Aurora's POV
The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving me in a silence that felt louder than Oscar's shouting. I sank back onto the bed, my fingers trembling as I gripped the sheets. His words echoed in my mind like a sentence: A coward who hides because she's afraid of her feelings.
I remained in that room for a long time, staring at the ceiling. I waited, half-expecting the door to swing open and for Oliver to walk in, demanding the truth himself. But he never came.
Hours later, a maid eventually entered, her head bowed respectfully. She left a stack of fresh clothes on a chair and a tray of food on the nightstand. I bathed in the adjoining marble bathroom, the warm water stinging the small cuts on my skin, and changed into the soft, clean clothes. I stared at the food—roasted chicken and steamed vegetables—but my stomach was in knots. I didn't have an appetite. I couldn't eat while the weight of my lie was suffocating me.
I had to see him.
