"Young Miss…!" The sound of the knock on the door woke Emma up from her sleep.
She groaned. Instead of waking up, she pulled up her blanket and covered herself up to her neck, planning to continue her sleep.
"Is she still sleeping?" A man's voice came from outside, slightly muffled through the door. "Get me the key," he added impatiently.
The door swung open. "Emma Whitmore!"
The loud voice echoed through the room, jolting Emma awake. She shot up, sitting on her bed, her eyes darting around in confusion, still blurry from sleep.
"Why are you still sleeping? Don't you know what day it is today?" The man's voice grew closer as he approached her bed.
Rubbing her eyes, Emma squinted at the figure until recognition dawned. Her eyes widened in surprise. The man now standing in front of her bed was Allan Whitmore—the man who was notoriously hard to meet. This was only the second time she'd ever come face-to-face with him.
