Ana's POV
The rich aroma of chicken soup filled the kitchen as I stirred the pot carefully.
Morris stormed in, his brow creased with irritation, and yanked the spoon from my grip without warning.
"What part of 'stay out of the kitchen' don't you understand?"
His tone was ice-cold, fury radiating from every word.
I fought back, "Come on, it's just once in a while. What's the harm?"
Morris was blowing this way out of proportion. I wasn't some helpless princess—I knew my way around a stove, and I wasn't about to be banned from cooking forever.
My defiant attitude only made his anger flare hotter.
"In this house, women don't cook. Period. Don't even think about stepping foot in here again," he snapped.
Before I could protest, he physically pushed me out of the kitchen.
I dug in my heels. "I was making nourishing soup for Floryn. How is that wrong?"
"That's what we pay staff for. And if you really needed it done, you could've asked me," he fired back.
