A NIGHT WITH THE DEVIL

ROOM 99

The atmosphere in the VIP lounge was electric, a swirling blur of flashing lights and clinking crystal. Alita stood at the center of it all, her heart hammering against her ribs as the weight of the moment finally sank in. She had actually done it.

"Congratulations, Alita!" "You were magnificent tonight!

"The accolades washed over her, sweet and overwhelming, culminating in the moment her name was called for Best Female Lead of the Year. Her hands had trembled when she touched the cold gold of the trophy. She had poured her blood, sweat, and sleepless nights into this movie, and seeing her hard work recognized made a lump form in her throat.

The director beamed, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a proud embrace. "This calls for a real celebration! To our leading lady!

"The crew erupted in cheers as a bottle of expensive red wine was popped open. Alita took a glass, her cheeks flushed with pure happiness. She wasn't much of a drinker, but tonight, she wanted to feel the lightness. With every sip, the tight knot of anxiety she had carried for months began to melt away, replaced by a soft, floating warmth. She laughed freely, leaning into the high-fives and hugs from her co-stars, completely caught up in the magic of the night.

But from the dim edges of the lounge, the warmth died.

Bianca stood by the bar, nursing a drink she hadn't touched, her eyes locked on Alita's radiant smile. A bitter, ugly knot tightened in her chest. It wasn't just dislike; it was a deep, rotting resentment born from a lifetime of standing in Alita's shadow. Seeing Alita look so beautiful, so adored, made Bianca’s stomach turn.

She noticed the slight sway in Alita’s posture, the way her laughter was growing a little slower, her eyes a little heavy. She’s drunk, Bianca realized, a cold, sharp satisfaction cutting through her jealousy. Perfect. You think you're on top of the world right now, Alita. Just wait.

An hour earlier, at the Auberge Resorts

The luxury hotel lobby was quiet, smelling of expensive lilies and polished marble. When Bianca walked in, the receptionist immediately sat up straighter, offering a polite bow. "Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you tonight?

"Bianca adjusted her designer bag, forcing her lips into a bright, practiced smile. "Hi, I'm Bianca Brown. I'm looking to get into my sister's room."The receptionist’s eyes lit up instantly. "Oh! Alita Brown’s sister? Wow, it is such an honor to meet you. She is absolutely incredible. Her performance in the trailers alone gave me chills!

"A familiar, toxic spike of anger shot through Bianca. It was always the same. No matter where she went, she was just a footnote in Alita's story. She swallowed the bile in her throat, keeping her voice smooth and dripping with sisterly affection. "Oh, thank you! Yes, she’s incredibly talented.

"She leaned against the marble counter, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh to make the lie believable. "Actually, the silly girl just called me from the venue. She forgot some of her personal notes and a script variant for tomorrow's press meeting in her room. She’s totally panicking, so she asked me to run up and grab them for her.

"The receptionist didn't hesitate for a second. Charmed by the sweet smile and the famous name, she slid a plastic keycard across the desk. "Of course! Here you go. Room 66, on the penthouse floor."

"You're a lifesaver," Bianca said, taking the card.

"Um, excuse me, Ms. Brown?" The receptionist blushed, holding out a small notepad. "If it's not too much trouble... could you ask her to sign this for me later? I'm just such a huge fan."

"I'll make sure she signs it first thing," Bianca promised, her smile dazzling.

But the moment she turned the corner and the elevator doors slid shut, the smile vanished. Her face went cold. She crumpled the notepad paper into a tight ball, shoving it deep into the trash bin inside the elevator. "Stupid fan girl," she muttered, her voice trembling slightly with the sheer intensity of her malice. "Enjoy your idol while you can. By tomorrow, she won't have a career left.

"Her phone buzzed in her hand. She answered it immediately, her voice dropping to a low, breathless whisper. "I have the card. It was pathetic how easily the girl handed it over. Everything is set.

"The man on the other end of the line let out a low laugh, a sound that made Bianca’s heart race with a mix of excitement and desperation. "Good. You're doing great, babe."

"I'm doing this for us," Bianca whispered, leaning her head against the elevator wall, her chest heaving. "I can't wait until she's completely ruined and out of the picture. Then you'll finally be all mine."

"Soon," he promised, his tone smooth and manipulative. "Just get out of there before anyone sees you."

Present Time

Back at the party, the adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving Alita completely exhausted. Her head felt heavy, filled with a soft, fuzzy warmth from the wine. Her legs felt like lead, and every blink required effort. Smiling warmly, she hugged her director goodbye and slipped out of the lounge, desperate for her bed.

When she reached the hotel, she barely registered the quiet atmosphere. She took the elevator up, her mind already half-asleep.

Stepping out onto the plush, carpeted hallway of the top floor, the dim lighting played tricks on her blurred vision. She was holding her keycard upside down, her thumb covering part of the plastic. Shuffling tiredly down the hall, her eyes caught the gold numbers on a door. In her dazed, heavy-lidded state, the numbers swam together.

She stopped in front of room 99, completely convinced it was her own room, 66.

Alita reached out, her fingers clumsy as she went to swipe the card. But the moment her knuckles brushed the handle, the door gave way with a soft, metallic click. It wasn't locked. In fact, it was slightly ajar, letting a tiny sliver of darkness peek through.

A faint, fleeting instinct whispered in the back of her mind that something wasn't right. She frowned, staring at the gap in the door. But the sheer weight of her exhaustion, combined with the fog of the wine, drowned out the warning bells.

She was just too tired to think, too tired to care. She assumed she had just forgotten to latch it properly when she left earlier.

Sighing softly, Alita pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was pitch black, but the moment the door clicked shut behind her, she realized it didn't smell like her room. There was no scent of her lavender perfume. Instead, the air was thick, warm, and heavy with the intoxicating scent of expensive sandalwood, clean linen, and a sharp, distinctly masculine cologne.

Before her brain could process the danger, a sudden shift in the shadows of the room made her breath catch completely in her throat...