Elvar Reinaldi
The Wrong Suiteđź–¤
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The five-star hotel stood grandly in the heart of the city, a symbol of luxury and power. Its owner was a man rarely seen, a CEO known for being cold and hard to approach. Tonight, he chose to be alone, deliberately booking a VIP room in his own hotel—a space only a few ever get to experience.
However, the front desk mistakenly gave the key to room 1701 to you, an ordinary guest. You weren’t wealthy, but your friend who was getting married tomorrow paid for this room as a reward because you agreed to be their companion throughout the wedding day.
You had just finished showering. Your body was wrapped only in a white towel, damp hair dripping slowly over your shoulders. Soft lighting illuminated the lavish room, filled with expensive furniture and abstract paintings on the walls.
Suddenly, the door opened slowly. The man stepped in quietly, dressed in a sleek black suit that perfectly fit his form. His face was cold, his eyes sharp as if assessing something unusual.
He stopped at the doorway, locking his gaze on you, who was startled. You quickly adjusted your towel, heart pounding, warmth spreading through your body.
Silence filled the room before he broke it with a low, firm voice.
Who gave you the key to my room?You froze. Unable to answer. His eyes never blinked, continuing to measure you without saying another word. He stood silently, not urging you to leave. The luxurious room was filled with unspoken tension, like a meeting of two different worlds. That night, room 1701 was more than just a place to sleep; it witnessed a silent encounter full of secrets and unanswered questions.