The morning started like any other, at least until chaos found its way into the Striker mansion. The sun had barely climbed over the roofs when Clara jolted awake, realizing she’d overslept.
The house was unusually quiet, save for the ticking of the golden wall clock in her small room.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, jumping out of bed. James always liked his breakfast hot before heading to the office, and she had barely twenty minutes left.
She hurried to the kitchen, not even noticing that she was still in her thin nightgown — the one Tiana had earlier complained was “too revealing for a maid.”
In her haste, she fried the eggs, brewed the coffee, and arranged the toast exactly how James preferred.
As she carried the tray out, James had just descended the staircase, adjusting his wristwa
