She turned sharply toward the door and saw the sign.
MEN
Her breath vanished.
"I—I didn't know—" she stammered, stepping back, her heart hammering as shame flooded her face.
The man's expression twisted in anger. "You little b*tch! What were you planning? Huh?! Do you know I can report you for this?"
Fiona's blood ran cold.
"No—please, it was an accident—"
"Shut up! I'll sue you if I want! You think you can just barge in here?"
He took a stumbling step toward her, and she trembled so violently she almost lost her footing.
She ran.
She didn't think...she just fled, the door hitting the wall as she burst out into the hallway. The sound of his angry voice followed her like a heatwave.
"WAIT! WAIT, YOU HEARD ME! I'M GOING TO FILE A COMPLAINT!"
His footsteps thundered behind her.
He was short, but he ran like a furious dog chasing prey, fast and messy. Fiona's lungs burned. Her legs screamed. Her dress constricted her thighs, making each step painful.
"I swear—" his drunk voice slurred behind her, "give me money or I'll sue you! HEY! ARE YOU LISTENING?!"
She reached the elevator and slammed her hand against the button repeatedly, her breath choking in her throat. The hallway spun. Her body ached from blood loss. Her knees threatened to buckle.
"OPEN… please… please…" she whispered desperately.
The man kept shouting, "GIVE ME MONEY FIRST—HEY! HEY!!"
Finally.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
Fiona stumbled inside and hit the close button again and again, her hands trembling violently. The man's shadow stretched closer, just a few more seconds and he would reach her.
Then—
The doors sealed shut.
Silence rushed in.
Fiona collapsed against the mirrored wall, pressing a hand to her chest as her eyes widened in shock. Her breath came in painful gasps. Her legs quivered uncontrollably. Her palms were cold and wet.
Her whole body hurt.
She shut her eyes tightly, but tears still escaped, running silently down her cheeks.
This was supposed to be her night.
Her celebration.
Her bachelorette.
Her happiness.
Yet all she felt was pain and loneliness.
When the elevator finally stopped, a soft chime echoed through the enclosed space. Fiona lifted her head slowly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her trembling hand. The doors slid open with a quiet sigh, revealing a dimly lit corridor she had never seen before.
She stepped out.
This floor felt completely different from the one below. It was quieter, colder, almost too elegant for a place meant for fun and alcohol. The walls were decorated with abstract paintings—shadows of entwined figures, delicate lines forming the shapes of couples locked in romantic poses, their bodies blending into strokes of gold and midnight blue. Soft lights glowed from behind the frames, casting warm halos that made the artwork shimmer like living flame.
The carpet beneath her heels felt thicker, softer, almost cloud-like. Everything smelled faintly of expensive perfume, a scent far removed from the rowdy noise downstairs. It reminded her of luxury lounges she had only seen in magazines.
Fiona hugged her arms around herself as she walked further. Her heart still thudded with leftover panic, and each step felt heavier from the dizziness crawling back up her spine. This floor was clearly meant for VIP guests. It looked empty, too quiet, the air so still she could hear the faint hum of the ventilation.
She stopped halfway down the corridor.
She couldn't go back downstairs… not like this, not after that humiliation, not with her heart beating so painfully. If that man was still there… if anyone saw her crying… if Jackson saw her… she couldn't imagine it without wanting to collapse.
Perhaps she could find a ladies'room. The thought was a small lifeline; she desperately needed a private corner to collect herself, to simply breathe without being seen.
She walked further, heels clicking softly against the floor. Every few steps she paused, listening.
No sound.
Her fingers brushed the cool wall as she looked around desperately.
"This place… is so empty," she whispered to herself, her voice thin.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. The emptiness made her loneliness feel twice as heavy, wrapping around her like a thick fog. But still, she kept walking, searching for a sign for the restroom.
Because right now, she felt like a balloon stretched too tightly, ready to burst from the pressure of everything.
Fiona slowed her steps when a trembling voice drifted through the quiet hallway. It was faint but desperate, like someone trying hard not to cry.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, sir… I didn't know it was your file… I didn't mean it… please… I didn't know…"
The panic in that voice made her chest tighten. She shouldn't be hearing this. She should turn around. But her feet carried her closer, almost against her will, drawn by the shaky, pleading tone.
A second voice replied, deep and thick with an unbothered calm. Its composure was so absolute it sent a strange, chilling unease through her.
"Oh wow. You 'didn't know'?" the man drawled, stretching the words like he found them amusing. "Really? That's the line you're going with?"
Fiona's stomach tightened.
The man continued, his voice sliding into a lazy, mocking rhythm.
"You've been chanting that same song for ten minutes. I didn't know… I didn't mean… I didn't read…" he mimicked, his voice dripping with boredom. "Congratulations, you sound like a broken record."
The trembling man whimpered something, but the deep-voiced one didn't stop.
"You didn't see my seal? Really?" A sarcastic laugh slipped out, low and humorless. "Big, bloody red mark on the top. Very hard to miss. But sure… let's pretend you're blind. Or brain-dead. Whichever fits."
"And now look at you," he added lazily, "shivering like a kicked puppy. Pathetic."