Nothing says five-star hospitality quite like accidentally blasting an alien ship out of the sky.
Welcome to my life at the Alien Hotel. My days are a delightful cocktail of wrestling with the demonic NutriSynth, dodging kitchen fires, and trying not to murder our cyborg chef, Nelan. Did I mention hes irritatingly handsome? Because thats totally irrelevant and not at all distracting.
Now weve got a VIP guest you know, the one whose ship I nearly vaporized. No pressure or anything. Just gotta whip up an apology feast while Nelan critiques my every move. Its fine. Im fine. Everythings fine.
Oh, and apparently Im developing feelings for Mr. Perfectionist Chef. Because clearly, my life wasnt complicated enough already. Who needs peace and quiet when you can have sarcasm and sexual tension, right?
