DEMETRIA

Monday mornings always came with a certain kind of calm, the world still stretching, yawning its way back to order. The scent of coffee and freshly baked bread filled the penthouse, a heavenly mix that could make anyone forget it was the start of another work week.

“Chef Parker, whatever you made today smells divine,” I said as I sat down at the dining table, already reaching for a piece of toast.

The chef smiled, straightening his crisp white apron. “Thank you, Miss Hernandez. ...