(Andrew Dole’s POV)
The door was colder than it looked.
I knocked once, then again, slower.
Behind it, I could hear nothing—no footsteps, no shift of weight, no shuffling sounds to betray someone inside. Just silence. The kind that didn’t wait politely—it pressed against your lungs and made breathing feel like a decision.
I didn’t leave.
The air in the corridor felt expensive, perfumed with sandalwood and hush money. A subtle chill ran beneath the quiet, like the building itself could sense why I was here.
Then—
A lock clicked.
The door creaked open just enough to frame her silhouette.
She stood barefoot in the soft spill of bathroom light, damp strands of hair clinging to her collarbone, her robe cinched but loose. Her eyes—those calm, naive eyes—were wary but clear.
I straighte
