“Mr. Han, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright. Go change into your uniform—you’ll be taking over Rez’s schedule today. You’ll also be assigned to the guest in the penthouse, since Rez had to go home due to an emergency.”

“The penthouse? You mean the new guest?”

“Yes. Now hurry, they’re waiting,” he said, before leaving in a rush.

“Alright, Mav. You need the money, so you’d better work hard.”

Mavys slipped into the staff dressing room, tossing her bag into the corner before pulling the crisp white uniform from its hanger. The fabric was cool against her skin as she buttoned it up, smoothing the wrinkles with quick, practiced hands. She tied her hair neatly, glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and gave herself a small nod.

“Alright, Mav. Money first, family matters later,” she whispered under her breath.

With that, she hurried down the hall, the sound of her polished shoes echoing against the marble floor. The penthouse door loomed tall and imposing as she approached. She steadied her breath and knocked politely.

Inside, laughter filled the room.

“Dude! I can’t believe you really came!” Luigi exclaimed, slapping Fourth on the shoulder. “And damn, Nico—you’re still hanging around this man? Classic, man, classic!”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Nico muttered, half amused, half resigned.

“So, did you find her?” Luigi asked, leaning forward with a grin.

Before Fourth could answer, a knock interrupted the moment. Nico rose to his feet and pulled the door open only to freeze. His eyes widened in surprise as Mavys stood there, dressed neatly in her uniform, her familiar smile softening the formality of her presence.

For a moment, silence fell.

Nico’s gaze flicked instinctively toward Fourth. The man who had been so casually leaning back a moment ago now sat rigid, his expression stunned, as though the world had tilted. Luigi, lounging on the couch with his usual smirk, actually faltered his lips parting in shock.

Meanwhile, Mavys did what she always did: she smiled. Warm, professional, composed—the same smile she had offered to countless guests before.

But beneath that smile, her heart raced.

“I think you did,” Luigi mumbled under his breath, still staring at her.

“Hi, uh… good morning, sir,” Mavys began, bowing slightly. “My name is Mavys, but you can call me Mav. I’ll be your assigned staff for today.”

“Oh, come in, come in,” Nico said quickly, stepping aside to let her through.

“Good morning. I’m Nico, this here is Luigi, and that’s Fourth.”

“Hey, Mavys! Good to see you…” Luigi grinned, raising his brows. “Wait...you work here? Since when?”

“You’re always partying,” Mavys mumbled without thinking.

“I beg your pardon?” Luigi’s eyebrows shot up, feigning offense.

She coughed lightly, her professional smile never wavering. “Oh...I meant to say I was assigned at the ground floor area. That’s probably why you never noticed.”

Nico smirked at Luigi. “Translation: you’re too busy partying to notice anyone who isn’t holding a drink.”

“Hey, that’s slander,” Luigi shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

Fourth hadn’t said a word yet. His fingers drummed once against the armrest before going completely still, his gaze locked on Mavys as if her sudden appearance had stolen the air straight from his lungs.

“Is there anything I can get you, sir?” Mavys asked, her tone steady, professional.

“Yes! Yes! Finally! It’s been like forever! We’ve—” Nico suddenly blurted out, only to be silenced when Fourth’s hand shot out and clamped firmly over his mouth.

“Black coffee. Two sugar cubes. Not too cold, not too hot,” Fourth said evenly, his gaze never leaving Mavys.

“Beer, Mav,” Luigi chimed in, grinning.

“Rar—raw—” Nico mumbled into Fourth’s palm, muffled and indignant. When Fourth finally let him go, he coughed dramatically and straightened. “Thank you. I’ll take a mocha. Hot.”

“Any food to go with that?” Mavys asked politely, glancing between them.

“Later,” Luigi replied casually.

“…Got it.” She gave a small bow before turning on her heel, heading out the door with that same steady composure.

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

For a long moment, Fourth said nothing. He wanted to speak wanted to ask, to confirm, to reach out but his body refused to move. His throat felt tight, his chest locked.

Luigi stretched leisurely across the couch, smirking as his eyes darted between Fourth and the closed door. “What’s the matter, Fourth? Cat got your tongue?”

Nico snorted into his mocha order slip, muttering under his breath, “More like Mavys got it.”

Fourth remained silent, his jaw tight, while Luigi leaned forward with a wicked grin. “Ohhh… I see it now. Mister Calm-and-Collected isn’t so calm anymore.”

“Guess I won’t help you anymore,” Fourth muttered at last, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the laughter.

Luigi froze for half a second, then broke into an exaggerated grin, waving his hands. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, my friend come on, lighten up! Haha!” He leaned back against the couch, smirk returning. “Besides, on the bright side… Mavys is here. Right?”

He waggled his brows, teasing, while Nico stifled a laugh into his sleeve.

Fourth didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the door where Mavys had disappeared, his usually unreadable face giving away nothing except for the faint tension in his jaw.

Mavys closed the door softly behind her, the muffled voices inside fading with the click of the latch. She let out a quiet sigh, hugging the tray against her chest.

“They are weird,” she thought, her lips quirking into a small smile.

But as she started down the hall, the familiar ache pressed against her temple. At first it was faint, just a dull throb pulsing behind her eye. She slowed, steadying herself with a hand against the wall.

Not again.

Her migraines had a cruel sense of timing, always striking when she least needed them.

Mavys drew in a slow breath, straightened her posture, and forced her steps forward. The sharp click of her heels on the marble was enough to drown out the pounding in her head at least, that’s what she told herself.

“Focus, Mav. Just do your job,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She adjusted her uniform, smoothed her hair, and pasted the same bright smile she always wore for guests.

By the time she reached the staff elevator, the ache was still there, clawing at her skull, but she masked it with the same practiced grace. No one would notice. No one ever did.

“Damn life,” she muttered again under her breath, though this time her hand lingered at her temple before she brushed it away as if nothing was wrong.