The neon glow of Karachi’s skyline flickered beyond the window of the Royal Inn Hotel, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. The lobby hummed with quiet sophistication—polished marble, hushed whispers, and the faint clink of champagne flutes. But beneath its polished veneer, the Royal Inn held secrets. And tonight, one of them was walking through those very doors.

Her name was Zara—or so she said. Dressed in a velvet emerald dress that clung to her curves, she moved with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she was worth. The receptionist barely blinked as she strode past, her stiletto heels sinking into the carpet with each deliberate step. Escorts in Karachi were nothing new, especially in a place like Royal Inn, where discretion was part of the unspoken contract.

Upstairs, in Suite 407, a businessman waited. Not the usual type—no flashy watch, no arrogant smirk. Just a man with a briefcase full of questions and an offer that couldn’t be refused. When Zara entered, she didn’t smile. She never did. “You requested company,” she said, her voice cool, assessing.

But then, something unexpected happened. The man didn’t reach for her. Instead, he slid a file across the table. A photograph. A name. A past she thought she’d buried.

Zara’s polished façade cracked—just for a second.

“You’re not here for pleasure,” she murmured.

“No,” he replied. “I’m here for the truth.”

And just like that, the game changed.

For in Karachi’s underbelly, where escorts were both shields and weapons, the Royal Inn wasn’t just a hotel—it was a chessboard. And tonight, every move could be the last.