My Best Friend and Boyfriend Plotted My Death in Abandoned Hotel

My hair stood on end instantly, and I said firmly,

"No. I can’t sleep in a place like this—even if I force myself. If you want to stay, go ahead. I’ll find another place.”

Samantha fell silent, lips twitching as if she wanted to argue. Before she could speak, her boyfriend Bernard cut in sharply,

“Cherie, don’t be dramatic. You’re not even staying alone. We’re sharing a room, while Samantha has to stay by herself—and she’s not complaining. Why are you acting so fragile?”

“Samantha knows how to live smart,” he added with a scoff. “You’re the one wasting money like it’s nothing. No wonder you don’t understand life.”

Samantha tried to smooth things over, her voice light,

"Oh come on, Cherie's just used to a pampered lifestyle. It's normal she’s a little picky. How about this? Let’s stay here just for tonight, and I’ll find something else tomorrow morning.”

With both of them pressing me, I reluctantly agreed.

I never expected that night would be my last.

Trying to make me more comfortable, Samantha took us to a luxury suite within the abandoned hotel—one that still had silk sheets and working lights. She even handed me a pair of new silk pajamas, saying they were a gift. But I still felt uneasy. A suffocating sense of dread clung to me like smoke.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me.

Bernard noticed my fear and tried to comfort me. He checked the doors and windows, even dragged the table to block the entrance. Then he sat by the bed and whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t sleep until you do.”

His presence calmed me a little. Eventually, I drifted off.

But when I woke up in the middle of the night… I was alone.

A chill ran down my spine. My heart pounded. Something was wrong.

Then, suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the door.

I froze in place, fear seizing my body. Trying to calm myself, I whispered, “Bernard? Is that you?”

The knocking stopped. A beat of silence. Then, a voice I knew all too well answered from the other side.

“It’s me.”

Relieved, I opened the door without hesitation.

But the moment it swung open, a large hand wrapped around my throat and slammed me into the wall.

The man wasn’t Bernard. He was tall, muscular, and his face was twisted in rage.

Before I could scream, he slit my throat with a knife.

“Bitch. Finally caught you.”

Blood spilled down my chest as I staggered back, hands clutching my neck, struggling to breathe. I collapsed onto the cold floor, life slipping away. The last thing I saw was his face—familiar, but I couldn’t remember from where.

After my death, the investigation went nowhere. The hotel had long been abandoned. No security cameras. No witnesses.

I thought Samantha and Bernard would help the police, fight for justice, mourn me.

I was wrong.

They live-streamed my funeral.

On camera, Samantha cried crocodile tears.

“I warned her not to stay in an abandoned hotel. But she was stubborn—said she wanted the thrill. Now look what happened…”

“She always wanted to take advantage of everything. Once, she faked finding hair in her takeout just to get a refund. I guess karma catches up eventually.”

Then Bernard joined the smear campaign.

“She was never faithful. Had a bunch of guys behind my back. The murderer was probably one of them.”

Their lies went viral. They raked in sympathy, donations, and even a hefty compensation payout.

They got rich off my blood.

While my parents—humiliated, attacked online—lost everything. My mother died from grief. My father followed soon after.

Rage burned through me like wildfire.

Now, standing at the gates of that same cursed hotel, I watched as Bernard reached for my suitcase.

“Cherie, what are you hesitating for? Just go in—I’m exhausted.”