Avery waited until 8:45 PM.
The bodyguard—James—was still outside her door. She could see his shadow under the door crack.
She needed a plan.
She looked around the room. The bathroom window? Too small. The main door? Blocked.
Then she saw it. The connecting door to the next suite.
Most luxury hotels had them. Doors between rooms for families or groups. And this one had a lock on her side.
Avery crept over and slowly turned the lock. Click. It opened.
She peeked through. The next room was empty. Dark.
Perfect.
She grabbed her phone and slipped through, closing the door silently behind her. Then she ran to the hallway door, opened it, and—
Freedom.
The hallway was empty. She checked her phone. 8:52 PM. She had eight minutes.
Room 2847 was on a different floor. She found the stairs and started climbing. Her heart was pounding.
What secrets could Rohan have? What was she walking into?
Finally, she reached floor 28. She found room 2847 at the end of a long, quiet hallway.
The door was slightly open.
"Hello?" Avery called out softly.
No answer.
She pushed the door open wider. The room was dark except for one lamp in the corner.
"Hello? You texted me. I'm here."
Still nothing.
Then she saw it. An envelope on the bed with her name on it.
Avery picked it up with shaking hands. Inside was a single piece of paper and some photos.
She pulled them out and her blood turned to ice.
The first photo showed Rohan. But not the Rohan she knew. This Rohan was younger, maybe 23 or 24. He was in India, wearing casual clothes. And he had his arm around a beautiful Indian woman in a red saree.
They were smiling. Happy. In love.
The second photo showed the same woman. But this time she was at a funeral. Crying. Surrounded by people in white.
The third photo was a newspaper clipping. The headline read:
"RATHORE HEIR ACCUSED IN GIRLFRIEND'S DEATH. FAMILY PAYS OFF POLICE. CASE CLOSED."
Avery's hands started shaking so badly she almost dropped everything.
She looked at the paper that came with the photos. Only one sentence was written on it:
"He killed her. And he'll kill you too. Run while you still can."
"Oh my God," Avery whispered.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
Avery spun around.
Standing in the doorway was a woman. Late twenties. Beautiful. Sharp suit. Cold eyes.
"Who are you?" Avery demanded.
"My name is Priya Sharma. I was Rohan's fiancée. Before he murdered my sister."