Aurora Rodriguez POV:
The car was a silent, opulent cage. Kenton sat across from me, his presence suffocating. Clifford was beside him, his gaze fixed on the passing cityscape, as if my very existence was an inconvenience. My hands, still trembling, were clasped tightly in my lap. I was being driven to some Bruce family estate, a place I once thought would be my home. Now, it felt like a prison.
We arrived at a sprawling, stone mansion, nestled deep in the Connecticut countryside. It was ancient, imposing, and felt cold even under the midday sun. This wasn't Hamptons glamour; this was old-money austerity, where traditions were etched as deeply as the gargoyles on the roof.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with disapproval. Kenton' s grandmother, a formidable matriarch with eyes like chips of ice, regarded me from her armchair. His aunts, uncles, and cousins were scattered around the drawing-room, their faces a mélange of curiosity and thinly veiled scorn. It was a family tribunal, and I was the accused.
"Aurora, as you can see," Clifford began, his voice resonating with patriarchal authority, "your actions have caused considerable distress to the family."
"My actions?" I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "What about his actions? The ones that led to my 'actions'?" I gestured to Kenton.
A chorus of disapproving murmurs rose from the family. "Young lady, you show startling disrespect," one of Kenton's aunts hissed.
Kenton, seeing an opportunity, stepped forward. "She's always been volatile, Father. Headstrong. She doesn't understand the consequences of her outbursts." He painted me as the spoiled, irrational heiress, deflecting all blame.
"Volatile?" I snapped, my anger flaring. "I was loyal. I was devoted. Until I found out the man I was going to marry was secretly lusting after his future stepmother!" The last words were a shout.
Clifford' s hand cracked across my face. The sound echoed through the silent room, sharp and brutal. My head snapped to the side, a searing pain blooming across my cheek. I tasted blood.
"You will not raise your voice in this house, nor will you cast baseless aspersions on our family members," Clifford thundered, his face crimson with rage. "You are here to understand your transgression, and to atone."
Tears stung my eyes, not from the pain, but from the brutal injustice. I had been beaten, not by Kenton, but by his father, for speaking the truth. For daring to expose their hypocrisy. This wasn't some gentle "discipline." This was a power play, a demonstration of their absolute control. I was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game of reputation and appearances. My cheek throbbed, a physical manifestation of the raw wound in my heart. This family, this man, had broken me into a million pieces.
