Tomorrow came sooner than Leo expected.
By five o'clock, the grand hotel was already humming with life.
Staff hurried through polished corridors, voices echoing in clipped tones.
The scent of cologne and glass cleaner hung in the air.
Leo stood just outside the staff entrance, heart thudding, hands slick against the small bag that held his old phone and wallet.
He'd never seen a place so big, so gold.
Everything gleamed even the doorknobs looked expensive.
A woman with a sharp bun and sharper heels approached, clipboard in hand. "You're the new one?"
He straightened quickly. "Yes, ma'am—Leo."
"Good. Mrs. Zara," she said, already turning on her heel. "Follow me. No delays tonight. You'll find your uniform inside—black shirt, black pants, black shoes. Try to look invisible."
He trailed after her, trying to keep up. "Invisible, got it."
"Don't talk unless spoken to. Don't touch anything that looks breakable. And don't serve the guests directly unless assigned. This is a high-profile event. Understood?"
He nodded fast. "Yes, ma'am."
She gave him a curt look, assessing him top to bottom. "You look nervous."
"Just… first time in a place like this." He rubbed the back of his neck.
Her voice softened a fraction. "Then don't make it your last by doing something stupid. We've had enough of that this week."
He smiled faintly. "I'll do my best, ma'am. Promise."
Mrs. Zara studied him for a beat longer, then pointed toward a hallway. "Changing room's down there. Be ready in five."
He ducked into the changing room rows of lockers, the faint smell of starch and sweat.
Pulling on the black uniform, he caught his reflection in the mirror. The same Leo, but sharper somehow. Like he'd stepped into someone else's story.
He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, "Okay, Leo. Don't trip. Don't spill. Don't die."
Outside, the night began to hum louder.
One by one, sleek cars rolled up to the hotel's grand entrance.
Cameras flashed like lightning. Voices rose fans screaming, reporters calling out names.
Leo could hear the chaos even from behind the staff doors. It sounded like another world glittering, loud, unreachable.
"Showtime," someone whispered beside him as they carried trays toward the ballroom.
Meanwhile, out front—
Alexander stepped out of a black car. The crowd erupted.
Cameras flared, flashes catching every angle of his perfectly tailored white suit.
He smiled a practiced curve of lips, soft enough to seem kind, distant enough to stay untouchable.
Reporters called his name. Fans leaned past the barricades holding posters and phones.
He waved, gave a few polite nods, and paused just long enough for photos.
"Alexander! Over here!"
"Looking great tonight!"
"Can we get a smile?"
He obliged with one, small and genuine enough to make the crowd cheer louder.
He didn't mind this part not really. It was part of the job, part of the image.
But as he walked toward the red carpet lights, a small thought flickered all this noise, and still so quiet inside.
The host called his name. Cameras turned brighter. He straightened his cuffs.
Professional. Composed. A man used to being seen, even when no one really looked.
Inside, the ballroom glimmered chandeliers like constellations, gold ribbons on every chair.
And somewhere in the corner, a boy in black hurried past with a tray of glasses, unaware that he'd just stepped into the orbit of the man the world couldn't stop watching.
The event hall shimmered in gold and glass chandeliers dripping light, laughter swirling above polished marble floors.
Alexander moved through it all with quiet poise, the kind that made people straighten unconsciously when he passed.
"Mr. Hale," someone greeted.
"Pleasure to see you again, sir."
He returned nods, half-smiles polite, distant his thoughts miles away from the chatter.
Behind the hum of guests, waiters drifted like moving shadows, silver trays balanced with precision.
Leo was one of them—sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie slightly loose, steps quick but careful.
His eyes tracked every glass, every signal for service.
He'd just finished attending a corner table when a voice called out behind him.
"Leo, table nine—more red, hurry!"
He nodded, grabbed a bottle, and turned—weaving through sequined dresses and tailored suits.
At the same moment, someone waved at Alexander from across the room.
He turned toward the motion—one step to the right, calm, deliberate just as Leo pivoted left with the wine.
They collided.
The world seemed to tilt for a split second.
Then—crimson. A sharp splash across Alexander's white shirt, the wine blooming like a wound over silk.
"Oh God—!" Leo's voice cracked as he froze. "I— I'm so sorry, sir— please—" He fumbled for a napkin, panic all over his face. "Let me— I'll clean it—"
"It's fine," Alexander said quietly, though his voice carried weight.
But Leo didn't hear him. He was dabbing frantically, eyes wide, breath uneven. "No, no, I've ruined your suit— please, sir, just—"
"It's fine," Alexander repeated softer this time. His gaze dropped to the boy's trembling hands.
The scent of wine and soap hung between them.
Leo's lashes were wet, his mouth pressed in apology and something about the earnest chaos of him made the corner of Alexander's lips twitch.
Then—
"Leo!" Mrs. Zara's voice sliced through the noise. She stormed in like thunder wrapped in perfume. "What have you done?!"
Leo jerked back instantly. "I...it was an accident—"
"An accident? He's a guest!" She bowed swiftly to Alexander. "Sir, we are terribly sorry one of our staff will escort you to change immediately."
Alexander glanced at Leo once more the boy's face had fallen, his fingers twisting around the stained cloth. "It's alright," he said again, but Mrs. Zara barely heard him.
"Enough, Leo. Go to the back. You're on dish duty for the rest of the night."
Leo's throat worked, but no words came. He only nodded, eyes flickering toward Alexander suit one last time before turning away.
The sound of his retreat quick footsteps fading toward the kitchen felt louder than the music.
And when Alexander followed the staff toward the changing room, he couldn't shake the image of that startled boy eyes full of guilt, voice trembling with sincerity.
He didn't know why it lingered.
Only that it did.