(Aspen’s POV)
Sunday mornings used to mean nothing more than trying to stretch leftover bread into breakfast for three people. They used to mean counting coins and walking to whatever job I could find. They used to mean exhaustion.
Now Sunday felt different.
I stepped out of the guest house with my bag over my shoulder. For a moment I just stood there, staring at the yard that still did not feel real.
A pool. A garden. A perfect stone walkway. A mansion that looked like something from a picture book.
It felt like a dream that I should not touch for fear of waking up.
Mrs. Bigley had asked if I wanted to help organize the storage room today. She had said it casually, but I took it as a lifeline. I needed to work. I needed to prove I was worth the salary Slade was paying me. I felt gui
