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彡┆4

"good," my father says. "get some rest. tomorrow will be worse."

the call ends, and i drop my phone onto the bed, running a hand down my face.

worse? great. just great.

i sigh, rubbing my temples before glancing at the clock. without another thought, i change into something more comfortable, slipping under the expensive sheets of the bed.

i stare at the ceiling for a moment, my mind replaying everything. the games. the vips. the front man. my father's words.

be polite. be respectful. do not challenge him.

i exhale sharply, turning onto my side.

whatever happens tomorrow, one thing is clear: i need to be ready.

closing my eyes, i let sleep take me.

——————

i woke up and stretched, letting out a deep breath. new day, new luck.

but then reality hit. what the hell am i supposed to do in this room all day? sit around and twiddle my thumbs until the next game starts?

suddenly a knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts.

i grab my golden tiger mask and put it on before opening the door.

to my surprise, a guard in a pink uniform stands there, silent and motionless. without a word, he hands me a letter.

i take it, nodding slightly. he bows his head and turns away, disappearing down the hallway.

closing the door behind me, i open the envelope and pull out the neatly folded paper inside.

the next game will begin at 7 pm. until then, v.i.p.s are free to explore the hotel and its amenities.

i scan the rest of the letter quickly.

apparently, this place isn't just for watching people die - it's a full-on luxury retreat.

    •    fine dining with private chefs
    •    a gym and training area
    •    poker and high-stakes gambling
    •    a spa and massage center
    •    private bars with exclusive cocktails
    •    a shooting range
    •    a cigar lounge

you got to be kidding me. people are out there dying and i can go and get a message? what an irony.

i continue reading the letter and last line stands out the most.

masks must be worn at all times outside of private rooms. no exceptions.

i sigh, tossing the letter onto the nightstand.

so, i have the entire day to kill. the only question is - how do i want to spend it?

why waste my time lounging around with a drink in hand when i could be training?

i tie my hair back, slipping into a sleek black workout outfit. nothing too much, just something that allows me to move comfortably. before stepping out, i reach for my golden tiger mask, securing it in place.

as i walk through the quiet hallways, the vibe of this place gets even stronger. everything screams power - polished floors, velvet drapes, golden chandeliers that cast a rich glow.

when i reach the training area, i pause for a moment, taking it all in.

it's not just some basic gym - it's a fully equipped training facility. punching bags, weights, a sparring ring.

perfect.

i step forward, my fingers flexing as i scan the equipment.

if i'm going to be surrounded by the most powerful, ruthless men in the world, i might as well make sure i can handle myself.

i decide to start with running a bit. so i get on the treadmill and start running really fast. i've always loved the adrenaline of running - feeling free.

i close my eyes for a second enjoying the thrill. suddenly i hear another treadmill next to me.

i turn my head towards the direction of the sound, expecting another vip.

but there he was - the frontman. running next to me.

i clench my jaw, keeping my focus on the treadmill in front of me. my legs were moving fast, my breath controlled, but my mind was anything but steady.

''good morning.'' he says, in a low voice.

i respond by giving him a small nod and then turn my head back.

"not so confident like yesterday anymore, huh?" his voice is smooth, laced with amusement.

i don't respond.

i can feel him watching me, waiting for me to react. but i won't give him that satisfaction. not when my head is already spinning from everything. i just keep running, my feet hitting the belt of the treadmill in perfect rhythm.

he chuckles. "interesting. didn't think you'd be the type to run from things."

that makes me falter for just a second, but i recover quickly.

"not running," i finally say, my voice steady. "just training."

"is that what you call it?" he asks.

i scoff, pushing the speed higher. the last thing i need was to get caught up in whatever mind game he was playing.

but he just keeps running next to me, matching my pace effortlessly, like he has all the time in the world.

and for some reason, that irritates me more than anything.

"i really like your father," he says suddenly, his tone almost thoughtful. "it's a shame he couldn't attend this year."

i glance at him, trying to figure out if he's being genuine or just playing mind games. the frontman never says things without a reason.

"yeah? well, i'm just as good as him," i shoot back, my voice sharp.

"you're feisty. i like that." he says.

i roll my eyes. of course he does. men like him always do - they like the fight, the challenge, the push and pull. but i refuse to be his entertainment.

"i'm not feisty," i correct, my tone firm. "i just don't let people like you intimidate me."

he chuckles, low and smooth. ''i'm not trying to intimidate you."

his words send a shiver down my spine, but i refuse to let it show. instead, i push the speed on my treadmill even higher.

"good," i mutter. "because it wouldn't work."

he lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "we'll see."

____________________

the tension, the push and pull, the way they challenge each other - ugh, it's everything. and something tells me the frontman is way more intrigued than he lets on. let's see who breaks first ;)

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