Page 27 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

6

June

The building was as run-down as I remembered—maybe even worse. Then again, how do you measure the decay of a place that was already a dump to begin with?

What the driver said wasn’t entirely true. Some people did live here. Despite the city’s obsession with ghosts stories, there were always a few who didn’t buy into the whole haunted-building myth. But superstition wasn’t the real reason people stayed away from Kam Sha. No, the truth was far simpler—and far more dangerous. Staying here without permission could cost you an arm, a leg, or even your life.

I led the way into a dimly lit hallway, the flickering fluorescent light above humming faintly. At the end of the corridor, we stopped in front of the building’s only working elevator—if you could call it that. The up and down buttons were grimy, worn smooth by years of use. As we waited, the silence settled heavy around us, broken only by the distant grinding of machinery and the muffled noise of the city outside.

For once, Wendy was quiet. And oddly enough, I missed her sarcastic commentary.

With a loud, metallic groan, the elevator finally arrived. Its dented steel door screeched open, revealing a cramped, yellowed interior. The air inside was thick and stale, carrying the unmistakable stench of urine and cigarette smoke.

Wendy wrinkled her nose, tiptoeing in like she could avoid the invisible filth. “Ugh. Someone really couldn’t wait.”

I stepped inside, turning to face the rusted control panel. Rows of faded buttons glowed weakly under the dim light.

“Which floor is it?” she asked.

“Eighteenth.” I pressed the ‘17’ button, feeling Wendy’s gaze burning into me.

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Then why⁠—”

“Just trust me.”

The door groaned shut, trapping us in the eerie silence.

Wendy groaned in agreement, watching me carefully.

“Are you nervous?” I should have been. But I wasn’t sure I had the luxury of fear anymore.

I was nervous—but admitting it wouldn’t help either of us. Instead, I shrugged, lifting my shoulders to their highest point before letting them drop. I repeated the motion a few more times, as if it could shake off the growing tension crawling under my skin.

Ding.

The elevator shuddered to a stop at 3A. The metal doors slid open with a reluctant groan. There was nobody on the other side. The doors closed and the elevator shuddered again as it started to climb.

“What was that?” Wendy whispered, her voice tight.

“It always does that.” I kept my tone flat, unwilling to let her hear the unease creeping in.

She flinched, rubbing her arms as goosebumps spread across her skin. “Don’t your people think the number four is, like, super unlucky?”

“I wouldn’t know.” I lied.

Wendy fell silent again, but her hand didn’t stop moving—the faint sound of her boba straw scraping against plastic filled the heavy air.

Ding.

This time, we both jumped. My heart slammed against my ribs.

The doors creaked open at 13A—a floor the elevator had never stopped at before. A chill swept through the air as the gap widened, and this time, the doors didn’t close right away.

They stayed open… too long.

“I think I see someone.” Wendy’s voice barely rose above a breath.