A Guest?

That evening, Luna descended the grand staircase in a soft cashmere top and flowing slacks, understated but polished—comfortable, yet refined.

The day had already been full of unexpected turns, and she was looking forward to a quiet dinner… until she entered the dining hall and noticed the extra place setting.

Her cousins were already seated, clearly trying to look casual but failing to hide their smug expressions. One of them stood with a smirk.

"Luna," he said, gesturing toward the guest seated between them, "we thought dinner might be livelier with a bit of company. This is our friend—Emilio Omnia."

Luna blinked.

Emilio Omnia.

The Emilio Omnia—world champion mixed martial artist and the global face of Robusta Coffee, notorious for gracing magazine covers and topping search trends. He was even rumored to have dabbled in venture capitalism, though the gossip columns usually focused more on his abs than his acumen.

Seated casually in a silk button-down, he offered Luna a warm, dazzling smile that seemed practiced but genuinely radiant. "It's an honor, Miss Luna. I've heard a lot about you."

Luna's eyes narrowed slightly as she cast a quick, assessing glance at her cousins. Scheming. Definitely scheming. She just couldn't pin down the why. A distraction? A test? A trap?

Still, she straightened her posture and returned Emilio's smile with a graceful nod, seamlessly slipping into the poise and etiquette she'd read about earlier that day.

"The honor's mine," she said evenly. "Thank you for joining us. I hope my cousins didn't overhype their dinner parties."

Her tone was neutral, but her cousins' frowns deepened ever so slightly.

Emilio chuckled, resting a hand under his chin. "They didn't mention much about the food. But they did say their cousin was a captivating mystery—clearly, they undersold it."

Luna's stiff smile didn't falter. "Flattery at the door? You shouldn't joke like that. Someone might believe you… and then it would be terribly awkward when they realize it isn't true."

The table went silent for a breath—then Emilio laughed, delighted.

"Sharp," he said, eyes gleaming. "I like that."

One cousin cleared his throat and jumped in quickly. "Anyway! Let's eat before the food gets cold. Chef brought out some of the best from his new seasonal menu."

Luna took her seat with practiced ease, picking up her fork and smiling sweetly. "I hope the flavor lives up to the guest list."

As conversation shifted back toward the food, Luna relaxed slightly, but her mind remained vigilant. Her cousins were definitely up to something—but if they thought throwing handsome celebrities at her was going to knock her off balance, they'd clearly underestimated the years she'd spent dodging far worse on minimum wage and cold leftovers.

And still, she couldn't help but glance once more at Emilio.

Not for his fame.

But because, for all his effortless charm, his eyes held something else.

Recognition.

Just a flicker.

Barely there.

But Luna never missed the look of someone who might know more about her than they let on.

As the meal continued, Luna nodded along to Emilio's light banter and her cousins' awkward attempts to steer the conversation. She offered polite smiles, gave appropriate responses, and sipped her wine at a measured pace. But inwardly, her mind was reeling.

Those eyes.

She had seen them before—not in a magazine, not on a billboard, but in a dim, cramped welfare center, years ago. The flash of brown, glinting with defiance and fear… The same wide-eyed boy who used to cling to his fraying backpack, always sniffling, always sickly. Always scared.

Emilio Omnia.

Or, back then—Emil.

The boy who cried when his donated sneakers were stolen. The kid who tried to give her half of his dry sandwich when she came in soaked from the rain. She remembered patching up his scraped elbow when the older kids had tripped him on purpose. "Don't let them see you cry," she had told him, back then. "They only win if you do."

Luna hid a smirk behind her wine glass.

Who would've thought? The little crybaby Emil had grown up into this—a sculpted, silver-tongued martial artist-slash-model-slash-millionaire.

And her? Once working double shifts for instant noodles and cat food, now a sudden heiress of sprawling assets and a cat with his own room.

Reality really is stranger than fiction.

She kept her posture elegant, her tone composed, giving no hint that she'd recognized him. There was no need to stir up nostalgia—especially not while her cousins were clearly fishing for something.

If they thought bringing Emilio here would trip her up, they'd sorely miscalculated.

Dinner wrapped up smoothly, the plates cleared, the final glass of wine barely touched.

Luna dabbed her lips with the napkin and stood gracefully. "Thank you for the company, everyone. It's been an interesting evening."

Her cousins exchanged glances, visibly relaxing as if a tension had passed. But their wariness lingered beneath the surface.

Luna caught it—and smiled to herself.

Good. Stay nervous.

She turned to Emilio with an elegant nod. "I hope you enjoyed your time here, Mr. Omnia. Safe travels tonight."

He stood as well, giving her a courteous bow of the head. "More than I expected, Luna. I hope it won't be the last."

"Depends," she said with a light tone, "on who's inviting me next time."

Without missing a beat, she exited the dining hall with the same poise she had maintained throughout the evening, the soft click of her heels echoing in the grand corridor.

Once alone in the hallway, Luna exhaled a long, slow breath. The composed expression dropped for a brief second as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Well… Emil. Look at you now.

Still amused, still calculating, she made her way to her room. Her cousins might still be scheming, but she was no longer someone who could be easily thrown off course.

She gently closed her bedroom door, Milo mewing in greeting from the plush chair.

"Guess who's all grown up, Milo?" she whispered.

The cat blinked up at her, unimpressed.

Luna chuckled and finally let herself unwind.

Luna had just finished brushing her hair, the silk of her nightwear soft against her skin as she prepared to wind down for the night. Milo was already curled into a cinnamon roll near the foot of the bed, purring softly in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

Just as Luna slid under the covers, her phone lit up with a call—Kana.

She smiled and answered, "You're not asleep yet?"

Kana's voice crackled with barely-contained excitement. "Sleep? How can I sleep when I just got an invitation from Véridian?!"

Luna blinked. "Wait, the top-tier modeling agency? The one that only signs global icons?"

"That's the one!" Kana practically squealed. "I thought it was a prank at first! But they even sent me a draft contract and invitation to a feature campaign. And now my current agency is suddenly doubling my pay to get me to stay."

Luna leaned back on her pillows, raising an eyebrow. "You know, when it rains, it pours. But Kana, be careful. Véridian's known for being exclusive and ruthless. And your current agency? They've been ghosting your promo schedules until now."

"I know, I know," Kana sighed. "I've already scheduled a sit-down with my manager, but—"

"What was that agency name again?" Luna interrupted with casual curiosity.

"Véridian. Same one that—oh right! Emilio Omnia's with them. You know, that MMA champion-slash-model."

There was a pause.

Then Luna burst out laughing.

Full, bright, slightly hysterical laughter.

Kana was startled. "Okay, what the heck? Did you drink again?"

Luna wiped her eyes, still grinning. "No, no—sorry, sorry. It's just—guess who showed up at dinner tonight as my cousins' special guest?"

"…You're kidding."

"I wish I was. Emilio Omnia himself, sitting across the table like a cologne ad came to life. And get this—he kept smiling like we were best friends in a movie."

Kana gasped. "Wait, you're not telling me he hit on you."

"Flattered me a little," Luna admitted with a smirk. "I brushed it off. I think he might recognize me too but didn't say anything. Honestly, I almost didn't recognize him."

Kana went quiet for a beat. "Okay, I officially think you're living in a drama now."

Luna laughed again. "Don't remind me."

"Well," Kana said, her voice turning playful, "at least I know the agency treats their models well if that guy's their front man. I guess I should thank your dinner party for the free research."

"Just don't sign anything without reading the fine print," Luna said, stretching out comfortably. "And don't let them shove you in some weird product campaign without your consent."

Kana snorted. "I'll be careful. Anyway—what time are we meeting tomorrow for karaoke? You're not backing out, right?"

"Of course not," Luna said. "I'll pick you up around one. We'll grab lunch first, then sing our hearts out."

"Good. You're paying."

Luna rolled her eyes fondly. "Fine. Rich heiress duties, I guess."

They both laughed.

As they said their goodnights and hung up, Luna turned off her bedside lamp, a soft smile still on her lips.

So much had changed—but some things, like teasing Kana or laughing over coincidences, grounded her.

Miso shifted in his sleep, and Luna let herself finally close her eyes.

Tomorrow would be loud, chaotic, fun.

She looked forward to it.