The door closed with a soft click, and for a long moment, Beatrice simply stood there.
She looked down at her pristine outfit, her manicured nails she'd just done to fit into city life, the expensive watch on her wrist that her aunt had gifted her during her last visit to their hometown—and then at the cardboard boxes labeled "BACKSTOCK – CLEANING."
'Unbelievable,' she hissed.
As she hesitantly picked up the first box, a fine layer of dust clouded the air and clung to her silk sleeve. She nearly gagged.
Shantel Hale was going to pay for this.
The dusty box landed on the metal shelf with a thud, sending a puff of grime swirling into Beatrice's face.
She recoiled with a sharp gasp, flailing her arms as if the dust were venom. She had barely been in the storage annex for ten minutes, and already her blouse clung uncomfortably to her back, the collar slightly wilted with sweat.
