I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of a booming voice breaking the heavy silence.
Whirling around, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs, I found myself facing an elderly man dressed in a crisp black suit.
there was an air of practiced calm about him, but something in his expression ─ a polite stiffness ─ set my nerves on edge.
"my apologies for startling you, miss," he said smoothly, his voice deep and commanding.
"breakfast has been prepared for you, along with hangover soup, at the master's request. Your garmen t have also been cleaned and are ready for your departure."
Master?
the word echoed in my mind, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Despite the swirl of questions tightening my chest, I forced myself to nod, my voice barely above a whisper.
"thank you."
He nodded his head with perfect precision, then gestured for me to follow.
As we walked through the big, fancy hall, I felt small with all the beautiful things around me.
Who is this man who had a butler, a mansion, and a "master" title? and why…why had he taken it upon himself to care for me so thoroughly ─ feeding me, clothing me ─ all while I paraded around in one of his shirts like a misplaced pet?
The questions circled like vultures over my pounding head.
When we entered the dining room, the air was thick with the comforting scent of fresh bread and coffee.
A long table stretched across the room, set impeccably with fine china and array of breakfast options that looked like they belonged in a five-star hotel buffet.
it was overwhelming.
I hesitated, but hunger and nausea battled In my stomach, so I eventually chose a simple slice of toast and poured myself a cup of tea.
the butler ─ever watchful ─ served a portion of the promised hangover soup into a delicate bowl and placed it before me with an almost ceremonial air.
Hesitantly, I sipped the rich, spicy broth.
A surprising warmth spread through me, calming the storm in my stomach and dulling the ache behind my eyes.
Setting the cup down carefully, I cleared my throat and mustered the courage to speak. " thank you," I said again. "but… I already have a ride waiting outside. I should probably go."
He nodded once, grave and respectful, as if my decision carried the weight of royal decree.
"if you require anything further, please do not hesitate to ask. The driver will be ready if you change your mind."
Relief and lingering anxiety tangled inside me as I pushed back from the fine crafted chair.
I was almost free. Almost out of this glittering cage that somehow felt both protective and dangerous
With one last polite nod to the mysterious butler, I made my way toward the grand entrance, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Just as I was reaching for the heavy front door, the butler's voice sliced through the silence behind me.
"Wait, miss," he called. "You've forgotten your clothes."
I froze, my heart dropping into my stomach.
Oh God.
The stark realization hit me like a slap — I was still dressed in nothing but that oversized, unfamiliar white shirt.
A fresh wave of embarrassment burned across my cheeks, and I silently cursed my own carelessness.
"Ah, yes, of course," I stammered awkwardly, trying to muster some shred of composure. "I... I forgot."
The butler offered a polite smile, betraying no hint of amusement or judgment. His professionalism only made my embarrassment feel sharper, somehow.
"Not to worry, ma'am," he said smoothly. "Your clothing has been prepared. If you'll wait just a moment."
He made a small bow and disappeared through one of the many lavish doorways leaving me stranded in the middle of the majestic foyer, feeling both exposed and ridiculous. The mansion around me was so quiet, the ticking of a distant clock felt almost deafening.
I stood there stiffly, fighting the irrational fear that someone — maybe even him — might appear at any moment.
The minutes dragged.
The polished floors, the towering ceilings, the rich velvet drapes — everything around me felt too grand, too alien, like I had stumbled into the wrong life by mistake.
Just as the tension became unbearable, the butler reappeared, carrying a sleek, luxurious-looking shopping bag.
"Here you are, ma'am," he said, bowing slightly as he extended the bag to me.
"Thank you," I managed to say, my voice tight with urgency.
Clutching the bag to my chest like a lifeline, I wasted no time.
Practically sprinting toward the door, I flung it open and stepped out into the fresh morning air without looking back, desperate to leave the vast, puzzling mansion behind me.
As soon as I got home, I made a beeline for the bathroom. The hot water rushed over me, washing away the haze of last night — or at least some of it. With each drop, I felt a little more like myself again.
Freshly showered and dressed in a hurry, I bolted out the door and made it to the bakery just in time. Relief flooded through me as I stepped inside.
The warm, familiar scent of rising dough and sugar greeted me like an old friend. It wrapped around me, comforting and relaxing — a stark contrast to the dizzying chaos of the last twelve hours.
This was my second home, and right now, it felt like the only solid thing in my life.
I inhaled deeply, allowing the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon to settle my nerves. With a practiced smile, I slipped into the rhythm of the morning rush, nodding greetings to my colleagues as they bustled around prepping trays and filling display cases.
Just as I was settling in, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"You're a minute late."
I turned to see Pedro, arms crossed, brow raised — his signature expression of dry disapproval.
I flinched slightly, then grinned. "Good morning, Pedro."
To my surprise, he smirked, his eyes twinkling. "How'd I do?"
His rare attempt at playfulness caught me off guard, and I laughed. "You definitely had me going. Very convincing."
"You're welcome," he replied, turning on his heel, but I could see the smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Pedro was known for his friendly and kind demeanor, always willing to help others and lend a listening ear. Working for him wasn't just bearable — it was, in moments like this, genuinely enjoyable.
Pedro quickly shifted gears, his playful expression replaced by the no-nonsense tone I was more familiar with.
"We've got an order for two cakes going out to one of the elite hotels tonight," he said. "You're on cake delivery duty."
My heart sank.
"Wait — I have to bake them and deliver them?" I asked, eyes wide. The double duty felt overwhelming, especially after the mess of a morning I'd had.
Pedro didn't flinch. "I know it's a lot," he said, already anticipating my protest. "But we're short-staffed, and you're the best baker we have. I'll help where I can. Plus, there's extra pay in it."
He knew exactly how to get me. I hesitated for a second, weighing the exhaustion against the promise of more money. My rent wasn't going to pay itself.
"Extra pay, huh?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Pedro nodded, smirking like he'd already won. "Bonus for baking and delivery. You in?"
With a resigned sigh and a flicker of determination, I turned toward the prep station. "Alright, alright. I'm in."
"Atta girl," he said, clapping me on the shoulder.
He offered to stay and help, but I waved him off. "No, no, I got this. You just handle the front. I'll make sure the cakes are perfect."
Pedro gave me a nod, the kind that said I trust you, and disappeared into the main store.
Left alone with the task, I got to work. This wasn't just any order — it was a high-profile one, the kind that could bring real recognition. The kind that had to be flawless.
I tied my apron, rolled up my sleeves, and dove in. Flour flew, chocolate melted, timers ticked — and I focused on each step like it was a lifeline. It was complex work, but this? This I could control.