Nyxlim Hotel was high-end, but not obnoxiously so. The kind of place that catered to tourists with too much money, celebrities who came to Paradise for recording sessions at Nyxlim Studios, actors doing voiceover work, musicians laying down tracks that would top charts they'd never actually listen to.
The hotel and the studios belonged to the same entity—one of those vertical integration plays that billionaires loved so much. Own the talent's accommodations, own where they work, own everything in between.
Smart business.
Boring to think about and he didn't care about it either.
Phei rang the bell.
The door clicked open with a soft, mechanical whisper that seemed far too ordinary for what waited beyond it. It didn't swing wide after the locks gave away with a soft click, but instead, he heard the deliberate retreat of bare feet across thick, expensive carpet—slow, measured steps moving away from the threshold.
An invitation without words, huh Goddess?
