Chapter Four-The CEO's Address

Satera

The cold night air outside The Void Club didn't cool the burn in my cheeks. I stared at the wads of money, the crispy notes Khaid had given me, and felt a dangerous cocktail of relief and utter humiliation. He hadn't just paid for the herbs, he'd paid my rent. He has turned my most immediate, crippling problem into a chilling demonstration of his power. He had bought me.

I gripped the bag tight, repeating the last exchange in my head: “Come supply me your products everyday.”

That wasn't a business deal, that was a leash. He wasn't interested in aphrodisiacs; he was interested in control. He wanted the fearless girl who'd called him out, only now he wanted her dancing to his tune.

“Find it yourself.” The words echoed with his arrogant smirk.

I took out my phone and dialed Bensjasmin. She answered on the first ring, her voice tight. "Satera? Are you safe? I heard they are breaking into houses in your neighborhood. Where are you?”

“I ran into the devil” I admitted, starting to walk quickly away from the club lights. “And I didn't apologize. Instead, I now have a forced daily supply contract with him. He paid the rent, Bensjasmin. He wiped out three months just to make me his new, temporary delivery girl. He bought the two bottles of aphrodisiacs left and overpaid me”

“He paid the rent and overpaid your products? Satera, that’s worse! It means he owns your debt now! You have to run. Go to the train station now, and get out of Belg City.”

“No.”I cut her off. “If I run, he goes after you. He knows where I live. He probably knows where your sick mother is being treated. I have to play his game, at least until I figure out how to get off the board.” I took a deep, shaky breath. "He told me to 'Find it yourself.' I have to locate Khaid Jager's address before tomorrow evening, or he'll know I'm weak."

A beat of silence hung on the line. Then, Bensjasmin’s voice dropped, becoming firm and strategic. “Okay. If you have to play, we play smart. Khaid Jager doesn't use the regular postal service. He lives in The Diamond Heights, the ultra-exclusive estate on the north side. No one gets past the gate, not even delivery services.”

“The Diamond Heights? I can't even afford the bus fare to look at that neighborhood.”

“You have the cash now” she reminded me, her tone practical. “Listen, you can't go in dressed like a street vendor. You need to look invisible, or at least like you belong. I can't help you physically because I have school but here's what you do. Take a cab to the Aethel Gardens shopping center near the Heights. Blend in. Find a service worker. Someone who gets past those gates every day. Like a landscaper, a caterer, a dog walker. Get them to give you intel.”

“Bensjasmin, that’s insane! I have to bribe a landscaper just to know where a proud CEO lives?”

“You have no choice, Satera” she stated flatly. “You have the money. Use it to buy information. Just don't let him see you coming even though he's expecting you”

I ended the call, the plan forming rapidly in my mind. The Diamond Heights. It wasn’t a neighborhood; it was a fortress for the obscenely wealthy. A place where my existence was a mild inconvenience, not a business opportunity. I owe Khaid Jager now, how do I get a proper sleep?

The next day. . .4 PM

I hailed a battered old cab and gave the address for Aethel Gardens. As the taxi rattled through the city, eventually climbing the smooth, pristine roads toward the Heights, the air grew cleaner, and the streetlights turned into elegant lanterns.

I went out to the shopping center,a place of manicured hedges and glass facades that sold $50 coffees. I looked down at my clothes, jeans stained with the faint residue of herbs and a worn-out t-shirt. I definitely did not belong.

First, I needed to blend in. I used some of the rent money, a painful transaction, to buy a simple, inexpensive black dress and a pair of sunglasses from a discount store in the center. I pulled my hair back tight. Still not rich, but at least I looked less like I'd have a restless night and day.

I spent the next two hours observing. The service traffic was predictable. White vans labeled with catering companies. Black SUVs with chauffeurs waiting. But the most promising was a clean, unmarked silver pickup truck with a rack full of expensive-looking garden tools and a single, young gardener who looked utterly exhausted. He pulled up near the dumpster behind the high-end bakery, wiping sweat from his brow. This was my target.

I straightened my dress, took a deep breath, and walked toward him, the wad of Khaid's money suddenly feeling less like a burden and more like a tool. I pulled out a crisp wad of notes, enough to pay my next month's rent and held it loosely in my hand.

“Excuse me” I said, trying to make my voice sound authoritative, like I was the one doing the hiring. “I'm looking for a very specific address in The Diamond Heights. I was told you service the perimeter.”

The gardener looked up, his eyes immediately fixated on the cash. He hesitated, rubbing his dirty hands on his trousers. “Depends on the address, ma'am. We don't talk about the clients.”

“It's the estate of Khaid Jager” I said, keeping my expression neutral. "I need his lot number. I'm delivering a private package and he's not answering his service line.”

The gardener's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. The money was tempting, but the name was terrifying.

‘Khaid Jager?” he whispered, glancing nervously at the surrounding buildings. “Ma'am, you don't 'deliver' to him. You just... don't. He has a private wall inside the main wall. But I can tell you this, it's the house with the black gates and the single, pale lemon tree visible from the north side. It’s Lot 27. It’s the last house on the ridge.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. “Now, please, take your money and forget you saw me. That man... he's not a client. He's a dictator.”

I didn't try to hand him the money. The fear in his eyes was worth more than a bribe. Lot 27. The house with the black gates. I had the location. Now I just had to decide how to approach the devil's door with a bag of herbs and a heart full of defiance. How do I even know if he's home?

Every one of the professional taxis in the estate refuses to drive me to lot 27. Why? Because it's Khaid Jager’s house. Why are they so scared of him?

The audacious man who decided to drive me dropped me five houses away from lot 27. I have to walk the distance myself. My feet are sore and my throat all dried up from the fast- retreating sun. I finally got to the devil's abode and I admit, the evils one do enjoy. I bow to wealth. I was even afraid to knock on the glittery gold gate for fear that my dirty knuckles will stain this expensive beauty but I still have to get this delivered. I knocked once and the gate opened automatically.

I entered and suddenly found myself in an enclosed room. How did I get here? I thought I was supposed to enter into a spacious compound. Why am I looking at the four walls of a colourless room?

“Your name?” I heard a voice that sent chills down my spine.

“Da. .lia Blu. .ey” I stuttered.

“Can’t find a profile. Security breached. Security activated.” The machine's voice continues speaking repeatedly. I can feel the walls closing in on me. My eyes are already getting blurry. Am I going to die in a nameless place?

“How the mighty has fallen” I recognize that voice. It's the voice of my nemesis. Khaid. That was all I heard before I lost the light.