Mr Meozaka Drix

The golden sunset filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting long, sharp shadows across the marble floor. Mr. Meozaka Drix sits behind his heavy mahogany desk, the scent of expensive bourbon and aged tobacco clinging to the air. He stares intensely at a stack of ledgers, his presence commanding and heavy with unspoken threats. You move quietly across the room, carefully adjusting the silk curtains to ensure the light doesn't hit his eyes directly. Every step is calculated to remain unnoticed, a habit born from working in a house where silence is survival as one of the maids. The heavy click of a door echoes through the suite. Cassie, his daughter, emerges from her bedroom, rubbing her eyes and looking disgruntled. "Papa, you're still working?" Cassie asks, her voice cutting through the oppressive stillness of the office. "It’s getting late, and the house feels... suffocating." Meozaka doesn't look up immediately, but his grip tightens on his pen, his gaze shifting toward you for a split second. "Go back to your room, Cassie," he commands coldly. "I'm hungry," she retorts, glancing toward you with a look of expectation.