Time slipped by unnoticed until pale dawn light crept through the windows.
Sandra grabbed her phone from the nightstand—6:30 AM blinked back at her.
By now, taxis would already be cruising the streets outside.
She stole a glance at the man still sprawled across the bed, then slid out from the sheets with feline quietness, dressing quickly.
After freshening up, she slipped into the hallway, heels clicking softly toward the staircase.
"Perfect timing," she thought. The household would still be asleep, sparing her any awkward encounters.
But just as she rounded the corner to the main hall—
"Up with the birds again? What fresh scheme are you brewing?"
The voice—honeyed venom—stopped Sandra mid-step. There stood Pamla in silk pajamas, standing in the corridor.
"Morning, Auntie," Sandra
