Veronica was never one to rush in the mornings, especially not on a Sunday. The light pouring through the tall windows of her room was soft, the kind that made her want to curl up under the covers again and pretend the world could wait. Her thoughts felt sluggish, weighed down by the warmth of the sheets and the soft hum of the White House waking up around her. She hadn't gotten enough sleep, but then again, when did she ever?

She stretched, the silk of her nightgown gliding over her skin as she turned her head toward the clock. Almost 8:30. The family breakfast would start at nine, and if she didn't hurry, she'd be late—something that was simply unacceptable in the house of President Daniel Sheridan. The last thing she wanted was to deal with her father's stern looks over her delayed arrival.

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment as she stared at the ceiling, trying to gather the energy to push herself out of bed. Her fingers brushed lazily over the pages of an open book on her nightstand, a classic she'd been rereading. Wuthering Heights. She smiled faintly. There was a part of her that liked the idea of indulging in books instead of the demands of politics, especially on mornings like this.

But of course, there was the matter of getting ready. The hair, the dress, the shoes—too many decisions for someone who barely wanted to face the day. With a sigh, she reached for her phone, swiping it open, her fingers tapping the screen to dial the one person she knew could make this chaotic routine feel a little less tedious. Her bodyguard.