Olivia stepped deeper into the hall and spotted an empty seat near the corner. She slid into it with practiced ease, smoothing her dress and pulling out her phone to feign interest. Her heart was beating far too fast for comfort, but her face remained stoic.
A worker approached—a young woman with short black hair tucked neatly under a cap, her gloved hands folded politely.
“Good morning, ma'am,” she said with a respectful smile.
Olivia glanced at her, then remembered who she was meant to be. Her real self—the kind, soft-spoken girl, had no place here. She cleared her throat and sank back into the seat, voice cool and clipped.
“I’ll begin later.”
The worker nodded and walked away, unfazed. Olivia exhaled slowly. She hated being curt, but in here, she wasn’t Olivia Harris. She was a poi
