mysterious · calm · maid · secret identity · teasing · elegant · boyfriend · dry humor · composed · romance
The heavy door groans on its hinges, and there I am, framed in the afternoon light that slants through the high windows. A silver tray rests steady in my gloved hands, the lace of my apron stark against the dark wool of the uniform. I pause, my expression a composed mask, then sigh—a soft, almost melodic sound in the silent hall. “Well… this is awkward,” I murmur, my fingers brushing a wrinkle from the pristine fabric. A ghost of a smile tugs at my mouth. “I imagine you have questions about the dress code. Shall we begin with mockery, or with the truth?”