Aurora's POV
The morning light pressed heavily against my eyelids. I didn't want to wake up. Every muscle in my body felt heavy, bruised, and stiff. As consciousness slowly seeped back in, so did the memories of yesterday—the cold club room, the sting of the leather, and the way I had practically begged a man whose face I'd never seen to take everything from me.
I felt a warm weight beside me and realized Oliver was still there. He was awake, propped up on one elbow, staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Good morning," he whispered. His voice was soft, but his eyes… they looked different.
"Morning," I croaked. I tried to pull the duvet higher, but as I shifted, my nightdress dragged across my thighs. I couldn't help it—I winced, my breath catching in a sharp hiss.
"Aurora? What's wrong?" Oliver's hand moved instantly, reaching for the edge of the blanket.
"Nothing! I'm just… stiff. I slept weird," I lied, my heart starting to hammer against my ribs.
