Calla’s POV The sun poured into the kitchen through the slats of the curtain blinds, painting stripes of liquid gold across the polished marble countertops. It was the kind of morning that made you believe in new beginnings, a clean slate. Such a lovely morning to be alive. I stretched my arms high above my head, a soft, relaxed sigh escaping my lips. The movement was languid, unburdened. The fabric of my new uniform - a tailored black pantsuit made of a soft, breathable wool - shifted with me, a constant, tactile reminder of my sudden change in fortune. No more stiff, cheap polyester. This felt like a second skin, one that commanded a sliver of respect. Extending an arm, I grabbed my sleek, leather-bound day planner from the counter. Let me check my schedule for today, I thought, a genuine, unforced smile touching my lips. Making coffee for the boss… done. Compiling a list of kitchen supplies needed… check. So far, so good. The tasks were simple, structured, and satisfyin
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