The music in the background is a low, rhythmic thrum, just loud enough to keep the energy alive but soft enough to let conversation flow. The room is bathed in warm, golden light, and the air smells faintly of expensive perfume, citrus, and fresh food.
They are gathered in a loose circle, glasses in hand, leaning against each other or perched on the arm of a sofa. There is no particular topic; the chat is bouncing around like a pinball.
"Honestly, I think pineapple on pizza is a crime against humanity," chole declares dramatically, taking a sip of his drink.
"Oh, here we go again!" Stella laughs, shaking her head. "You just have closed taste buds! It's sweet and salty perfection."
"Speaking of food," Monica interjects, changing the lane instantly, "did you guys hear about that new café downtown? Apparently, their coffee is so strong it can legally wake up the dead."
"I heard it's actually just bean water with anxiety," someone jokes.
The conversation shifts again, this time drifting to travel.
"I really want to go to Japan next year," Florence says dreamily. "Everything looks so clean and organized there."
"Yeah, but imagine the culture shock," Tom points out. "You'd accidentally bow too deep or not deep enough and cause an international incident."
They all laugh. Someone brings up a weird fact they read online about sloths being able to hold their breath longer than dolphins, which sparks a five-minute debate on whether that's actually true or just internet nonsense. Then, out of nowhere, someone wonders aloud why we park on a driveway but drive on a parkway.
The room goes silent for two seconds as everyone processes the logic, then erupts into confused agreement.
"It's things like that that keep me up at night," someone mutters.
"Forget that," Stella waves her hand, steering them into lighter waters again. "Did anyone see that video of the cat wearing a tiny hat? That is the only content I need in my life right now."
And just like that, they drift onto the next thing, comfortable, happy, and completely unplanned.The music was thumping ,it was just loud enough to mask the small sounds.
Florence stood with her back slightly turned, holding her own glass casually, while her other hand slipped something small and white from her pocket. She glanced over her shoulder quickly—Isabella was laughing at something across the room, completely distracted, her glass sitting emptyish on the table top.
With lightning speed, Florence tore the packet open. Shhhht. The fine, powder hit the liquid with barely a plink. She stirred it once with a straw, swirling the ice cubes around until every trace of the granules vanished, leaving the drink looking perfectly innocent, just clear soda with a lime wedge.
She placed it back exactly where it was, smoothing her dress and taking a sip of her own drink, schooling her face into total innocence.
"Here you go!" Florence chirped a moment later, picking up the glass and gliding over to Isabella with a sweet, wide smile. "You looked thirsty, Got you a refill."
Isabella beamed, completely unsuspecting. "Aw, you're an angel! Thanks,
She took a big sip. Florence watched, her smile widening into something slightly wicked behind her sister's back, taking a slow sip of her own drink as she waited for the chaos to begin.
"Cheers!" Florence said, clinking glasses.
"Cheers!"
The alcohol hit Isabella much faster and harder than she expected. Her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes started to glaze over, and she was swaying slightly on her feet, giggling at absolutely nothing.
"Whoa... the room is spinningggg," Isabella slurred, leaning heavily against the wall. "Flo, why is the music so loud inside my head?"
Florence caught her arm, steadying her, but her eyes were sharp and focused. She pulled out her phone under the pretense of checking the time, typed out a quick message under the table, and hit send.
Florence: Room number?
Almost instantly, the phone buzzed in her hand.
Reply: Room 1006
A sly, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of Florence's lips. She locked her screen and turned her full attention back to her friend, putting on her most caring, worried face.
"Isabella? are you okay?" Florence asked, patting her back gently. "You look really out of it. Don't worry though, I already booked a room upstairs for you so you can rest. Okay?"
Isabella blinked slowly, her vision blurry. "Mmm... room?" she mumbled, nodding dumbly. "Okay... sleepy..."
"Come on then," Florence said smoothly, looping her arm around Isabella's waist and hoisting her up. "Let me take you there. You'll feel much better after a nap."
She guided the stumbling girl toward the elevators, one hand holding her up, the other already mentally checking the number 1006.The elevator doors dinged open.
"Go on ahead, " Florence said sweetly, holding Isabella steady for a second before letting go. "I just remembered I left my bag at the party I'll be right behind you, okay? Just go straight to room 1006 and wait for me."
"O-okay..." Isabella mumbled, her feet dragging as she stumbled out into the quiet hallway. "1006... got it..."
Florence watched her go, then immediately spun on her heel and hurried back the way they came, disappearing around the corner.
Isabella shuffled down the corridor, squinting at the numbers on the doors. 1002... 1004... She was swaying dangerously, one hand sliding along the wall to keep herself upright.
Just then, Raymond stepped out from the opposite side of the hallway, walking and talking animatedly with another man. He was about to swipe his keycard when his eyes accidentally landed on the staggering figure.
He froze mid-sentence.
His jaw tightened instantly. It was Isabella. She looked completely wasted, barely able to stand, and she was heading straight for the room at the end of the hall. He had never imagined he would run into her here, especially not like this.
Isabella finally stopped in front of the door marked 1006. She fumbled with the handle, ready to push it open.
"Hey!
Raymond's voice boomed, He strode over in two long steps and grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her back just inches from the door. He turned sharply to the man beside him, his expression dark and dangerous.
"Who booked this room?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening.
The man, looking slightly intimidated, checked his tablet quickly. "Uh... it's booked under Mr. Westley, sir."
As the name left the man's lips, Raymond's eyes flashed with rage. They turned a deep, bloody shade of fury, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. His mind raced, imagining what would have happened to her if he hadn't been there—if she had walked straight into that lion's den alone and defenseless.
"Mr. Westley..." Raymond growled through gritted teeth, staring at the door as if he wanted to burn it down. "You have got to be kidding me."