𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓐𝓼 𝓘𝓬𝓮 [𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖊]

18

It was midnight, though she wasn't certain how she knew. There were no clocks in her luxurious bedroom, and her Patek Philippe watch had disappeared along with the clothes she was wearing. And the enigmatic note Rosé had left her.
It shouldn't bother her. It was just a hastily scrawled note, with no signature, no tender words. But it was part of her, all she had, and she wanted it.

She sat up in bed, strangely alert. The drugged tea had worn off, leaving her with only a little fuzziness. She slid out of bed and stood, a little weak but steady enough.
She glanced down at her clothing. More of the lacy clothing Kai seemed to provide for all his guests, willing or unwilling. If she went to the drawer she'd probably find the same absurd collection of Thongs and Demi bras.

She crossed the darkened room slowly, but with each steps he felt a little stronger moving toward the bank of windows she hadn't noticed before. The house was on a bluff overlooking the ocean, but which ocean was a mystery. There were boats, but without glasses she couldn't even begin t guess their size, much less their nationality, and she turned away, frustrated. She could feel a burning, knotting feeling in her stomach, and for a moment she was afraid the drugs in her system were reemerging in a particularly unpleasant fashion.
And then she realized she was hungry. Starving, in fact. She couldn't remember how long it's been since she'd eaten. Kai had said she'd been in an induced coma for thirteen days, which meant her sole sustenance had been given intravenously. She reached up and touched her hair. It was clean, as was the rest of he body, and she wondered if the impassive Seulgi was responsible for that. She'd be as efficient and impersonal as anyone, but she didn't like the idea of anyone messing with her while she was baked and unconscious. She was a little picky about such things.

No mirrors, not even in the adjoining marble bathroom. Clearly this was no place place for the model-perfect women Kai usually entertained.
It didn't matter, as long as she was clean she could manage just about anything.

She heard someone approaching, and she dived back into bed, pulling the covers up around her again and closing her eyes she knew instinctively that it wasn't Kai; even without looking she could feel the miasma of evil that emanated from the man she'd been determined to save. The sick creep who'd ordered her death.

Why the hell did everyone want to kill her? First the attack in upstate New York, then Rosé Park, then Bobby. At least with Rosé it had been nothing personal, more a matter of simple expediency, the polite bitch. And in the end she hadn't done it, no matter how practical and simple it was.
An now good old Kim Jongin wanted her dead, and his henchman would doubtless be ready to carry out his orders at once because...

Why? Was she a victim of bad timing over and over again? Or maybe it was the fact that she never took the smart or easy way out, throwing her lot in with Kim Jongin. She knew there was something dodgy about him, her instincts had screamed it while her brain was trying to reason with her. And yet she'd gone blundering ahead.
And no one deserved to be executed by a vigilante Committee, no matter how bad they were. Or so she thought, rescuer that she was.

Big mistake. Was he coming to kill her now? If so, she could, and would, put up a hell of a fight, even though she hadn't even the slightest chance of winning. She'd never been the kind to give up, even when it was the smart thing to do.

She recognized the voices, Kang Seulgi and Jane conducting a muted conversation in a language she couldn't begin to understand. And then Seulgi spoke to her.

"Ms. Kim? Are you awake?"
She considered faking it, but she was far to observant. Besides, she didn't want to be there with her eyes closed and suddenly find her throat cut.
But no, she wouldn't do that. Kai had told her not to leave a trace, cutting her throat while she lay in bed would be a messy business.