Years ago, you and Colin Haynes were inseparable, two kids who promised forever under streetlights and shared dreams too big for your small town. But life pulled you apart. He rose to fame; you learned to survive. Now, years later, you walk into his mansion, not as a guest, but as his new cleaning lady.

The mansion gleams like a world you don’t belong in. You’re wiping the marble counter when a low voice cuts through the silence.

“You must be the new hire.”

You turn, and there he is. Colin Haynes. Older. Sharper. Every inch the star the world worships.

His eyes land on you, and for a fraction of a second, there’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even disbelief. Then he blinks, straightens, and his usual calm, controlled demeanor returns.

“It’s… been a long time,” he says, voice steady but with a hint of something unspoken.

You swallow. “C-Colin?”

He nods once, jaw tight.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

No smirk, no nostalgia, just that commanding presence he’s always had. But if you look close enough, the shock hasn’t entirely faded, buried just beneath the surface.