BRIANNA

I woke up to the harsh heat of the sun, its rays seeping through the curtains and hitting my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling the duvet over my head to shield myself from the bright, unforgiving light. Just as I was about to drift back into sleep, a voice cut through my grogginess.

“Miss, you need to wake up now. It’s past 11 a.m. already.”

The voice wasn’t my mom’s or my sister’s, and since when did anyone start calling me “miss”?

“Five more minutes, please,” I moaned, barely able to keep my eyes open. I heard a soft chuckle in response.

“As much as I’d love to let you sleep, you were up really late last night, and the boss ordered me to wake you up.” The voice paused. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Before I could protest, the duvet was yanked off me, exposing me to the cold air of the room. I flinched and blinked at the middle-aged woman standing beside my bed, her face smiling warmly at me.

“Well, somebody finally decided to wake up,” she said with a teasing tone.

“Good morning, Miss Matilda,” I said, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“Good morning to you too. The boss said I should wake you up—you need to get going.”

“Wait, what time did you say it was again?” I asked, suddenly alert.

“It’s past 11 already,” she repeated.

I bolted upright, instantly regretting not having more time to sleep. I had been awake in the early hours of the morning, lying in bed and worrying about my mom—wondering if she was anxious because I hadn’t come home last night. I ended up watching a movie to distract myself and then helped the maids in the kitchen. I hadn’t meant to sleep in, but here I was.

“Where are my clothes?” I asked.

“They’re over there,” Matilda said, pointing to a chair in the corner where a pile of clothes was neatly folded.

I quickly went over to the chair, tugging off the shirt Mr. Adrian had lent me, but I hesitated. I was about to strip it off completely when I remembered someone was still in the room.

“Huh, Matilda... could you please turn around?” I asked, my voice polite but firm.

“Oh, okay,” she replied, already turning away. “But aren’t you going to take a bath first?”

“I don’t have time for a bath right now. I’ll shower when I get home,” I said, pulling my clothes on hastily. My fingers fumbled with the buttons as I dressed quickly, then ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it look presentable. I shoved my shoes on and gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror.

“You can turn around now,” I said, and Matilda turned back to face me.

I grabbed my bag, checked that everything inside was in place, and slung it over my shoulder.

“I’m heading out now. I hope I’ll see you again,” I said, offering a small smile.

“I hope so too. Be sure to come back next time,” she said, smiling warmly.

“Not likely,” I muttered as we walked toward the door.

“Is Mr. Adrian still here?” I asked as we moved down the hall.

“Yes, he’s still around. I think he was waiting for you to take you home,” Matilda replied.

“That’s not going to happen. He’s too proud and arrogant to do that. And besides, I’m not his girlfriend,” I said with a shrug.

“If you say so,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Oh, I almost forgot. He said I should bring you to the dining room.”

“Dining room? For what?” I asked, confused.

“I don’t know. You’ll find out when you get there,” she shrugged, walking down the hallway before leaving me to enter the dining room alone.

I stepped inside and froze. Mr. Adrian was sitting at the head of a long dining table, staring at me as if he were waiting for my reaction. I raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“What am I doing here?” I asked, impatience creeping into my voice.

“Wait, no ‘Good morning Mr. Adrian’?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t have time for pleasantries. I’ve got to get home,” I snapped, frustration bubbling up.

“Well, I didn’t call you here to waste your time,” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “I asked if you’d like to have breakfast with me.”

“No, I don’t want to have breakfast with you,” I replied without hesitation.

“Who said I was asking?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “It was an order. Sit down and eat if you want to get home early.”

I hesitated but knew what would happen if I argued. He’d threaten to fire me, or worse, make the rest of my life even more unbearable. So, I reluctantly sat down beside him.

As I settled into the chair, my gaze shifted to the table, and my stomach rumbled loudly. There was more food than anyone could possibly eat—piles of pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, and pastries. It felt like enough to feed an army.

“Uhm... are others joining us for breakfast?” I asked, bewildered by the abundance of food.

“No, it’s just you and me,” he replied casually, as if this were a normal occurrence.

“There’s no way we can eat all this,” I said, my voice edged with disbelief.

“I’ll have the maids get rid of whatever’s left when we’re done,” he said with a wave of his hand.

I stared at the table, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. “How can you just throw all this away when there are so many people out there begging for food? People are starving, Mr. Adrian,” I said, the anger building inside me.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my outburst. “How does that concern me?”

“It should concern you,” I said, my voice shaking with emotion. “You have an abundance of food, and you’re just going to waste it. You could give some of it to those who don’t even know where their next meal is coming from.”

I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall. This wasn’t about me; it was about the injustice of it all.

“Okay, okay,” he said, his expression softening a little. “You really have to calm down. I don’t want you crying over this.”

“Next time, tell your maids to cook only what you’re going to eat. Don’t waste food like this when you know there are people who need it,” I said, my tone firm but controlled.

“Wait... are you really talking to me like that?” he asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” I said, my voice unwavering.

He stared at me for a long moment, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in tone. “Am I clear?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

“Yes,” he muttered, sounding a little defeated.

“You should be grateful for what you have,” I continued. “So never, ever waste food like this again, okay?”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

I picked up my fork, trying to ignore the way Mr. Adrian was watching me, amusement dancing in his eyes. I dug into the pancakes, the sweet, syrupy bite providing a moment of comfort amidst the tension in the air.