Monday, 7:52 a.m. and I was torn between two options: letting Tiffany button up the cursed uniform or sending her out so I could tackle the pile of files I hadn't touched since she brought them back. The latter felt more responsible, but the thought of those starched pleats and that suffocating blazer irritated me enough to shelve my better judgment.
Truthfully, I hadn't gotten the chance to go through the files after Tiffany delivered them. Between unpacking and running errands for last-minute school supplies, my weekend had been anything but relaxing. The uniform had sealed my sour mood the second I laid eyes on it. It's 2024—why are uniforms still a thing? What was I even supposed to do with the closet full of clothes I just bought? Wear them to bed?
I sighed and gestured for her to finish buttoning me up. She worked quickly and quietly, which was a relief. Once she left, I packed the stack of files into my mini-safe, shoving them next to some stacks of cash I had put there for emergency and a few other essentials. The safe clicked shut, and I grabbed my maroon stilettos from beside the bed. After slipping them on, I picked one of the Platinum 88 bags from the weekend haul and walked over to the full-length mirror.
The uniform wasn't as unbearable as I'd expected though just so you know. A crisp white shirt, black tie, cropped black blazer with a formal cut, and a high-waisted pleated skirt that flared slightly. The beret over my blonde hair added an old-money touch, but it still screamed high school, which I hated. To compensate, I adorned myself with pearl jewelry—necklace and earrings—and those stunning stilettos. The final touch? My Platinum 88 bag. I snapped a few mirror pics, angling my phone until the lighting and pose were just right.
Perfect.
Satisfied, I headed downstairs, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The dining room was full—unsurprising. If there was one thing this family did religiously, it was gathering for meals. Breakfast or lunch, here or at the east wing where the Windsors stayed, someone always made it happen, which obviously wasn't an odd thing, as you know. But I still find it unnecessary and uncomfortable.
Frankie was the first to notice me. She let out a small squeal, practically bouncing in her seat. "Holy cow! You look absolutely hot. Dang, girl. Has anyone ever told you you slay in everything you wear?"
I gave her a tight smile. "I know I do."
Scanning the table, I raised my voice. "Tiffany!"
She hurried downstairs within seconds, like a trained puppy. "Yes, Miss Blakely?"
I handed her a glossy black Stanley cup. "Have the barista make me an iced caramel macchiato."
She nodded and turned to leave, but I wasn't done. "And Tiffany?"
She froze and turned back. "Yes, Miss Blakely? Anything else?"
"Be quick about it."
"Yes, Miss." She practically bolted.
I turned back to the table, ignoring the quiet murmurs. My mother, as persistent.as she's always been, unsurprisingly asked, "How was your night?"
Like she cared.
I reached for an apple, refusing to meet her gaze. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and I didn't care. Like why ask if you don't want to know.
"Blakely," she called, this time sounding annoyed. "I asked you a question."
I grabbed two bananas this time and leaned back in my chair. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
Her lips tightened, but she said nothing else.
Turning to Frankie, I asked, "Who's dropping us off?"
"The driver," she replied, grinning as usual.
I nodded and stood, heading for the kitchen. Tiffany was waiting by the counter with my Stanley mug in hand. The chefs, busy with their morning routine, stopped and bowed as I entered. "Morning, Miss Blakely," one of them greeted.
I waved them off, uninterested, and walked straight to the toaster. Grabbing a piece of bread, I bit into it as I leaned against the counter. Tiffany watched me silently, probably waiting for instructions.
Between bites, I handed her the apple and bananas. "Pack these. Bring them out with my macchiato."
"Yes, Miss."
I finished my bread, straightened my blazer, and left. Outside, Frankie and Blanche were already waiting by the car. Almost immediately, Tiffany appeared with the paper bag and Stanley mug.
"Give those to Frankie," I said, motioning toward the items.
She obeyed, then turned to me. "Have a good day, Miss."
I watched as she hurried back inside. Really didn't want to say it, but I've been having these weird feeling about her. Not the good kind of weird.
Frankie and I climbed into the backseat while Blanche took the front. The moment the driver pulled out of the driveway, I rested my head against the window.
A few minutes into the drive, an oddly calming scent hit me—clean and earthy, and almost nostalgic. I sat up straighter, looking out the window to locate the source. That's when I saw a tall fence stretching endlessly, with just a glimpse of a building roof far in the distance.
Something about it tugged at me, and a sudden rush of excitement that dissipates as soon as it came. Soon I felt unease settled in my chest, what that feeling?. I didn't know this part of Vegas existed so why am I having this feeling?
I stared at it until the car drove past, and then I turned to Frankie. "What is that?"
She followed my gaze, then shrugged. "Oh, the tall fence? That's Eden."
Eden.
The name clicked. I remembered my mother talking about it when we were discussing the move. So, this was it?
Frankie noticed my expression and added, "This whole avenue's called Eden because of that place, but the mini city you just saw? That's the actual Eden."
Mini city? I frowned, glancing back over my shoulder, but the fence was long gone. But the pull was still there, though, gnawing at my insides, making me want to stop the car and run back to it.