The shrill ring of a phone cut through the quiet morning.

Adrian rubbed his temples, his head still heavy from the long, hazy night he could barely remember. He stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror — tired eyes, hollow expression, a man weighed down by guilt and confusion.

The bed behind him was empty. Cassandra was gone.

But her perfume still lingered in the air — sweet, suffocating.

“Damn it…” he muttered, throwing his jacket onto the chair. “What the hell really happened last night?”

Before he could think further, his phone rang again. An unknown number.

He answered, his tone low and tired. “Hello?”

A soft, trembling...