Two cars stopped in front of Hotel Marcellin.
The first was a sleek black sedan, the second — a polished Rolls-Royce that gleamed under the amber glow of the streetlights.
A bodyguard stepped out from the front car and swiftly opened the door of the Rolls-Royce. From it emerged a man in his early fifties, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit. His sharp eyes scanned the area with the calm confidence of someone who owned everything his gaze touched.
Roman Kestrel.
Even the receptionist at the marble counter froze for a moment when she recognized him — one of the wealthiest and most influential men in the country.
Four more bodyguards exited the cars and surrounded him in a diamond formation. Without a word, they entered the hotel.
The soft echo of polished shoes met the quiet hum of the lobby's chandelier. The lift doors opened instantly, as if the hotel itself bowed to his presence. Roman stepped inside, followed by his most trusted guard.
When the lift stopped on the upper floor, the doors slid open to reveal a long corridor lined with armed men — ten, maybe fifteen in total. Their builds were solid, their eyes sharp, each holding a weapon with the composure of seasoned professionals.
One of them stepped forward and opened the door to a suite at the end of the hall.
Roman Kestrel entered first, his bodyguard close behind, the air around them heavy with unspoken tension.
The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls like silent watchers.
On the leather sofa sat a man whose face carried the weight of restless fear. His eyes darted toward the door the moment it opened.
When Roman Kestrel stepped inside, the man immediately stood up, almost stumbling as he hurried forward.
"Elias, so many bodyguards?" Roman said with a half-smile. "You were never the timid type."
Elias' throat bobbed as he swallowed. His voice trembled slightly.
"You don't understand, Roman… Daniel will have me killed. He warned me openly—said I wouldn't survive tonight's dinner."
Roman placed a firm hand on his shoulder, the gesture oddly reassuring.
"My brother, why are you afraid when I'm here?" he said softly. "No one can touch you."
They both sat on the sofa. Roman leaned back, his gaze sharp under the low light.
"Now that I'm here, that bastard Daniel needs to be taught a lesson," he said, his voice turning cold.
Elias' fingers tightened on his knees. "You don't understand… Daniel's been eliminating everyone who stands in his way. I'm next."
Roman chuckled — a deep, confident sound that filled the room.
"Still the same old coward," he said, his tone teasing, but his eyes didn't smile.
The faint hum of the air conditioner was the only thing that dared interrupt the silence that followed.
---
Roman's phone rang, breaking the silence. He rose from the sofa and walked toward the balcony. Opening the glass door between the room and the balcony, he stepped outside.
"Hello, Mr. Roman."
A girl's calm voice echoed through the receiver, yet there was a strange creepiness in her tone that made Roman uneasy.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I know you," she replied with a faint smile in her voice. "But it's not necessary for you to know me. What's important is something else you should be aware of."
"What important thing?"
"The shoes you're wearing have a small device inside," she said coldly. "It's connected to a tiny needle. I have the remote. If I press the button, that needle will inject a special poison into your feet… and you'll be dead within three seconds."
Roman let out a short laugh. "Ha… ha… Try that prank on your ex-boyfriend. He might get scared. But I don't
The girl's voice came again, calm yet chilling. "I know you don't believe me, Mr. Roman. Call your bodyguard from the room to the balcony."
Roman froze. Is she… watching me? The thought sent a cold shiver through him. His face hardened as he shouted for his bodyguard.
Within seconds, the man stepped onto the balcony.
"Now just watch," the girl said — her voice dark and eerie.
"One… two… three."
The bodyguard collapsed to the floor without a sound.
For a moment, Roman felt as if lightning had struck his body. He knelt beside the man — no pulse. No breath.
"What the hell is this? Who are you?" he roared. "You don't know who I am. I could erase you and everyone you know in a single order! This prank will cost you!"
The girl chuckled — a low, terrifying sound. "You'll need to stay alive for that, Mr. Roman."
The fearless man, who had never known dread, now wore the unmistakable shadow of death on his face.
"You want money," Roman stammered, voice trembling. "Tell me—how much do you want?"
Her voice smiled through the line. "I don't want your money, Roman. I want a small favor. Just one."
"Okay—okay. Tell me what."
"Take the pistol from your bodyguard," she said simply. "There's a silencer in his pocket. Fit it."
Roman's stomach dropped. "What? Are you telling me to—kill Elias?" His words came out ragged.
She sounded almost amused. "Wow, you're brilliant, Mr. Roman."
"You're insane. He's my friend. I won't—"
"You're scared," she cut in. "When you pull the trigger there will be no sound. Walk away. Tell the other guards their boss is asleep; don't disturb him. You're his friend—who would doubt you?"
Roman's head spun. The dead weight of his bodyguard on the floor felt like an accusation. "But—"
"Oh," she laughed, soft and cruel, "so you won't kill? Coward Roman—then be ready to die for me."
Silence fell. Roman held the phone like a lifeline and, for the first time, truly realized how small a choice could be.
"Okay, okay — but if I kill him, how do I know you won't press the button?" Roman asked, voice shaking.
She laughed softly. "Mr. Roman, you overthink. It's bad for you. Trust me. My target is only Elias — not you." Her tone was calm, almost tender.
"Get me out of this mess first, then I'll ask who you are," Roman growled.
He returned to the room, face slick with sweat. Elias glanced up. "Why do you look so—" he began.
Roman said nothing. He leveled the gun.
Elias opened his mouth, but the shot came first. The bullet punched through; the crack of the gunshot tore through the quiet of the building.
"Bullshit—there's no way that sounded this loud with a silencer," Roman growled.
Bodyguards barreled into the room. The sight froze them—Elias's blood spreading across the floor, the gun still in Roman's hand.
Thinking fast but panicked, Roman fired again at the nearest guard. The round ripped through the man's forearm.
Shouts exploded. The other guards returned fire. Bullets tore across the room; the building shook with the echo of gunfire.
The bodyguard lying on the balcony suddenly opened his eyes. He stood up, a calm smile spreading across his face—as if everything had gone exactly according to his plan.
With effortless grace, he leapt to the nearby balcony, landing like a trained athlete. Pushing the glass door open, he slipped inside the room. In one swift motion, he tore off his black suit, changed into a white shirt and black trousers, and stepped out.
Taking the elevator down, he walked toward the parking area—his body language calm, composed, almost gentle. He slid into a sleek black car. In the driver's seat sat a short-haired girl, around nineteen or twenty. Their eyes met briefly, and the car rolled away into the night.