She entered the coffee shop and reached the table, breath fogging a little in the warm air. I stood up to greet her.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," I said.

"D-don't even… mention it," she said, shaking my hand with both of hers like she was afraid I'd pull away. "Heh… heh…"

She always had the same look: oversized black hoodie, oversized black pants, oversized everything. Like she bought clothes by the handful from a clearance bin. Hood still up, curtain of damp hair hiding half her face.

A waitress appeared instantly, smiling with professional warmth.

"Welcome," she said. "What can I get for you, ma'am?"

"C… c… cola." Cora whispered.

The waitress blinked. "Sorry? I didn't catch that."

"C–c—" she tried again, shoulders hunching as her voice died in her throat.

I understood immediately. God, I'd been there. In high school I'd rather starve than order something myself.

"A cola," I said for her. "She's sick. Her throat hurts, can't speak properly. Sorry."

"Oh! In that case, I can bring something warm, if she'd prefer?"

"She'll take a cola," I repeated with a small smile.

"Alright. I'll be right back."

The waitress walked away.

Cora was red. Bright red. Ears, cheeks, even the bridge of her nose.

"Th–thank you…" she muttered. "I wasn't able to talk just then."

"Brain fart," I said with a shrug. "It happens."

She perked up a little. "Brain… farts." Her lips twitched. "I like that."

She pulled her hood back slowly, revealing a mess of dark hair that looked like she rolled out of bed and ran here without checking a mirror. Her bangs stuck to her forehead from the rain. She didn't seem to care.

I sat back down and she mirrored me, tucking her hands between her knees. She was trying not to make eye contact, bouncing her foot under the table like she was winding herself up for something.

Outside, the taxi pulled away, spraying water onto the curb. Rain still fell sideways from the wind, blurring the neon lights across the street.

"Alright," I said, leaning forward a little. "Let's talk business."

Cora pressed her lips together, nervous but ready to listen. "About Guy?"

I exhaled hard and dragged a hand through my hair. "Yes… fuck me."

Cora tilted her head, eyes wide. "W-what happened?"

"He's… desperate," I said. "Guy. He's sending his lapdogs after me now. There's this woman—Sarah. She's threatening us for two million a month."

Her jaw dropped. "T-two… million?"

"Yeah." I rubbed my forehead. "And there's this bartender, Charlotte. She knows something about Guy but won't tell me. She's scared. Or stubborn. Or both. She won't talk to me."

Cora's lips twitched into that eerie half-smile she always did. "But she will talk to me."

"You're not doing it for free, of course. Nala and I talked—figured we should give you some compensation. So—"

"M-may I…" she swallowed, face turning bright red, "may I have a dinner with you, then? I-instead of money?"

I froze for a second.

Right then the waitress appeared, placed her cola on the table, smiled, and walked off.

I cleared my throat. "Uh… dinner?"

She nodded, staring down into her lap like she wanted to hide under the table.

God. Why was she adorable? Creepy, obsessed, unpredictable—but adorable. Like she had secretly maxed out her Charm stat the second I wasn't looking.

"You know what?" I said with a small laugh. "Dinner's on me tonight. And I'll steal some expensive wine from the penthouse while I'm at it."

"P-penthouse…" she whispered, eyes widening. "Right. You're… living there."

"Yep," I muttered, taking another sip of my black coffee. "Anyway—Charlotte. She works at a place called Stingy Ladies. No clue about her shifts or off-days."

"I can handle that," Cora said, and for once she sounded almost proud. She lifted her cola and drank. "I'm… experienced. Heh-heh."

"Y-yeah, I bet you are." I let out a breath. "Seriously, though. Thank you. You're helping me with something huge here. I won't forget it."

"My pleasure," she said softly. "I'll find her. And make her talk."

"Hmm."

Silence stretched between us. Not painful—just awkward. Two weird people in a rainy café, sipping drinks like they didn't know what the hell to do with their hands. I lit another cigarette, taking a deep drag.

A few more seconds of quiet.

I set my empty cup down. "So—you want me to drop you off at your place?"

"It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"No, really," I insisted. "I can drive you. Why'd you take a taxi anyway?"

"I don't like relying on other people," she said. "Thank you, Evan."

It was the first time her voice didn't waver. Strange. Confident. Like a different layer of her slipped through.

"Huh… alright," I said. "But don't hesitate to call me, okay? You're doing me a favor with this Charlotte thing. I owe you one."

"L-like I said…" she chuckled nervously, covering her mouth. "A dinner is enough."

"Alright." I stood. "You finished your drink too. Let's go?"

She nodded once. "Mm."

❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

I shut the penthouse door behind me and let out a long, exhausted breath. The place was silent, too silent, and the black coffee I'd downed forty minutes ago was already losing its grip on me.

I dragged myself to the living room and dropped onto the couch. My whole body just… sank. My eyelids were heavy enough to crush me, and I was seconds from passing out when—

Thump.

That same damn sound again.

I frowned, but then shrugged it off. Probably Minne masturbating or something. The girl treated silence like a personal enemy. Whatever.

Another sound followed—muffled, strained. Like someone struggling under a blanket. Or like a voice buried under something.

I sat up. Okay, that wasn't her "fun time" noise.

I got off the couch and walked down the corridor. Minne's door was slightly open, light spilling out. I pushed it wider. Minne was inside, bent over, both hands under the bed, face red from effort as she tried to lift the damn thing.

"Minne?"

She screeched and practically jumped out of her skin. I lifted both hands immediately.

"Woah, calm down, calm down," I said. "What are you doing?"

"M-master…" She clutched her chest, breathing hard. "Oh god… I… I was just trying to lift the bed. I always deep clean the penthouse on Mondays."

A vacuum cleaner lay beside her—well, half beside her, half trapped under the bed. Looked like she tried lifting the bed and missed the timing, dropping it on the vacuum head.

I stepped inside and grabbed the bedframe. Lifted it one-handed.

She let out a relieved little gasp and yanked the vacuum free, dusted it off, and hurried to suck up whatever mess she'd been fighting.

"Thank you, Master. Thank you so much." She pointed to the bedframe with one hand. "You can drop it now."

I lowered it gently. "Hmm. Come on, I'll help you lift these things up."

"I-I can't ask help from Master," she said quickly. "You can relax in the living room, sir. Please."

"It sounds like you don't want me near you." I clutched my chest dramatically. "Ouch."

"N-no, no, no!" she panicked, shaking her head so hard the vacuum wand swung back and forth. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"Then come on," I said with a small grin. "Let's get to cleaning."

Minne and I moved through the penthouse in quiet rhythm. She started in the living room, feather duster in hand, humming softly under her breath. The maid outfit clung to her petite frame—black dress with white lace trim, skirt swishing just above her knees. She bent to dust the coffee table, and the neckline dipped. A glimpse of soft, pale skin, small breasts pressing against the fabric, no bra. I looked away fast, heat crawling up my neck.

"Master," she said shyly, straightening up. "The shelves next?"

"Yeah," I muttered, grabbing the other end of a side table. "Let's move this."

We lifted together—she was stronger than she looked—and carried it to the corner. As she leaned forward to set it down, the skirt rode up. White panties, simple cotton, hugging a round little ass. My pulse kicked. Fuck. Hot, but no. Creepy.

She noticed my stare, cheeks flushing pink. "S-sorry. The outfit... it's regulation."

"It's fine," I said quickly. "Just... keep going."

We tackled the bedroom next. The spare bed frame was heavy, metal bars clanking as I lifted one end. Minne grabbed the other, her small hands gripping tight, face scrunched with effort.

"You don't have to help," she murmured, voice soft. "This is my job."

"Teamwork," I grunted, muscles straining as we shuffled it aside. "Easier with two."

She smiled—tiny, cute, cheeks pink—and set her end down gently. While I held the frame steady, she dropped to her knees, grabbed the vacuum cleaner. The cord snaked across the floor as she switched it on, the low hum filling the room.

I lifted the bed higher, giving her space. She ducked under, skirt riding up as she leaned forward. The fabric stretched tight across her ass—round, perky, white cotton panties clinging to every curve. The material was thin, almost sheer, and as she stretched to reach the far corner, it pulled taut between her thighs. A perfect outline of her pussy—soft, pink folds pressing against the cotton, the faint shadow of her slit visible through the damp spot forming in the center. My mouth went dry.

She vacuumed in slow, careful passes, humming under her breath. Every shift of her hips made the panties ride higher, revealing the smooth crease where thigh met ass. I swallowed hard, cock thickening in my jeans.

"Calm down." I muttered to myself. "Calm down..."

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