Selena pressed her fingers against her temples, massaging the headache that was already forming a permanent residence there. A few minutes ago, when the words "doubt her" had left Selena's lips, Azura had stopped kneeling so dramatically that it looked like she'd been yanked up by an invisible puppeteer.
And then—horror of horrors—she started washing the dishes.
Not just washing them. DOMINATING them.
She scrubbed, rinsed, and stacked like a woman possessed by the ghost of a professional housekeeper. Which was impossible, because the Azura everyone knew would sooner eat raw garbage than touch dishwater.
But this Azura wasn't the spoiled, pampered brat who had never lifted a finger in her life.
This Azura was Chinese Azura. The Azura who had been washing dishes since kindergarten because her teachers believed in building character through labor. The Azura who could clean a wok in thirty seconds flat and make it shine like a mirror.
