at the luxury surrounding her and crumble, realizing what she had lost. He still believed her success at Pulse was a fluke, a temporary rebellion.
Aurora didn’t even glance at him. She walked past his orbit as if he were a piece of furniture, a coat rack that had been placed inconveniently in the middle of the room.
Sterling’s grip on his glass tightened. His knuckles turned white. The disregard was a physical slap. She should be looking at him. She should be begging him with her eyes.
“You have some nerve,” Sterling said, his voice low. “Showing up here after the stunt you pulled with the government contract. Do you think a few lucky breaks make you one of us p>
Aurora paused, but she didn’t turn. “Your grandmother invited me, Sterling. If you have a grievance with the guest list, take it up with the hostess. I’m sure she’d love to hear you question her judgment p>
Before Sterling could retort, the thud of a cane against the floorboards announced the arrival of the Matriarch.