Episode 004
1171 Words
Chapter 004
The club on the first floor hummed with energy, but Isla barely noticed. She sat idly at the bar, her fingers lazily tracing the rim of her glass while two bottles of Tasmanian Gold Whisky lay unopened beside her; another two were soon finished as well as being half-finished by Isla herself—life became fuzzy around her; music simply became an annoying drone in her ears.
When she finished pouring the last of the whiskey into her glass, he finally spoke up: "Miss, I think you have had enough for tonight; do you have someone to pick you up?"
Isla laughed bitterly as she swirled the amber liquid in her glass. "Home?" was supposed to be where she'd be right now—in someone's warm embrace, whispering promises of promise—not here alone, consumed with liquor and self-pity.
"What an i***t," she muttered before downing her drink in one go.
Isla wasn't interested in further argument. Instead, she waved him over. "Hello? Where can I get a room here?" she inquired.
He sighed and wiped his hands with a towel before suggesting they take an elevator up to the second floor, where the main lobby could be found.
"Second floor. Secure." Isla dropped some bills onto the counter before rising from her seat and heading towards the elevator.
As soon as she entered, the alcohol took effect, and her body swayed slightly; she gripped onto a rail for balance.
When the doors slid open, she was met by the majestic grandeur of Blackwood Hotel's lobby: glittering chandeliers overhead sparkling on its polished marble floor while music from below faded out completely, leaving an eerily quiet space behind.
She approached the reception desk, leaning slightly against its counter for support as she made her way forward.
"Would I be of assistance today?" the receptionist offered in greeting. She smiled pleasantly as they began the exchange of information.
"I need a room with a comfortable bed." She exhaled deeply.
"Our Platinum Room should accommodate your needs. May I see your ID?" The receptionist remained composed.
Isla searched through her purse before pulling out her ID and credit card. The receptionist accepted them before tapping away on her computer before returning them.
"Please accept my keycard, Miss Evans. Your room is on the 65th floor."
"Thanks."
Isla took her keycard and headed toward the elevator, pressing its button and then leaning against the wall while waiting. As soon as she entered and pressed the 65th-floor button, dizziness hit like an earthquake.
She tried fanning herself with the keycard, but it did nothing to ease the heat that surged through her. Her dress suddenly felt restricting and her skin hypersensitive.
When the elevator dinged and its doors slid open, she saw a brightly lit hallway lined with sleek wooden doors.
Stepping out, she noticed numbers emblazoned on them that caused her vision to blur, requiring her to squint to read them.
"Room 6505," she murmured as she attempted to walk.
At the end of the hallway, she thought she found what she believed to be her room. Raising her keycard, she tried unsuccessfully to scan it with it before giving up altogether and walking off.
As she attempted to take another step forward, the door behind her flew open suddenly, and hands grabbed onto her shoulders.
"Miss, please accept my sincerest apology for what has occurred! I sincerely apologize!"
Isla had barely time to react before she was violently shoved backward and her door shut behind her, trapping her inside.
"What--?" Her question was interrupted as another pair of hands, this time rougher and firmer, grabbed her by the collar.
"Let me go!" she shouted frantically.
She tried to push him away but was powerless against his strong hold on her. Her head spun as confusion and panic merged within her mind.
"I need your help tonight," came a deep, yet soothing voice from behind her, sending a chill down her spine.
"No," she whispered quickly, her breathing growing short.
Lips collided against hers, cutting her off. Her body stiffened; her mind screamed for her to fight back; but even pushing again felt like pushing against lead, while the heat coursing through her was only getting stronger—making it even harder for her to think straight.
"Please, be good," said the man a few steps behind them, letting out a warm breath against her skin.
Isla struggled against the fog, yet her body gave in. Whether it was exhaustion, alcohol, or another factor altogether, everything blurred together into darkness as darkness claimed her.
As Isla opened her eyes, the room was dimly lit, and she felt disoriented and fatigued from alcohol use; her head throbbed with its effects as she struggled to sit up straight; memories from the night before surfaced in fragmented pieces.
She abruptly turned her head sharply, her heart racing. Although the bed next to her was empty, the indentation in its sheets indicated someone had been there earlier.
"What has happened?" Her throat felt dry.
She struggled to climb out of bed, aware of the soreness in her limbs and knowing she needed to leave fast.
She found her purse on the floor and keycard on her nightstand; as soon as she took it off its stand, the bathroom door opened itself!
One man emerged, his towel flung loosely around his hips, water dripping from his dark locks—his gaze locked onto her, unreadable by any means.
"Oh," exclaimed Isla with hesitation as she caught her breath.
"You should sit down," suggested the man.
"No," she replied firmly, clenching her fists tightly. "Tell me exactly what happened last night."
He tensely gripped his jaw. "Don't you remember?" "Yes." His face tightened.
She shook her head, feeling her anger rise inside. "Bits and pieces," she lamented.
He exhaled slowly. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I needed to keep you quiet."
Isla was perplexed. "What does that mean?" she asked, visibly disturbed.
"That means you entered into something dangerous, and I must make sure you didn't suffer an injury.
"Who exactly are you?" she inquired cautiously.
Pause. And then the words, "Owen Blackwood."
"He wasn't just anybody; he was one of the most powerful figures in town." Her stomach lurched with disbelief as soon as she heard that name, one that carried such weight.
"What have you done to me?" she demanded incredulously.
Owen was now grim. "There was nothing I didn't want for you."
"I--" she stammered.
"I'll have my driver take you home. However, we're not finished here yet, Isla.
Her heartbeat quickly increased. "I believe we are."
"You don't realize the magnitude of what you have undertaken—but you soon will!" Owen beamed with amusement.
Isla grabbed her purse and dashed towards the door, her thoughts racing with anticipation that what had transpired last night could still play out. Something had changed; she knew it didn't appear over yet.
Owen Blackwood wasn't known for letting things slide.
- Writer
