cold Sweat (Mafia Romance) Girlxintersex

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Charlotte POV

I washed my body, attempting to remove the entirety of a single day—one awful fucking day. As I sat on the couch, with a mug of mint tea to ease my anxiety, I stare out at the most nerve-racking wreckage of the restaurant. The blaze had faded to a scattering of flame. What was I going to do? I had long forgotten about Mr. Milestone's passing. He had died, and he would not be returning to open the restaurant the next morning. He was most certainly in hell, or in this instance, shortly to be all over Japan.

I couldn't stop thinking about a fresh death—Kyle Hummock's death, or, if he was successful, her death.

I sighed and took a small, cautious sip of the hot liquid. Everything in me was pushing to get up, catch a cab to the Hamilton hotel, and warn her. I couldn't out-talk Kyle, but I may be able to convince her—yeah, right. She is a boss; who am I to advise an executive not to murder someone if she wants to?

I bit my lips because I could sense her dominating presence even when she wasn't there. She must be a drug herself. I tossed the mug down and got up. However, glancing down at my robe, I knew I couldn't simply go into a five-star hotel and appear like a pauper.

I had to sell it like I was a rich, spoilt brat. I reached for my luggage and tossed it onto the bed. I opened it and tossed my clothing, knowing precisely what I was looking for. It was to find my dress. When I left home, I didn't carry much since I didn't need to. I go home from time to time when I need a particularly hot bath or a well-cooked supper. I fled home to avoid the nagging, and living at a motel with everything from a weirdo next door to insects seemed preferable to staying with my parents.

My black cocktail dress. It wasn't much of a dress, but it was enough to let me pass as a rich kid, which was all I wanted.

While putting on the dress, I see it's become a little shorter, and I might not pass as a privileged kid, but rather as a call girl—a slut. My fingertips traced over the half-riffle sleeves while running over the sheath material. I matched the black dress with some imitation silver jewelry and my lone pair of heels to complete my appearance. I chose to leave my hair alone and apply only a minimal layer of makeup to my face.

"Why are you doing this again?" I questioned myself. The clothing was eye-catching, as was my physique in it.

I was virtually skin and bones, with the only curve on my waist. But this wasn't a beauty contest; it was about not losing another life—if I could prevent it. A part of me wished to visit her. To see what she was all about, and my so-called boyfriend's threat to harm her provided the ideal pretext.

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I hadn't taken a genuine breath since my day began till it was almost over—was it? The Hamilton Hotel was all the way over on Crystal View, which was a forty-minute cab ride and $200 subtracted from my inexpensive purse. When this ended, someone are going to give me my money back.

If Kyle wasn't so foolish and Isami wasn't a sociopath, I'd be two hundred bucks richer. I decided they should both donate $100 with interest.

My initial impression of the enormous and stately hotel was simply: woah. Everything was so much nicer and different than the motel I was staying at, and even if there were insects crawling around, they would still have class. Everyone looked elegant, including the door guys and maids wandering around.

I grabbed inside my handbag, pushing aside the money I needed to return home, assuming I made it. I didn't feel like I'd make it through the night.

I pull out the piece of paper, hoping it will be helpful. I needed to act quickly without appearing anxious. But on the inside, I was hysterical.

I strode over to the main desk. There were two receptionists working, and unlike the motel receptionist, they did not appear unhappy or on drugs. Their names were pinned on their shirts rather than on a worn name plate. Instead of a gloomy expression, they wore a charming professional grin.

"Hello, how can we help?" The lady welcomed. The man stands silently, his smile still intact.

"I'm meeting with someone. They are in this room number."

My sweating palm pushed the paper towards them, and the youngster grabbed it. He arched an eyebrow and briefly examined my clothes, and I realized they had mistaken me for a call girl. "I'm here for vital business." I murmured when I couldn't endure their stern glare any longer. At least they don't give me this judgmental look at the motel, and I can't wait to burrow back into the garbage.

"We notice that Ms. Isami Awaga is in that room, right?" He inquired as his mouse clicked and his keyboard typed, both of which were pleasurable sounds. He then grabbed for the phone and declared something.

"You are welcome to go up."

I offered a grin. Thank you.

"Just walked down at the end of the hall and clicked floor 6." He gave instructions.

I nodded. My back turned, and I heard them laughing. I rolled my eyes and flung my middle finger back at them, not looking around.