The hallway of Heaven’s Feel Brothel faded behind me as I approached the elevator, its golden doors gleaming under the dim chandelier light. The gold and cream walls of the corridor glowed softly, the air cool.
"Sighhh" My boots scuffed the plush carpet as I entered inside.
The weight of the day ahead—especially the wedding—pressing on my mind. I pressed the ground floor button, the elevator humming and I muttered to myself, my thoughts spilling out in a low grumble.
"Today, I have to attend that bitch Sara’s marriage too. Finally, I’ll be free from her blackmail and her way of doing things to me."
As the elevator began its descent, my face twisted in disgust, Sara’s voice echoing in my head, sharp and demanding. I mimicked her tone, my voice dripping with mockery. "~I want to enjoy... until I’m married~." I snorted, leaning against the elevator wall, the cold metal grounding me, the faint *whir* of the descent filling the space, the chandelier light fading above.
"The fuck does that even mean? Stupid bitch," I said, my words sharp, my jaw tight, the memory of her manipulative games souring my mood, her blackmail a chain I’d carried too long, the wedding a final hurdle to freedom. "Hope she deletes all those videos and images as well." I said it aloud to myself.
I sighed heavily, the *sighhh* escaping me, my shoulders slumping, the elevator slowing, the morning light waiting below.
My thoughts softened, a faint smile breaking through as Aeri’s face flashed in my mind, her bright smile, her gentle voice, her warmth an anchor in the chaos of this life.
"Can’t wait to meet my angel-like Aeri," I said, my voice low, the elevator’s hum a quiet backdrop, the image of her soothing me, her presence a promise of something better, the wedding’s shadow lifting for a moment.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft *ding*, and I stepped into the main hall, the spacious room bustling with morning activity, its marble floor gleaming slightly under the sunlight streaming through tall windows. The air was sharp with the scent of cleaning solution, the faint clink of glass and the rustle of brooms filling the space, the brothel’s nightlife mess being swept away.
Cleaning ladies moved through the chaos, their aprons stained, their hands busy with rags and buckets, wiping down tables, sweeping up shattered glass, and scrubbing the floor where last night’s wildness had left its mark.
I walked past them, my boots clicking on the marble. One of the maids, her face tired but warm, looked up from her work, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her broom paused, a bright smile breaking through her exhaustion.
"Good morning, Ezra," she said, her voice cheerful despite the dark circles under her eyes, her apron streaked with dirt, the glass shards glinting in her dustpan. "How have you been?" She asked.
"Good morning, I am doing good. Got one marriage function to attend. Ehe" I replied, my voice calm, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
"Ohhoo That’s great. You’ll get to eat lots of good foods and stuff." She said then her shoulders slump in exhaustion. "I wonder when was the last time I got to attend any marriage. Somebody please get married already!!" She said, throwing tantrum like a child.
"Hehe..hope somebody gets married and invites you fast." I said and my eyes flicking to the mess around her, the broken glass, the spilled drinks, the scuff marks on the marble, the hall a battlefield of last night’s chaos. "Had a rough night, I guess," I said, nodding at the glass pieces, my tone casual, my hands in my pockets.
"Yeah... it was hectic yesterday night," she said, her voice tired but steady, leaning on her broom, her smile fading slightly, her eyes distant for a moment, the cleanup a task that never ended.
"Ohh?" I said, my brow lifting, my curiosity piqued, my stance shifting, the other maids moving around us.
Another maid chimed in, her face also etched with fatigue, her rag dripping as she wiped a table, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement. "A woman was here with her boyfriend, and later her husband crashed in, and a fight erupted," she said, sighing, her eyes rolling, her hands pausing, the glass shards clinking in her bucket.
"Ahh..now that explains the mess here." I said raising my eyebrows. I can’t even imagine what these waitresses have to deal with.
"Yeah. Weird woman." She said. "Atleast pick one and dump the other but she was trying to balance both and confessing her love to both. We are like what the fuck even-" She said sighhing and irritated.
"Damn, I see," I said, my voice low, a faint grin breaking through, my hands still in my pockets, the paper crinkling, the story vivid in my imagination.
"I missed a good fight scene then" I said chuckling.
"You surely did Ezra." The first maid said waving her hand in the air.
The fight a spectacle I’d missed, the red room’s seclusion keeping me out of the loop, Elizabeth’s fire a contrast to this raw chaos.
"We were like what should we do? Should we call the police and other guests were just placing their bets on who will win..so tiring it was to see all that," The first maid said, her proud smile returning, her broom moving again, sweeping glass into her dustpan, her eyes bright despite the exhaustion.
"Thankfully, Jonathan came at the right time and stopped them all," she added, her voice warm, her smile widening, the mention of the caretaker grounding the story, the man who kept this place together, my next stop before home.
"Well, yeah, he’s the caretaker in the end," I said, smiling with them, my voice calm, my hands slipping out of my pockets as I prepared to leave.
"Speaking of Jonathan, where is he?" I asked, my voice casual, my eyes meeting the maid’s, her apron streaked with dirt, her broom paused, her tired smile warm from our talk about the night’s drama.
She pointed toward a door at the far end of the hall, its dark wood polished, a brass nameplate glinting with "The Boss Room" in neat letters.
"There," she said, her finger steady, her eyes flicking to the door, "Got lots of papers to manage as the year end is coming close."
Her work resuming as her broom swept another shard into her dustpan, the morning light catching the glass, the day moving on.
"I see..alright, thanks," I said, my voice calm, a faint nod to her.
"You’re welcome. Have a nice day," she said, her smile brightening, her voice warm despite the exhaustion etched in her face, her rag wiping a table, the brothel alive with its morning cleanup, the world outside waiting.
"You too," I replied, my voice low, not turning back, my eyes fixed on the office door, my boots clicking on the marble.
I reached the office door, I knocked twice, the knock, knock sharp in the quiet, my voice steady as I called out, "It’s me, Ezra," my words clear, my hand resting on the knob, "Can I come in?" I asked.
"Yes, come in," Jonathan’s voice came from inside, deep as if he is in between of something.
I turned the knob, the clack of the door opening and I stepped inside, and closed the door behind me, the office’s white glow taking over
Jonathan, sat behind the desk, his broad shoulders slumped, his face just like maids here filled with exhaustion as he sighed heavily, his thick fingers rubbing his temples. In front of him are lots of papers cluttered around.
"Hello, Jonathan," I said, my eyes meeting his.
"Hellooo, Ezraa... my maann..." Jonathan replied, dragging out the words, his voice deep and playful, a tired grin breaking through his exhaustion, his hands dropping from his face, his chair creaking as he leaned back.
"That was a long one," I said, chuckling, my voice light, a smile tugging at my lips.
"Bwaha.." Jonathan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound, his hand waving dismissively, "Nothing, man. Just all this paperwork is more hectic than managing drunk people at our brothel," he said, his voice thick with mock complaint, his grin widening, his fingers tapping a stack of forms.
"I see... hehehe," I said, laughing, my voice warm, my body relaxing, my hands slipping out of my pockets.
My laugh shared with his humor and for some reason it felt relief, the brothel’s grind a bond that we all had to face together.
"Come, come, sit. Don’t stand like that," Jonathan said, gesturing toward the chair in front of his desk, his voice inviting.
"Thanks," I said, sitting down, the chair creaking under me, my hands resting on my knees, my voice calm.
The papers silent lay in front of us, Jonathan’s tired grin a welcome, the brothel’s morning alive but distant, the red room a memory.