Chapter 121: I Don’t Want To See Anyone’s Face..... Except His....
The car hums beneath me like a living thing, its low, steady vibration sinking into my bones. I lean back against the soft leather seat as the city lights blur past the tinted windows in smeared ribbons of gold and white.
My eyes are closed, but sleep won’t come. It never does anymore.
Not since he left.
The meeting was a slow poison. Hours of voices layering over voices, minds pressing against mine like hands on glass, each thought sharp and ugly and useless. Without my glasses, I would have lost my mind entirely.
I don’t know when Everic is coming back from his vacation. Handling these endless meetings alone is exhausting.
My fingers find my temple. Press. Rub slow, tired circles into the skin, trying to ease the pressure building behind my eyes.
I’m exhausted.
And in his absence, even sleep refuses to stay with me.
My phone rings beside me, sharp and insistent, cutting through the low hum of the car like a blade. I open my eyes, glance at the screen. Sum’s name glows back at me, bright and demanding.
I pick it up. Answer. Press the device to my ear without a word.
"Mr. Charming..." His voice crackles through the speaker, loud and impatient, full of an energy I don’t have. "Where are you?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. The sound is quiet, but it carries the weight of everything I’m not saying.
"On my way."
"I told you not to be late, dude."
"I was in a meeting."
A pause. The silence stretches just long enough for me to feel the weight of his attention shifting. I can hear the party behind him—laughter, music, the clink of glasses. Then his voice softens, losing its usual theatrical brightness.
"Hey... why do you sound so off?"
Because I can’t stop thinking about him.
The thought stays trapped inside me. I don’t answer immediately. Silence hangs between us for a moment before I finally speak.
"Because I’m tired." The words come out flat. Hollow. Like stones dropping into still water. "And I’m not in the mood to attend a party."
His tone sharpens with urgency, the casual playfulness slipping away. "Don’t tell me you’re changing your mind."
"I’m not."
The relief in his voice is almost audible, a visible exhale disguised as words. "Good. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’re here. Some reunion, some old faces—it’ll do you good." A pause. "Come quickly."
I don’t answer. I end the call and let the phone slip back into my pocket, the silence rushing in to fill the space his voice leaves behind.
Reunions.
I don’t want to see anyone’s face.
Except his.
I close my eyes again, sinking deeper into the leather, into the silence. The steady hum of the car settles around me. I don’t know how long I remain like that—drifting somewhere between waking and sleep, between memory and the present, waiting for a message that never comes.
Then the car slows.
Stops.
The engine dies with a low, final sigh, and for a moment, there is only silence.
Then the door opens with a soft click, and the night air spills in—cold and damp, carrying the scent of wet pavement and distant rain. It brushes against my face, sharp enough to pull me back to the present.
"Sir..."
A polished, professional voice. I open my eyes.
The Heaven Lit Hotel rises before me, a monument of glass and steel and impossible ambition. Its façade glitters against the dark sky like something stolen from a dream—all sharp angles and cold beauty, reflecting the city lights back at themselves.
I step out.
The hotel staff bow in greeting.
Without a word, I slip on my coat, the fabric settling over my shoulders like armor, and walk toward the entrance.
The hotel lobby is vast, a cathedral of marble and muted gold. Chandeliers hang like frozen constellations, their light spilling across the polished floor in long, liquid pools. The air is warm, carrying the fresh scent of roses arranged in towering crystal vases near the entrance.
I stop in front of the elevators and wait.
An older woman approaches, her staff uniform neat but worn with years of use. A basket of cleaning supplies is clutched tightly against her chest like a shield.
She stops a respectful distance beside me and bows politely. "Good evening, sir."
I give a slight nod in acknowledgment but don’t look at her.
Her breathing is shallow and uneven. Her eyes keep darting between the other elevators and the one in front of us. Nervous. Running late. Afraid.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft mechanical sigh. I step inside and press the button for my floor, the numbers glowing in cool blue against the panel.
She hesitates at the threshold.
Her nervous eyes lift to mine for only a second before dropping again, but her thoughts spill into my mind in a frantic whisper I can’t block out.
{Oh God... all the elevators are full. I have to get to the forty-ninth floor. If I’m late, the manager will be furious. But I can’t get into this one... he looks like a VIP. What if he gets angry?}
Before the doors can close, I press the stop button. "You may come in."
She blinks, frozen for a moment, as if she isn’t sure those words were meant for her. Her gaze flickers around the lobby before returning to me, realization slowly settling in.
Then her face softens, and a grateful smile spreads across her features, brightening the tired lines around her eyes. She steps inside, presses the button for her floor, and bows.
"Thank you so much, sir. You are very kind."
I say nothing.
The elevator rises. Floor by floor. The numbers climb in slow, steady increments, carrying us higher through the building.
She stands quietly in the corner, her shoulders no longer as tense, her breathing finally beginning to steady. The silence between us is broken only by the soft hum of the elevator.
The forty-ninth floor arrives.
The doors slide open with a gentle chime. She bows again, deeper this time, her gratitude spilling into a quiet murmur.
"Sir, I am truly grateful for your kindness."
My voice is low, almost swallowed by the stillness.
"No need."
She steps out. I remain where I am as the elevator doors begin to close.
And then—
I catch it.
A scent.
The same one I smelled on myself that morning—the one that came and vanished like a half-remembered dream, too brief to hold, too sharp to forget.
But now it’s here.
Strong. Present. Unmistakable.
It drifts through the narrowing gap between the closing doors, curling into the elevator like an invisible thread drawing me toward it.
The doors continue to slide shut. I move without thinking. My shoe wedges between them, stopping them in place.
This scent...
It’s coming from this floor.
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