Quick Exit

"Well, fuck. Fuck. FUCK."

Adeline's words failed her, not that she had ever been known for her eloquence or vocabulary despite being in the position where both were sort of expected, if not downright required. 

"Urgh. Fuck."

It was cathartic to swear so freely again. She had spent an entire year pretending to be a lamb so innocent and sweet that she would blush, scandalized, whenever she heard a vulgarity in Micah's presence.

At first, it was easy. They were just acquaintances who didn't meet often. But then they became attached, and started meeting fortnightly, then weekly, then every other day… The odds of slipping up became more and more plausible.

To prevent that, she had altered even her speaking habits in private, becoming more and more like the mask she had been showing Micah.

Now, she didn't have to pretend for that silly man anymore.

"Fuck," she added, for good measure. The empty hotel room seemed to vibe in approval.

A couple of knocks sent her flying back into the pits of self-consciousness again. 'Ah, room service is here. I hope the food runner didn't hear me cursing up a storm.'

Except…

The knocks didn't come from the door, but from the other side of the room…

Adeline spun around in shock, and was confronted by the gleaming glass eye.

Of a clunky camera.

Held in the gloved hands of a human—or humanoid—wrapped in thick winter clothing.

And standing on her balcony.

Adeline screamed.

Instinctively, she grabbed the curtain and flung it, sending it gliding across the sliding doors, putting some much needed distance between the intruder's camera—but not the intruder—and herself.

Years of living under the spotlight had trained her and her priorities well.

And then she fled her hotel room while only wearing her nightgown and slippers.

Not even the soft, ergonomic, softer-than-clouds slippers an heiress deserved, but the disposable, white, more-paper-than-cloth, complementary ones every hotel guest got.

The ones that had absolutely no relation whatsoever to proper running shoes.

Adeline grimaced as her soles all but hit the cold and hard marble floor of the corridor. Her slippers were not even trying to pretend to offer any protection.

Before she could wallow in self-pity, the door beside her room swung open. She flinched, bracing herself for the creep and his camera.

"KEEP IT DOWN, WILL YOU? PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP HERE," spat a pot-bellied man in a stained wife beater and fraying boxers.

He would usually be an eyesore, but now he's a sight for sore eyes. Adeline had never felt so glad to be yelled at before. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your rest, sir! I, uh, saw a cockroach in my room…" 

Her words trailed off in what she hoped seemed like sheepishness.

"A cockroach, you say?" Pot Belly was a lot less hostile now that he had noticed the culprit was a pretty little thing. Her hair might be a crow's nest, but her thin dress made no secret of how svelte her figure was.

"Yes," Adeline nodded vigorously. 'And that's not necessarily a lie.' 

Pot Belly made some guttural noise between "humph" and "uh-huh" to signal that he was still listening when he was not.

"I am heading to the front desk to make a complaint," Adeline added, pretending to not notice her neighbor's increasing—and roaming—interest.

"You do that," he mumbled distractedly. "This hotel has been getting complacent."

"Yes, I do that," Adeline replied with conviction, ready to leave.

Pot Belly withdrew back to his room reluctantly, his eyes never leaving her legs.

If Adeline had just stayed a second longer, she would've seen Camera Creep again, this time appearing on the balcony behind Pot Belly.

But she had not, so all she heard was "BASTARD!" and the shattering of glass and expensive photography equipment.

Adeline smiled.

As the flesh-on-flesh sounds of someone being plummeted within an inch of his life echoed down the hallway, her smile widened.

'Today is my lucky day,' she practically sang in her head. 'Notifying the front desk of a fight as a passer-by will draw less attention than complaining about a paparazzo showing up outside my room.'

She was almost willing to let Pot Belly ogle her legs again as thanks. Almost.

'At least he has good tastes, unlike a certain someone who is stupidly obsessed with huge tits even though they collapse right after the ripe old age of thirty.' 

That last part was categorically untrue—as the daughter of Duchess Elyth she's very much aware how some women continued to have gravity-defying figures well into their forties and fifties—but that's precisely why she was salty.

The memory of Micah and his preferences further soured her mood, but it did give her an idea of what to tell the hotel staff manning the front desk to liven up their day.

"Cor-co," Adeline squinted at the receptionist's chest, "Cordelia… There's a pervert. A peeping Tom." It was satisfying how fast Cordelia's expression turned from boredom to alarm. 

Adeline took that as a cue to continue her yarn spinning. "He was out prowling on the balconies, snapping photos of guests. I don't know how many girls he had…" She shuddered, leaning into her disheveled look. "I ran out when I saw him. I think he tried to follow me, but the man staying at Room 707 spotted him…"

Confident that she now commanded Cordelia's full attention, Adeline burst into tears. "I think they're fighting! Please stop them! It sounded so violent. I didn't dare look!" She let her breath hitch before wailing, "I don't know what to do! Please, do something before one of them kills the other!"

Cordelia barked some instructions to her fellow staff before gently placing a towel across Adeline's trembling shoulders. "Our security guards are on their way to break up the fight. Please accept our sincerest apologies that such a horrible incident has disrupted your stay. We will move you to one of our presidential suites. It offers maximum privacy, and its balcony is not near any other."

As if reminded of her earlier violation, Adeline sobbed harder. "The photos…"

"We will make him delete them, Ms," Cordelia replied firmly.