Jenna’s hands ached. The mop handle dug into the soft spot between her thumb and forefinger, raw and red. Her knees had gone numb hours ago, scrubbing Ryker’s endless marble floors while Mrs. Anderson barked orders like she’d been waiting for this moment.
Breakfast had been the worst.
At the end of the first hour, her hands ached. The mop left streaks no matter how hard she pushed. Her fingers trembled from the cold water. Her belly pulled uncomfortably with every crouch, but she endured it.
The servants whispered. They didn’t always realize she was nearby. She caught words like “lunatic” and “jealous” floating in the air like pollen.
Nina, of course, insisted Jenna serve her tray personally. Ryker wasn’t around—again. Jenna didn’t know where he had vanished to these days. He hadn’t sa
