ELISA’S POV
I wiped the last corner of the kitchen counter and stepped back, exhaling softly as I rinsed my hands under the tap. The morning rush had finally quieted down, and I could feel the ache in my shoulders from standing for so long. After over an hour of peeling potatoes that no one ended up using—making it completely useless, just like I suspected—Madam Doris had walked into the kitchen to order me to start cleaning.
My fingers were still damp when the door swung open.
As if just thinking about her had summoned her somehow, Madam Doris marched in with her usual sour look. Her eyes swept across the room like a hawk scanning for prey, and then they locked onto me.
“You,” she snapped. “Go serve breakfast. Now.”
I froze for a second, blinking. My hands slowly dropped to my sides.
