Edwina Dawn sat stiffly in her high-backed chair, glaring at the large antique clock on the wall across from her. The room was silent except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock's pendulum, each swing amplifying her growing impatience. Her sharp eyes narrowed further as the minute hand edged closer to seven-thirty.
Another minute, she thought darkly, her fingers tapping the armrest in a steady rhythm. Another minute, and I'll have the staff pack her bags and toss her out of this house.
She didn't tolerate lateness, especially from the likes of her. But just as the clock struck seven-thirty exactly, the door creaked open. Edwina's eyes flicked toward it, and a slow, smug smile crept across her lips.
