Chapter 2 - BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR
Owen did not offer a word of comfort or sympathy. He simply stared at her with the cold, controlling gaze that made hardened mob enforcers tremble, before slowly folding his arms across his broad chest.
Aurora didn't wait for his dismissal. She turned quickly, ignoring the sharp, burning friction inside her boot, and hurried down the narrow service corridor toward the west supply room. Near the entrance, the fifty-year-old Head Housekeeper passed her with a quiet, rigid nod, carrying a stack of fresh linens toward the guest suites. Aurora barely noticed her, her entire focus narrowed down to reaching isolation.
She slipped into the cramped supply room, pulled the heavy oak door shut, and instantly turned the brass lock until it clicked into place.
The room was filled with tall steel shelves packed with folded towels, industrial polish, and spare linen. Safe from the gaze of the mansion's master, Aurora let out a ragged breath and slid down the surface of the door until she sat directly on the cold tile floor.
She pulled up the hem of her knee-length maid uniform and rolled down her dark tights, exposing the sleek matte-black surface of her carbon-fiber prosthetic leg. With practiced, trembling fingers, she unlatched the pressure release valves along the side of the socket.
With a soft release of suction, she pulled the carbon-fiber limb away from her body and laid it gently on the floor beside a bottle of surface cleaner.
The skin of her residual limb below the knee was deep red, swollen, and badly chafed where the misalignment had scraped against her flesh. Tears of exhaustion welled in her eyes as she gently probed the inflamed skin. She hated the prosthetic, but she hated people's pity far more.
Suddenly, a heavy fist slammed violently against the oak door from the hallway outside.
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BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Aurora," Owen’s voice boomed through the solid wood, cold and commanding. "Open it."
