The smell of roasted beans and warm bread clung to the café air, wrapping around every corner. I moved between tables with a practiced smile, balancing trays and cups like I'd done a thousand times before. To anyone watching, I probably looked fine maybe even content. But beneath the smile, my body was heavy, my steps slower than they should've been.
"Mavys," my manager's voice broke through as I set down a cup. His brows knit with concern. "You should head home. You've been here since morning. Get some rest."
I forced my lips into something brighter, shaking my head. "I'm fine. Really. I can keep going."
But I wasn't fine. Rest was the last thing I wanted. Home was the last place I wanted to be.
My chest tightened as the memory forced itself in the shouting, the slam of a door, my mother's trembling voice begging for silence. My father's rage filling the small house like poison. And me just a girl then standing in front of my younger siblings, arms spread wide, bracing for the blow.
The flash of it passed, but the ache stayed, coiled tight inside me. I blinked hard, shaking my head before anyone could notice. Turning back to the counter, I grabbed the next order and slipped into motion.
Work was safer. Work was abit noisy but warm. Work kept my fear wrapped quiet.
Then my phone buzzed—
"Alright, that's it, Lex. Morning rush is over!" I said proudly, stretching my arms until my shoulders cracked. "Ughhh, that felt nice. Anyways, I'll stock the counter then head out for a bit."
I slipped off the apron, grabbed my bag from the hook, and stepped outside into the bright morning sun. The streets were already alive with noise, but I let the warmth hit my face, just for a second, pretending the day would be kind.
Then I unlocked my phone.
The screen lit up, one notification after another, flooding in all at once.
Mom
—Where are you! There's no food at the table and your siblings haven't eaten yet!
—Ms. Gliza is asking about when you're going to pay the debt.
Kaira
—Sis Mav, sorry if I texted while you're working, but Kai was called to the principal's office because he punched his classmate. But I know he didn't do it... it's just 😿 you know why.
Ms. Gliza
—Mavys! It's already past your due date! I need the payment this evening! If not, you and your chaotic family are out!
Mr. han
—Mavys, I know it's not your shift yet, but Amie's absent and we really need more hands at the hotel. Don't worry, I'll add your service to the payment. Bigshots are staying here, and the boss is paying extra to all the staff.
The sunlight didn't feel warm anymore. The brightness of the screen burned in my eyes, and my chest sank with each word. The morning was supposed to be fresh, new. But for me, it was already heavy. My head hurt, as if a thousand knives were pressing from the inside, each pulse of my heartbeat striking harder than the last. The light above me was unbearable too sharp, too bright like it was stabbing directly into my eyes. Even the faintest sound, a whisper or the ticking of a clock, echoed like thunder inside my skull.
It started as a dull ache, creeping behind one eye, then spreading, tightening its grip across my temples, the back of my head, and even down my neck. The world tilted, blurred, as if my brain was struggling to keep up with reality.
But even when I felt like this, enduring meant survival. Sometimes, there were warnings shimmering lights, zigzag patterns, or strange flashes that danced in my vision. Other times, it came without mercy, crashing down suddenly, leaving me nauseous, weak, and desperate for silence.
Every beat of my heart made the pain sharper; every small movement threatened to break me. The only escape was darkness, silence, and the hope that sleep would steal me away, even just for a while.
"Mav? Are you having a migraine attack again?" he asked. Hearing the worried tone in his voice made me think that maybe, just maybe, someone really was concerned about me.
"Lex?..." I sighed. Even if I kept pretending I was alright, Lex would definitely see through me.
"Why won't you just rest for once, Mav?"
"You know my situation right now, Lex. Besides, I can't say no to a job that pays well, right?" I smiled, hoping to ease her worries.
"You know me, Lex. I'm very har—"
"Workaholic?"
"Heh—you can say that."
"Alright, take this." She handed me a small plastic bag with who knows what inside.
"Go and take that later," she said. "Text me when you get there, and if anything happens—"
"I know, I know. Now go home before Mr. Weir gets mad," I said, watching her walk away. I took out my phone and opened Mr. Han's message.
—To Mr. Han—
I'm coming. Sent.
Meanwhile, at Hotel di Lusso, staff rushed back and forth, their polished shoes clicking against the marble floor, trays of champagne glasses glimmering under the chandelier's golden light. The air buzzed with conversations and hurried footsteps until the grand doors opened.
A man entered.
At once, the noise died. Conversations halted, movements froze; the clatter of glasses and dishes seemed to vanish into silence. He didn't need to demand attention it wrapped around him naturally, like a cloak.
Tall, dressed in a tailored suit of midnight black, his presence carried weight. His gaze swept across the lobby, sharp, as if he saw through people rather than at them. The staff bowed slightly, exchanging nervous glances, waiting for someone anyone to make the first move.
"Mr. D'Hale, welcome to Hotel di Lusso," Mr. Han said.
"Han, why are you acting like you haven't known me?" He said.
Mr. Han slightly chuckle "I'm just doing my job Mr. D'Hale."
A man wearing a crisp white knit shirt walked with an easy confidence, the polished click of his black shoes echoing softly against the concrete floor. His black trousers moved in clean, sharp lines, tailored to his frame, giving him a quiet air of sophistication. Spotting Fourth across the room, his lips curved into a knowing grin. With one hand tucked into his pocket, he strode forward, every step unhurried yet purposeful, as though he owned the space without ever needing to prove it.
"Fourth," he called, his tone casual but carrying weight.
Fourth turned, and without hesitation, they clasped hands in a firm, brotherly shake an unspoken language of trust and familiarity, before they pulled each other into a brief, easy shoulder tap. The kind of greeting that spoke of loyalty, history, and a friendship that never needed words to be understood.