As they approached the pulsating welcome party for Laya, the atmosphere thickened with an unspoken tension. It was supposed to be a joyous reunion, just the four of them. Leon, sat hunched in his chair, his thoughts consumed by the girl in the white dress. She seemed ethereal, almost otherworldly, and the questions Laya and Finn posed earlier echoed in his mind like a haunting melody: Was she waiting for someone? Did she have a boyfriend?
He grabbed the wine bottle in front of him. The dark room was illuminated by vibrant, flickering lights, creating an atmosphere that was both enchanting and disorienting. As he drained the bottle, reality twisted around him, and the noise of laughter and music morphed into a dissonant symphony.
Leon felt his senses blur; the familiar weight of alcohol was overpowering him in a way that was entirely new. Swaying slightly, he realized he was drinking not just to forget, but to escape a reality that felt increasingly suffocating. The rare sight of him drunk was alarming to Laya and Finn, who exchanged concerned glances. This wasn't Leon—the dependable brother, the sensible one—but a reckless version of himself that they rarely saw.
"Let's get him back to his room," Laya instructed the waiters, her voice tense as she watched Leon stumble, his expression distant. They grabbed him, but he didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings, his mind a chaotic whirlwind.
"Sir, your room number?" one of the waiters asked, attempting to guide him.
In that moment, Leon's eyes flickered back to the girl in the white dress, her figure illuminated in the strobe lights. Panic surged through him, and without thinking, he replied, "Room no: 1611." The number rolled off his tongue, heavy with significance.