Chapter 12: A Trap

Siara glanced at her watch. 10:45 PM.

Damn, it’s late.

She had only planned to stay for a quick discussion and contract signing, but things had taken longer than expected. And now, she could already imagine her mother's deep sigh when she stepped inside the house.

"Ab toh ghar jaake daant khani padegi… Taiyaar ho ja, Siara."

(Now I’m going to get scolded when I reach home… Get ready, Siara.)

She sighed and pulled out her phone, quickly typing a message to her father, letting him know she was leaving now.

As she turned towards the exit, her heels clicked against the polished floor of La Fortuna’s VIP lounge. The atmosphere still buzzed with music and conversations, the air thick with luxury.

And then—

A sudden impact.

A sharp collision against her shoulder, the unmistakable splash of liquid soaking her blazer.

"Oh no! I am so, so sorry, ma’am!" A panicked voice rushed out as a waiter stumbled back, his tray tilting, the glass he had been carrying now shattered at their feet.

Siara barely flinched, but her brows furrowed as she instinctively touched her arm. There was a faint sting—a fleeting, almost nonexistent prick—just beneath the damp fabric of her blazer.

The waiter looked terrified, his hands trembling. "Ma’am, please forgive me! It was an accident, I swear! Please don’t complain, I’ll lose my job—"

Siara exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Relax. Mistakes happen."

His body language screamed fear, almost too much fear. His hands clenched at his apron, his eyes darting around the lounge like he was waiting for someone to react.

Her gaze swept over him once more before she nodded towards the mess. "Just clean this up."

She turned slightly, fingers brushing against the damp patch on her blazer. It reeked of expensive whiskey. Great.

"Where’s the washroom?" she asked, already pulling off the blazer to inspect the damage.

The waiter pointed towards the hallway on the far end of the lounge. "Down that corridor, ma’am. Third door to the right."

Siara gave him a curt nod and walked away, unaware of the way his fingers subtly curled around the small device hidden in his pocket.

As soon as she disappeared into the hallway, he pulled out his phone.

"Kaam ho gaya." (The work is done.)

He cut the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

Siara’s steps were quick, but something felt… off.

Her vision blurred slightly at the edges, the dim golden lights of the hallway seeming too warm, too hazy.

What the hell…?

She blinked hard, her fingers tightening around her purse. There was a strange heat blooming under her skin, crawling through her veins like fire.

She hadn't touched any food tonight. Nor ordered any drink. Heck, she hadn’t even had a sip of water.

So what was happening to her?

A slow, sinking realization hit her.

The sting in her arm.

The way that waiter had acted.

It wasn’t just a bump.

Shit.

Her fingers brushed over her forearm, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt, and her heart slammed against her ribs when she saw it—

A small, almost invisible puncture mark.

A needle.

They had injected her with something.

Siara stopped in her tracks, a sharp breath leaving her lips. Her surroundings swayed for a second, her balance wavering.

She knew she had to move.

Had to get out of here.

Panic threatened to creep in, but she ruthlessly shoved it down. No. Not now. Not here.

Gritting her teeth, she turned sharply on her heels, retracing her steps with a newfound urgency.

The air around her felt heavier. Her throat was dry. She felt like she was floating and sinking at the same time.

The hallway stretched impossibly long, the exit suddenly feeling miles away.

Her breath hitched.

Her body was betraying her.

And she hated it.

"Siara, focus. Just reach the exit."

The lounge blurred as she stepped back into the main area, the chandeliers overhead casting dizzying golden reflections.

Her steps faltered.

Her knees buckled.

She could almost see the exit. Just a few more steps—

And then—

Two strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.

"Siara?"

A voice—deep, familiar—echoed in her ears, but it was distant, like she was hearing it underwater.

She felt herself being scooped up effortlessly, her head resting against a firm chest. The scent of crisp cologne and something inherently warm and protective surrounded her.

She struggled to open her eyes, her vision a complete blur, her lips parting in an attempt to speak.

"Ms. Rajawat, can you hear me?"

"Damn it. You’re burning up. Who the hell did this to you?"

The voice was urgent, worried.

Siara blinked sluggishly. She wanted to answer, wanted to ask who—? but her body felt impossibly heavy.

Her lashes fluttered.

Darkness pulled at her like an unrelenting tide.

But just before she slipped away completely, she felt warm fingers brush against her cheek. A touch so gentle yet possessive, as if anchoring her to reality.

"Stay with me, Siara."

The whisper barely reached her, but something in it sent a shiver down her spine.

Strong arms held her closer, cradling her protectively against a chest that felt steady, secure—like a lifeline in the chaos that was swallowing her whole.

For a fleeting second, warmth enveloped her, drowning out the fire in her veins.

A soft sigh left her lips.

Then—

Darkness.

Complete. Overpowering. Darkness.