Chapter 173
Chapter 173:
Vivian’s eyes lit up. “Mr. Russo? The landlord who evicted them p>
“The very same,” Eleanor smiled cruelly. “He has quite a story to tell about our dear Aurora. A story involving destruction of property, theft, and wild behavior. We’ll paint her as a feral animal who destroyed everything she touched p>
Vivian smirked. “Perfect. Let the world see the trash beneath the tiara p>
Back in the medical suite, Aurora stood up. She tucked the locket into her pocket.
“I’m going to my room, Grandpa,” she said softly. “I need to change. But I’ll be back p>
“Go,” Arthur nodded, his eyes closing. “Prepare yourself, Aurora. The wolves are circling p>
Aurora walked out of the room. Her face was calm, but inside, a fire was kindled. She wasn’t just fighting for money. She was fighting for the boy in the photo who had promised to protect her. She was fighting for Julian.
Aurora pushed open the double doors to the suite she had been assigned in the West Wing. She stopped in the doorway, her eyebrows lifting slightly.
The room was an assault on the senses.
It was pink. Violently, aggressively pink. The curtains were a heavy, suffocating rose velvet. The bedspread was covered in frills and lace that looked like they belonged in a dollhouse from the 1950s. The air smelled overpowering—a thick, artificial scent of lilies that made her throat itch. It was a room designed for a child. Or an idiot.
It was a message. You don’t belong here. You are a joke.
“Miss Vance?” A young maid stood behind her, holding a clothing rack on wheels. She looked terrified. “Miss Vivian… she selected these for you. She said since your luggage was… limited… you would need appropriate attire for the house p>
Aurora turned to the rack. She fingered the fabric of the first dress. It was a bright neon yellow polyester blend. The next was a sequined mini-dress that looked like a disco ball had exploded. The third was a maid’s uniform, disguised as a “vintage apron dress p>
gα ℓη σ ν𝒆 𝓁s․com holds great reads
Flashy. Cheap. Degrading.
“Appropriate attire,” Aurora repeated, her voice flat.
“She said… she said it’s the latest fashion,” the maid stammered, clearly repeating a lie she knew was absurd.
Aurora looked at the maid. “What is your name p>
“Sarah, miss p>
“Sarah, take this rack to the incinerator,” Aurora said calmly. “Burn it p>
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Burn it? But… Miss Vivian paid p>
“I don’t care who paid for it,” Aurora said, walking into the pink nightmare of a room. She opened a window to let the fresh rain air in. “If anyone asks, tell them the polyester was a fire hazard. Because it is p>
Sarah hesitated for a second, then a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yes, miss p>
In the glass-walled solarium, Eleanor and Vivian sat across from each other at a wrought-iron table. The rain drummed rhythmically against the glass roof.
“She burned the clothes?” Vivian screeched, slamming her teacup down. “That ungrateful little p>
“Lower your voice,” Eleanor said, stirring her tea with a silver spoon. “It was expected. She has pride. Poor people often have excessive pride to cover their inadequacy p>