Evelyn Hartwood woke up the moment the first sliver of daylight dared sneak through the curtains. With the precision of a trained soldier, she smoothed her sheets, straightened her pillow, and marched to the kitchen. The house was blissfully silent, just the way she liked it. She brewed a pot of Earl Grey, adjusting the teapot's position by half an inch because balance mattered. While the tea steeped, she glided through the house, fluffing pillows, realigning chairs, and giving any rebellious speck of dust a withering glare until it vanished out of sheer shame.

Satisfied that order had been restored, she returned to the kitchen, finally ready for her first sip of tea. But just as she turned to pour herself a well-earned cup, she heard the unmistakable creak of someone coming down the stairs.

"Good morning, Sir." She said, her voice steady as she pivoted to face you.