The studio towered above the city — a glass giant glowing with luxury and power.Luiz stood at the entrance, clutching the faded envelope that held his employment slip.Cleaner.
He took a breath and stepped in. The air smelled of perfume, coffee, and freshly polished marble. Everywhere he looked, people moved with purpose — assistants carrying clipboards, camera crews setting up, artists in designer coats laughing as they walked past.
He felt invisible among them.
At the reception, the woman barely looked up. "Name?"
"Luiz… uh, Lu—"He caught himself. "Luiz Monroe," he said, using the name on his papers.
She nodded and handed him a badge. "Basement. You'll meet Mr. Giles. He supervises maintenance."
The elevator ride felt endless. Each floor he passed showed more of the life he'd fallen from — recording booths, dance studios, interview sets with flashing lights and laughter echoing.
By the time the doors opened, the air was cooler. The basement was a different world — dull concrete, the hum of pipes, the faint scent of bleach.
"New one?" a gruff voice called.
Luiz turned to see Mr. Giles, a stout man with a mop in one hand and a clipboard in the other. "You're late. Grab a uniform. Locker's yours — number 27. You clean, you keep quiet, you stay out of the artists' way. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
As Luiz changed, a few of the other cleaners whispered nearby."Isn't that the Valentine kid?""No way. Why would he be down here?""Guess money doesn't keep you clean forever."
Luiz pretended not to hear. He'd learned long ago that silence hurt less than explaining.
Hours passed — wiping mirrors, scrubbing halls, emptying bins.Every sound from the upper floors — laughter, music, applause — felt like another reminder of what he'd lost.
Then, near sunset, a call came through his radio."Cleaner to Studio 4B. Spilled coffee on set. Hurry up."
Luiz grabbed a mop and bucket, heading upstairs.The higher floors gleamed, filled with posters of artists smiling under spotlights.When he pushed the door open, a young woman sat near the sound booth, adjusting her hair in the mirror. She wore a silver jacket that caught the light, heels tapping impatiently against the floor.
"You took your time," she said without looking at him.
"Sorry, ma'am," Luiz replied, kneeling to mop the floor.
He reached for the bucket — but his hand trembled. The handle slipped.A streak of water splashed, just missing the cables — but hitting the edge of her jacket.
She turned sharply.Her eyes widened, full of disbelief and fury.
"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, standing up.
Luiz froze. The face looking back at him wasn't just anyone's.