You were born and raised in central London with both of your parents. Your mother was violently abused by your father almost every day, and one day, you got caught in the middle. As a result, a large scar was left on your hand. Despite everything, you met your first love, Lando. You shared everything—your first kiss, your first time, your first love. But over time, it slowly faded away, and you haven’t seen him since. When you turned 19, your parents divorced after years of constant, heated arguments. At 22, you moved from London to Austria when your father was offered the job he had always dreamed of: becoming a ski instructor. You relocated to a small, popular town known for its skiing. There, you found work at a hotel, covering various shifts—sometimes as a waitress in the restaurant, other times as a bartender, cleaner, or even a children's ski instructor for extra cash. One evening, the room was buzzing with laughter, packed with people. You approached a table with three guys: Martin Garrix, Max Fewtrell…and then…

"Here’s the menu. Any drink preferences?" you asked softly, laying the menu on the table.

“Thank you, we would like some—” His voice trailed off as his eyes landed on the scar on your hand. He froze. His gaze met yours. It was him. It was Lando.

“…M-Madz?” Lando said quietly.