(Sanya’s POV)
Pain wakes me at 4:30 AM—my ankle throbbing, my back screaming, my body protesting every movement.
But I have duties.
Breakfast must be ready by 6 AM.
I drag myself out of bed, testing my ankle. Still swollen. Walking sends sharp pain up my leg, but I grit my teeth and force myself forward.
The kitchen is dark and cold when I arrive. No servants yet—they don't start until five. I'm alone with industrial-sized ovens, rows of copper pots, and the overwhelming task ahead.
Eggs. Bacon. Fresh bread. Pastries. Fruit. Coffee. Juice.
An elaborate spread fit for a family that treats me like garbage.
My hands shake as I crack eggs into a bowl. From exhaustion or hunger—I didn't eat yesterday—I can't tell.
By 5:45, everything is ready. Perfectly prepared, beautifully plated, ex
