Elena’s POV
Six in the morning felt like a personal insult.
I stood outside the door Nina had shown me a few days ago, my hair still damp from the shower and my eyes barely open. A maid had woken me at five with a folded set of navy scrubs draped over her arm like she was handing me a court summons.
“Don’s orders,” she’d said, like that explained everything. In this house, apparently, it did.
I pushed the door open.
I don’t know what I expected. Something small, probably. A converted storage room with a first-aid kit and a cot, the kind of setup you’d find in the back office of a shady gym.
What I found instead made me stop in the doorway.
The room stretched out in front of me, bright and clean and unmistakably real. Steel countertops gleamed under overhead lighting. Glass cabinets
