Chapter Seven
Renata
The night is too quiet.
Too still.
It feels wrong, like the universe is holding its breath.
The cab ride is smooth—at first.
I sit stiffly in the backseat, the city passing in blurred streaks of neon. Streetlights flash against the windows, casting fleeting, fractured patterns over my skin. My reflection stares back at me in the glass—eyes too wide, too alert.
The driver hums faintly to an old song on the radio. His eyes keep flicking to me in the mirror, and I can't tell if it's just curiosity… or something more.
"How far?" I ask, my voice tighter than I intend.
"Fifteen minutes," he says, glancing again.
I nod and look away.
But then, halfway there, the car lurches violently.
"Damn," he mutters, pulling to the curb. "Engine's acting up."
"What?" My voice spikes.
He coasts to a stop. The cab dies with a low groan, lights flickering out. He curses under his breath, fiddling with the ignition, but it's useless.
I glance out the window.
We're on a deserted stretch of road. Bare trees line the sidewalk like skeletal hands reaching into the dark.
A cold ripple slides down my spine.
"I'll have to call someone," the driver says.
"No." My voice is too sharp, too quick. I force it lower. "I'll call another cab."
I don't wait for him to argue. I'm already pushing the door open, the cold night slamming into me like a wall.
The driver leans out the window. "You sure, lady? It's not safe out here."
I don't answer.
I'm standing on the sidewalk, hugging myself against the chill, pulling out my phone with trembling hands.
Another cab. Ten minutes away.
Ten minutes of waiting. Alone.
The road is silent except for the occasional hiss of a passing car. The shadows stretch long and deep between the pools of weak streetlight.
I can feel it—the prickling sensation of being watched.
But when I glance around, there's nothing.
No one.
I pace. Count my breaths.
Nine minutes.
Eight.
Every second feels heavier than the last.
When the next cab finally pulls up, relief rushes through me so hard I almost stumble toward it.
The new driver barely looks at me as I slide into the backseat. He smells faintly of cigarettes and mint.
"Louis Hotel," I say.
He nods silently, pulling into the street.
The city seems different tonight.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
As we get closer, the skyline starts to change. The Louis Hotel rises in the distance, gleaming like a diamond spire against the velvet dark. Its glass walls catch every faint glimmer of the city, refracting it into a thousand shards of light.
Even from blocks away, it looks otherworldly. Unreal.
"Big night?" the driver says suddenly. His voice is flat, but something about the way he says it makes me tense.
I hesitate. "Something like that."
He doesn't respond.
The silence between us feels sharp.
When we finally pull up to the gates, it's to bad news. Cabs can't pass through. Private vehicles only.
Stupid, stupid rule.
What to do.
I look down at the three-inch heels I've got on.
No.
I can't walk the long stretch inside, I'll bleed before I get close. Never mind the sweat that I'll rack up.
"Lady, you coming out or you wanna stare out the window all night?" The cab guy asks. "Either way, I'm game, but cash is king so you just say the word and I'll make it happen."
I roll my eyes, bring out some cash and pay him before coming out and slamming the car door. Petty, but a little satisfying.
"Bitch!" He yells, gunning the engine and driving off, leaving me coughing in the wake of his exhaust fumes.
The two gatemen look at me and smirk. I turn away and begin the long trek inside toward The Louis hotel building. Two minutes in and I'm a sweaty mess. I bend and unclasp the shoes and hold them in my hands. Not going to get a sprain for something I know nothing about.
The road is lonely and windy. Trees line either side of the road, lending to the eerie feeling of being watched.
A sleek sports car passes me and the driver doesn't even bother stopping to give me a lift. I huff.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen . . .
Twenty.
I round the corner, and come face to face with The Louis Hotel.
I just. . . stop breathing.
The building dominates everything.
Up close, it's even more dazzling. Like a blade carved from crystal, cutting into the sky. Stars twinkle faintly above it, their glow bouncing off the diamond-shaped structure in soft halos of light.
It's too much.
Too opulent. Too perfect.
I wear my shoes once more, dot my face with a hankie, praying to God that I don't look like a sweaty mess, and clutch my purse tightly.
I stand there for a moment, rooted to the pavement, staring up at the building.
What am I walking into?
I straighten my spine and walk inside.
Inside, the lobby is alive with soft, secret energy.
Warm golden light spills across black marble floors so polished they reflect the world above like glassy water.
The ceiling soars high above, a canopy of shimmering glass revealing the night sky beyond.
Everywhere, there's sound—soft and controlled. The gentle clink of crystal glasses. Low murmurs of conversation. A grand piano in the corner spilling smooth jazz into the air.
The scent is rich. Expensive. A heady mix of lilies and something darker, muskier, lingering just beneath the surface.
Couples in elegant evening wear glide across the space like ghosts. A man in a suit leans close to a woman draped in diamonds, his hand resting lightly on the curve of her back. Another pair disappears behind a set of velvet curtains, their laughter low and breathless.
Everything feels…staged. Like I've stepped into a world that runs by rules I don't understand.
And I don't belong.
I glance down at myself.
The red silk dress clings to my body like a second skin. It looked daring in the mirror. Now, under the soft glow of the hotel lights, it feels… revealing.
Too soft. Too feminine.
Two women in sharp power suits click past me, heels echoing on the marble. Their perfume lingers in the air—cool, sophisticated, untouchable.
I straighten, forcing myself toward the front desk.
The receptionists are perfect.
"Good evening!" The blonde's smile is polished, practiced. "Welcome to the Louis. How may we make your evening unforgettable?"
Before I can answer, the dark-haired one—Cynthia—as it says on her name tag, smiles knowingly.
"It's wonderful to have you again, ma'am. One moment."
Her words hit like a cold drop of water.
Again.
She bends gracefully, retrieves something from a hidden drawer, and straightens with a sleek black key card.
"Room 319," she says softly, but her eyes gleam with something I can't read.
I take the card, my fingers stiff.
I should leave.
I should walk out right now.
But instead, I force a smile. "Thank you."
I turn away.
But… I can't.
I spin back, panic fluttering in my chest. "Wait—I'm supposed to meet someone, but I forgot my phone. Can you tell me if they're already here?"
Cynthia leans in, her voice dipping low.
"You know the routine," she murmurs. "You always collect what you need first from the nook."
She flicks her gaze toward a discreet corner behind me.
Her voice dips even lower, barely audible.
"Then you proceed to Room 319."
She straightens again, her face serene, as if she hasn't just handed me a piece of a puzzle I don't want to solve.
A guest. A meeting. An item.
Was Renata a spy?
Or worse --- an assassin?
Good Lord!
The thought lodges in my chest like a shard of ice.
I turn away, legs trembling, and head away to the corner she pointed to.
The nook is hidden, almost invisible unless you know where to look.
Ten identical cupboards line the wall.
My key says 1.
I slide it in.
The drawer opens smoothly, silently.
Inside is a folded piece of silk.
I shove it into my purse, feeling the fabric cool and soft against my fingers. I don't dare to look. Not here. Not with the weight of so many unseen eyes around me.
My heart is pounding so hard it makes my vision swim. When I straighten, I can feel the shift in me. The hum of adrenaline. The war between fear and the stubborn defiance burning in my gut.
Part of me wants to stop. To turn around. To forget all of this.
But the other part --- the one that refuses to leave Renata's unfinished story hanging in pieces --- steps forward.
I force myself toward the elevators.
The lift is blessedly empty.
I step inside and press a number. The doors close and I lean against the wall, eyes shut, clutching the key card so tightly it digs into my palm.
Breathe.
Just Breathe.
You can still back out. But you won't.
Because you owe her.
I unzip my purse. My fingers find the silk again. I pull it out.
It's a mask.
Black silk. Smooth. Anonymous.
I hesitate.
Then I slip it on.
And suddenly, I feel hidden. Shielded.
Like I've become someone else.
Ding.
The doors slide open to a corridor that smells of expensive carpet and quiet danger.
The hall is long. Silent. Dimly lit.
Gold room numbers glint softly against the muted wallpaper. I move down it, counting. Each step heavier than the last.
313.
314.
315.
I keep walking, tension building inside of me, and then ---
319.
I stop. My pulse pounds in my throat.
This is it.
The very end of the line.
My hands tremble as I grip the key card. It's cold between my fingers.
My breath is shallow, shaky as I lift the card to the scanner.
A soft beep.
The lock clicks.
The door cracks open a few inches.
My breath is shallow. Shaky.
Last chance. A voice inside whispers.
But turning back means never knowing.
Never finding the truth.
Never . . . finishing this.
I exhale. Long. Shaky. And step over the threshold.