Kazaf left the airport grounds and boarded the sleek private shuttle bearing the emblem of the Grand Victoria Hotel.
The ride was quiet, the hum of the engine blending with the faint whisper of palm trees swaying in the coastal wind.
When the vehicle finally pulled into the hotel's sweeping circular driveway, Kazaf stepped out, his black suitcase in hand.
The Grand Victoria stood before him like a jewel carved of glass and marble, its architecture both modern and commanding against the tropical backdrop.
The massive mirrored doors opened automatically.
He walked inside, cool air wrapping around him, carrying with it the delicate fragrance of fresh orchids.
The marble lobby stretched wide, sunlight filtering through high windows and scattering across polished floors.
Travelers lounged on couches, conversations blending with the soft notes of piano music drifting from a corner.
Kazaf walked toward the reception desk with his unhurried, confident stride.
The young brunette receptionist greeted him warmly, but her composure wavered the moment his eyes met hers.
Their brief exchange was polite, professional—punctuated by the faintest trace of flirtation on Kazaf's part.
A playful smile, a glance held a second longer than necessary.
By the time she slid his keycard across the counter, her cheeks had flushed at Kazaf's provocative words, though her voice remained steady.
Kazaf gave a faint nod, slipped the card into his pocket, and made for the elevators.
The ride up was silent, mirrored walls reflecting his composed figure back at him.
When the doors slid open, he stepped onto a quiet hallway carpeted in deep blue.
The only sound was the faint, rhythmic click of his shoes echoing against the stillness. He stopped at his assigned room, slid the card through the lock, and turned the handle.
The light blinked green. He pushed the door open, ready to step inside.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the hotel, Jasmine was pacing her room, her phone pressed tightly to her ear.
Her brow was furrowed, every line of her body radiating irritation.
"This is all your fault!" she snapped, her voice sharp with exasperation.
"Why did you have to force me to go on this stupid vacation when I told you countless times I didn't want to? Look at me now—I just got here, and I've already lost my suitcase. This was such a bad idea, Rhea!"
On the other end, Rhea's laughter spilled through the speaker, shameless and unrestrained.
"Didn't you say it would be boring? Well, now you've got yourself something to keep you busy. Go look for it."
"You think this is funny?" Jasmine groaned, collapsing onto the edge of the bed.
"I had to wear the same clothes I wore this morning. And don't even get me started—there were men's boxers in that suitcase. Ew!" She buried her face in her hands.
"Hahahaha!" Rhea howled.
"Wait, wait—what's wrong with looking at men's boxers? That's hilarious. Did you smell them?"
Jasmine's head shot up, eyes wide with horror. "What—ew! No! That's disgusting! Why would I smell a man's boxers? You're insane!"
"What insane?" Rhea teased, clearly enjoying herself.
"It's sexy. I smell my boyfriend's boxers all the time. It helps me reduce stress, brings back strong emotional memory, and deepens intimacy. I always do that—especially when he's away."
Jasmine gagged audibly, scrunching her nose as though Rhea had confessed to something criminal.
"You're absolutely disgusting. I can't believe I'm even friends with you sometimes. Who does that?"
Rhea only laughed harder, unrepentant.
"Don't act so holy, Jasmine. One day, you'll fall for someone so hard you'll do ten times worse."
"Not in this lifetime," Jasmine shot back, tugging at the wrinkled hem of her blouse.
"You know how I feel about men. They're nothing but trouble."
"Uh-huh." Rhea's tone turned sly.
"Fate has a funny way of making people eat their own words."
"Not me," Jasmine said firmly, crossing her arms.
"I came here to get this stupid vacation over with, not to get tangled up in nonsense."
Still grumbling, she moved toward the door, intent on complaining to the front desk about her missing suitcase.
Her fingers curled around the handle, tugging it open—just as movement in the hallway caught her eye.
There, a man was stepping into a room not far from hers, a black suitcase in his hand. Her black suitcase.
"You—stop right there! Hey! Don't close that door!"
Jasmine shouted, her voice echoing sharply down the hallway.
On the other end of the phone, Rhea's voice was faintly audible.
"Jasmine? What's going on? Who are you yelling at?"
But Jasmine had no time to answer. Heart racing, she bolted forward, heels clicking furiously against the floor.
The man's door was swinging shut, but she lunged, wedging her foot between it and the frame before it could close.
"Not so fast," she muttered, shoving her way inside without waiting to be invited.
The room was nearly identical to hers, but Jasmine barely registered it.
Her gaze locked immediately on the tall figure inside, suitcase still in hand.