Amber's POV:
"Amber!" My father's voice boomed through the mansion, echoing down the marble-floored hallway and shattering the serene morning vibe I'd curated. I froze, mid-swipe with my mascara wand, my hand hovering in front of the gilded mirror. What on earth could he possibly want now? It was barely 9 a.m., and he was supposed to be at work, bossing around his army of corporate minions. So why was he still home? And yelling, no less.
A delicate knock on my door snapped me back to the present. One of the servants stood there, head bowed just enough to avoid my gaze, but I could sense the nervousness rolling off her. "Miss, your father is calling for you. He wants you downstairs immediately."
I rolled my eyes, setting down the mascara with an exasperated sigh. "Tell him I'll be there in a moment," I replied, stretching each word out in the way that conveyed I was far from eager to jump to his demands.
