Chapter 23: Room 202

Chapter 23: Room 202
Night had fallen, and the city lit up. The bustling avenue stretched out like a turbulent stream beneath flashing neon signs—green, then red, then violet—spilling onto the wet pavement like streaks of highlighter ink. Damp wind carried the smell of exhaust and rain-slick asphalt. Cars jammed together, horns clattering like a hailstorm, blending with the music leaking from bars and cafés into a single restless soundtrack, heaving like waves.

I left Brown Tower after a long day, my shoulders still aching, striding past cafés ablaze with light and jewelry stores glittering like honeycombs of gold. Streetlamps cast yellow pools across the rain-shined road, reflections stretching like chains, tugging at my steps, as if each stride pulled me into another world.

Kristine’s restaurant was tucked away down a narrow lane, an older quarter where the lights dimmed. The façade was paneled in dark wood, its glass door clouded as though filmed with frost; inside, pale yellow lanterns swayed in the air-conditioned breeze. I pushed the door open. A wind chime rang softly—a delicate punctuation mark in the night’s score.

A bowing waiter led me along a narrow corridor carpeted in deep red, past carved wooden panels rippling with wave motifs. The scents of wood and ginger floated around me. Ginger and soy mingled with the damp air from outside, thickening it until it felt heavy on my shoulders.

I paused at the door of Room 202. The brass numbers glimmered in the light like a reminder. From within came a familiar soft laugh, the clink of a spoon against a wineglass like a heartbeat. I drew a long breath; my own heart skipped. My hand trembled slightly on the knob before I turned it.

Kristine was already there. She sat on a red-velvet banquette, gray coat draped loosely over her shoulders like a cloak, hair spilling softly around her face. On the table a bottle of red wine stood uncorked, its scent mingling with the warm oak of the room, curling together like thin smoke. She looked up, her mouth curving into the mischievous smile I knew so well, her eyes glinting with something familiar—and something unreadable.

“Welcome, Chief Executive of Brown,” she said, drawing out “Chief” like a playful tap on my nerves.

I gave a dry little laugh, dropped my bag on the chair beside me and sat. “Don’t call me that. It makes me sound like the next Kael.”

Kristine poured the wine into two glasses, sliding one toward me. “Today deserves a celebration, Elysa. A new beginning. Let’s drink until we forget.”

I raised my glass. The dark liquid shimmered under the lights like the blood of a beating heart; its aroma stung my nose, bringing a prick of tears. “Fine. One night. Then back to being serious.”

The glasses chimed softly. Wine slid down my throat—warm, sweet—dissolving some of the day’s tension but leaving a glowing ember in my chest.

While we waited for food, Kristine rested her chin on her hand, studying me. “So? How was your first day at Brown?”

I rolled the stem of the glass between my fingers, watching red glints slip down its walls. My foot tapped under the table, unbidden. A thin fog of memory drifted in: the corporate hallway years ago, Kael at my side, his hand on my shoulder like an ally’s while his mouth whispered a prearranged betrayal—the one that shattered my trust. That image lay across my mind like a scratch on glass that would never polish out.

“Nothing special,” I said slowly, voice dropping. “Only…”

Kristine narrowed her eyes. “Only what?”

“The financial reports, contracts, records…” I stopped, feeling my chest tighten. “They’re too clean. Too transparent. Not a single blemish.”

Kristine arched an eyebrow. “Why is that strange?”

“Why not?” I lifted my gaze, locking onto hers, heavy as stone. “You know Kael once plotted to topple my family’s conglomerate. He’d stop at nothing. And yet Brown’s books are spotless? Impossible.”

Kristine leaned toward me, her hair falling in a brown-gold sheet, eyes glinting in the lamplight. “Elysa,” she murmured, “you’re overthinking. Brown is his creation, his brainchild. Do you think he wants his own child ugly in the public eye?”

I shook my head, lips pressed tight, a thread of electricity running down my spine. “It isn’t that simple.”

The sliding door whispered open. A waiter entered carrying a silver tray—sashimi, stew, garlic bread. Plates clinked like a wake-up bell. When he left, Room 202 fell eerily still. Only the rain outside and fading footsteps in the hallway remained, as if someone had paused at our door to listen. A chill crept up my neck.

Kristine tapped her chopsticks against the table, breaking the hush. “Come on,” she laughed. “At least tonight let your brain rest. No Kael, no Brown—just us.”

I exhaled, letting a small smile unfurl. “All right. Just tonight.”

We began to eat. The scent of fresh fish and ginger rose, warm and sharp. Red wine slid down my throat again, flushing my cheeks. Our voices softened, giving way to a faint jazz tune drifting from the corridor, like a sound from another world. As I chewed a slice of sashimi, I heard the clock on the wall ticking each beat.

We’d been friends for over fifteen years. There were nights I almost broke, and Kristine pulled me back, hunched at her keyboard, piecing together evidence against Kael. Now, in Room 202, gratitude spread through me—warm, steady—but threaded with fear. I didn’t know how many of my secrets she still held.

Kristine tilted her head, her eyes bright in the light. “You still have me, Elysa. Don’t forget.”

I gripped my glass and nodded. “I know.”

As I set it down, Kristine leaned over, seemingly casual, and slid a thin envelope under the edge of my plate. “Something for you,” she murmured, no explanation, her voice edged with warning. My fingers brushed the envelope: inside, something hard and flat, like a USB stick, cold against my skin.

Outside, the bustling Street still roared, its lights pulsing through the curtains like the heartbeat of the city. In Room 202 we sat facing each other, wine and food between us, the air taut yet soft—a pause before a storm. And I knew this envelope might be the first piece of a game larger than Kael, a game I’d stepped into long ago without even realizing.