Sarah's stomach let out a quiet, pathetic rumble. She had been on the clock for ten hours, her feet ached, and all she wanted was to go back to her own room and eat a massive bowl of buttered pasta.
But instead, she was trapped here, being held hostage by a woman who treated reality like a mere suggestion.
Diana was propped up against a mountain of silk pillows in the center of the king-sized bed. She was staring at the ceiling, twisting the massive diamond ring on her finger.
"No one understands the burden I carry, Stephanie," Diana sighed, her voice dripping with the theatrical exhaustion of a Victorian widow.
"It's Sarah, actually," Sarah murmured softly, her hands folded in her lap.
Diana ignored her.
