Lana’s POV
The warm light of the lounge spilled over me as I stepped inside, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses wrapping the air in a low, sophisticated buzz. I inhaled, squared my shoulders, and asked the receptionist where I was expected. She handed me a sleek card with the number of the private room embossed on it in gold.
“Room 7, top floor,” she murmured with a smile.
I nodded politely, clutching the card tighter than I should. The deal was close, so close I could almost taste it. This was the moment I’d been waiting for.
I started toward the elevators, my heels tapping rhythmically on the polished tiles. But just as I reached the entrance, a figure slumped against the elevator door blocked my path.
“Lanaaa…” The voice was a messy drawl, dragging each syllable with drunken
