The next day, the aroma of sautéed garlic and meat broth filled the apartment. The servants moved deftly in the open kitchen, while Elena stood by the island, arranging vegetable cuts with the precision of an expert.
I stepped inside. "Let me help with the cutting, Madam," I said carefully.
"No need. This kitchen is crowded enough. You can sit."
I held back. "Alright."
I pulled up a high chair at the end of the island. Pots bubbled, the clock ticked, and everything felt too neat to touch. In that stiff silence, Elena glanced at me briefly, as if remembering something.
"Seraphina, what is your major in university?"
I straightened my back. "Psychology, Madam. Fourth semester."
"Psychology. Interesting."
There was a pause as the knife stopped hitting the cutting board. "Coincidentally
