She stood there, back pressed firmly against the locked door.
Looked left: wall. Looked right: wall. Looked straight ahead: mirror.
Her own reflection stared right back at her—out of breath, cheeks still faintly pink from the biting cold ride, eyes locked in that hyper-focused state of calculating a hundred variables and coming up with zero solutions.
Okay, she thought, grounding herself. I am in a washroom. I locked the door. I made the call. The car is coming. Now what?
She looked left again just in case the architecture had magically updated. It had not.
Should I just open the door?
The thought arrived with complete seriousness. She stared at the brushed-metal handle. I mean, the car is coming. I have to go outside eventually. Marcus is just standing there. He's technically my brother. He's not going to pull anything in a public venue with this many witnesses around.
A beat.
Probably.
She locked eyes with herself in the mirror. Aika, you ran into a washroom and now you're having a full philosophical debate with a door. This is becoming a habit.
She looked at the handle one last time, then took a step backward.
Nah. Absolutely not.
She crossed her arms firmly. According to every novel she had ever binged, any character who opens a locked door when a suspicious relative is knocking ends up in a predicament—kidnapped, cornered, or dragged into corporate scheming against their will. She had read enough Isekai literature to know better.
I am not opening this door.
Marcus knocked again—two slow, patient, controlled raps.
Aika glared at the door like it had personally insulted her. Keep knocking, she thought flatly. I have nowhere to be. The car is coming. I just have to wait.
She took a moment to properly analyze her environment, applying standard scientific assessment. Clean. Well-maintained. Warm. One solid barrier between her and the problem outside.
This is fine, she concluded. I've survived worse in the past seventy-two hours. I woke up in a hospital, survived a seafood assassination attempt, and gave an accidental press interview. I can handle a washroom.
She sat down on a cushioned bench near the counter, crossed her legs, and settled in. Knock all you want, Marcus.
As the adrenaline began to dip, she took in the details she had completely overlooked in her panicked sprint for a lockable door.
Wait.
She looked left: a full-length vanity mirror surrounded by professional strip lighting. She looked right: a rack of designer clothes, neatly arranged. She looked ahead: a cosmetics setup that could only be described as high-end. Products arranged strictly by category.
This isn't a public washroom.
She stood up slowly. This was a private prep room for VIP guests or staff.
Whose room is this? she realized with sudden dread. And are they about to walk in?
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
She flinched. Marcus was unrelenting. It was the deliberate, unhurried knocking of someone who had all night.
Focus, Aika. She pressed her fingers to her temples. The car is coming. Just wait. How long does it take to dispatch a driver? I should have asked for an ETA.
Silence fell outside.
She paused. The knocking had stopped.
See? Strategy, she thought, relaxing her shoulders. He gave up.
She gave her reflection a subtle nod of approval. Perfectly handled.
Click.
The lock turned. The door swung open.
Marcus stepped inside. Hovering right behind him was a venue staff member, holding a master key with an apologetic expression before quietly taking a step backward into the corridor.
There was a master key, Aika realized, four minutes too late. Of course there was.
Aika sat on the bench, arms crossed, caught completely mid-triumph. Marcus looked down at her, unbothered.
"Are you done?" he asked flatly.
Aika said nothing.
She stood up, smoothed down her top, and walked toward the doorway with the calm, collected posture of someone who had intended to cooperate all along. Very reasonable. Very Helena.
Marcus watched her approach, his frame shifting slightly to clear the exit—
The moment she reached arm's reach of the threshold, Aika moved. She gave the staff worker a quick, firm nudge sideways toward Marcus—"SORRY!"—and sprinted into the corridor before either of them could react.
"SORRY BRO!" her voice echoed down the hall as her sneakers hit the floor, "YOUR VIBE IS GIVING ME KIDNAP ENERGY SO—byeee!"
By the time the sentence finished, she was around the corner.
Marcus stood in the doorway, a vein near his temple pulsing as he slowly brought a hand to his face. Beside him, the staff worker stared into the empty hallway with a blank expression.
"I'll just..." the worker began.
"Go," Marcus said softly.
Aika didn't slow down. She bypassed the elevators, taking the stairs two at a time. Ren, Noel, where did you vanish to? I needed you once!
She burst through the heavy glass exit doors into the winter air and spotted the black sedan parked near the curb—a vehicle she recognized from Grandfather's estate.
"HEY!" she called out, yanking the back door open, diving inside, and slamming it shut.
Through the tinted glass, she saw Marcus emerge from the building doors. Aika took a breath, locked eyes with him through the window, flashed a bright, cheerful smile, and slowly raised a single middle finger.
Please go to hell.
The sedan pulled away smoothly into the night.
As soon as they cleared the first intersection, her smile vanished.
"Please drive fast," she said to the driver, leaning forward. "Is anyone following us?"
"No, Miss Helena," the driver replied calmly, checking his mirror. "No one is behind us."
She sank back into the leather seat, staring at the ceiling. I just used a venue worker as a decoy, gave my brother the finger, and pulled off a getaway. Unhinged. Completely unhinged.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Once. Twice. Six times.
She pulled it out: 6 Missed Calls — Noel.
Before she could process it, the phone rang again. She picked up.
"Hello?"
"WHERE ARE YOU?" Ren's voice cut through, sharp and out of breath. "Are you okay? Which room are you in?"
"I'm... heading home," she said carefully. "I got tired, so I called Grandfather's assistant to send the car."
Silence on the line.
"Helena," Ren said slowly. "Are you in a car right now?"
"Define car—"
"Couldn't you have told us?" Ren's voice had an unfamiliar edge. "Did you meet Marcus?"
"I may have... briefly encountered him," she admitted. "Look, can we talk in the morning? Have fun! Bye!"
She ended the call, set the phone face-down, and let out a long breath. Done. No more human interaction tonight. I am going to my pillow mountain.
She pulled her muffler tighter. The car moved smoothly along the dark roads.
Then, the phone rang again. She answered without looking.
"I'm almost there—"
"Helena."
Not Ren. Noel's voice—flat, cold, and entirely devoid of lightness.
"The driver," Noel said, his voice coming through with sharp clarity. "He just pulled up in front of us. At the circuit."
Aika froze.
She looked at the back of the driver's head in front of her. Then at the dark, unfamiliar highway stretch outside the window.
Her science brain processed the variables instantaneously: Wrong driver. Wrong car. Isolated route. 2:00 AM.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE DRIVER JUST ARRIVED?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.
In the rearview mirror, a pair of pale, unnatural teal eyes slid up to meet hers. Calm. Watching.
"Is the driver aware that you know?" Noel asked over the speaker.
Aika kept her expression deadpan, lowering her voice. "No. Marcus didn't catch me."
Before Noel could respond, a hand reached back from the front seat and snatched the phone clean out of her grip. The call disconnected.
The car pulled onto a gravel shoulder and stopped.