Chapter 3: Black Invitation

The next morning, Petra decided to go to the shopping mall connected to her condominium to buy a new phone. Her old one was still in Rafah’s possession, and she did not have the courage to ask for it back.

The moment she stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, a voice called out to her.

“Khun Petra.”

She turned to see a woman she had never met before. Tall and slender, with strikingly fair skin, she was dressed in understated elegance that spoke of precision and restraint. The woman offered a polite smile before introducing herself.

“My name is Anya. I’m Khun Rafah Witchakornin’s assistant.”

At the sound of Rafah’s name, Petra’s heart began to race.

Before she could stop herself, images from the previous night surfaced unbidden. Rafah’s sharp features. Her calm, steady gaze, capable of placing anyone under her control. Those long, slender fingers that had haunted Petra’s thoughts again and again, even as she brought herself to release. Petra swallowed hard, unsure whether the heat creeping up her neck came from embarrassment or guilt.

“And… how can I help you?” she asked.

Anya did not answer right away. Instead, she extended a matte black envelope.

Petra’s eyes widened slightly when she saw her name written neatly across the front in English. The handwriting was careful and deliberate. It looked like something she should never have received.

“Khun Rafah asked me to deliver this invitation to you.”

“An invitation to where?” Petra asked.

“Black Eden No.4.”

The name alone made her pause. It meant nothing to her. A party, a place, or something else entirely.

“If I can’t go,” Petra asked hesitantly, “would that be a problem?”

Anya’s lips curved into a faint smile, her voice calm and even.

“I would recommend that you go. Not everyone is granted the privilege of entering that place. But Khun Rafah chose you.”

…

Black Eden No.4 was the name of Rafah’s private penthouse atop Élan Vie Residences, a super-luxury condominium overlooking one of the most celebrated curves of the Chao Phraya River in Bangkok. The building had its own private pier and a special elevator that led directly to the top floor.

In Petra’s hands was the pitch-black invitation envelope, along with a single key card. The moment she called to accept, a luxury car would arrive at her condominium to pick her up.

She had not made a decision yet. But Petra knew this was not something she should think through alone.

After buying a new phone, she immediately arranged to meet her closest friend, Tharin.

“Wait. Hold on,” Tharin said, eyes wide. “So that night when you said you were going to rest and then disappeared for hours, you were actually sneaking off and falling asleep in Khun Rafah’s office?”

“Damn, I thought you went home early. I kept calling you, and you never answered.”

“Sorry,” Petra replied. “I was really exhausted that day.”

It was only half the truth.

She told Tharin that she had accidentally fallen asleep in Rafah’s office at the Witchakorn Mansion. She did not tell her what she had seen there.

“Still, that Khun Rafah woman really is beautiful. I’ll give her that,” Tharin continued. “But she’s way more eccentric than I expected. Naming her own penthouse like some kind of sex harem. Who even comes up with a name like Black Eden No.4?”

Petra let out a dry laugh, unsure how to argue. Deep down, she had thought the same thing.

“So what are you going to do?” Tharin asked. “Are you going to meet her or not?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Petra admitted.

Tharin glanced at her, then frowned slightly as a thought occurred to her.

“Wait. Maybe she liked our work. Maybe she wants to talk to you about a long-term project with her foundation.”

“Probably not,” Petra replied vaguely.

She knew, deep down, that this had nothing to do with work. It was far more likely about that night, about what she should never have seen.

But Tharin, unaware of any of it, continued on.

“You should at least go talk to her. Who knows, you might land a long-term contract. Freelancers like us could really use that kind of stability.”

…

“The invitation to Black Eden No.4 has been delivered to Khun Petra. All that remains now is her decision.”

Anya reported calmly as Rafah stood with her arms crossed, gazing down at the street below through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of her office at the Suphakiat Wildlife Foundation.

Rafah gave a slight nod. Anya took it as her cue to leave. Just before the door closed completely, another figure appeared.

Napassorn.

She wore a fiery red satin gown, her favorite color. The fabric clung to her curves, while the back dipped so low it left almost nothing to the imagination.

Napassorn Siwakarn, known as “Phat” among those close to her.

The only daughter of a former Minister of the Interior, she had been raised amid privilege and expectation. Yet she had made every wrong choice when it came to love.

Three months ago, she had met Rafah at the foundation’s fundraising gala. The first night had ended in bed. From that moment on, Napassorn had become nothing more than a temporary bed partner.

But her heart had already fallen too deep to escape.

“If you were going to come to my office, why didn’t you call first?” Rafah said coolly. “I’ve already told you about this, haven’t I, Phat?”

Napassorn swallowed before voicing the question that had been burning inside her.

“Last night, you said you were going to talk to those two girls, and then you disappeared the entire night. What did you do?”

Rafah turned sharply, her expression flat.

“Do I really need to answer that?” she asked. “You should know what your position is.”

The words made Napassorn freeze. Her eyes trembled for a brief moment before she lifted her chin.

“Yes. I know I’m just a bed partner,” she said, forcing a smile through the ache in her chest. “Your friend with benefits.”

“But can’t you show a little concern for me? Last night wasn’t just about you being seen. I was seen too. Don’t you think I deserve to know whether things are settled? Or whether we were recorded?”

“I checked. There’s nothing,” Rafah replied curtly.

“Then why was she in that room?”

“Petra works with my foundation. She was exhausted and fell asleep in there by accident.”

“Petra?” Napassorn repeated, her expression hardening. “You even know that girl’s name now?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Rafah,” Napassorn said, her voice shaking. “You’re not thinking of taking her as another bed partner too, are you?”

“And what does that have to do with you?” Rafah shot back, already turning away.

Napassorn grabbed her arm.

“Rafah. Talk to me. Right now.”

In the next instant, Rafah shook her hand off.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Phat.”

“Why not?” Napassorn snapped. “How many times have we slept together? How many times have I been yours? Why are you being so cruel to me?”

“Because you have no right,” Rafah replied without hesitation. “Stop acting like you own me. It’s irritating.”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Rafah walked out, leaving Napassorn standing alone, her body trembling with hurt and resentment.

Her final shout echoed after her.

“Rafah. That girl will never accept who you really are. No one can accept you except me. Remember that.”

…

That same evening, curiosity finally won. Petra decided to accept Rafah’s invitation.

She stood in front of the mirror in a cream chiffon dress, elegant yet more revealing than she was used to. Her fingertips brushed the hem nervously.

Petra hesitated.

Choosing what to wear tonight was not about having too few options. It was about not knowing what kind of woman she wanted to be when she stood in front of Rafah.

She did not even understand why she was worrying so much. Perhaps it was simply instinct, the urge to look her best when facing someone she admired. Even though that admiration had dimmed, ever so slightly, after what she had witnessed between Rafah and Napassorn that night.

Before long, the luxury car sent by Anya arrived and drove Petra to Élan Vie Residences along the Chao Phraya River.

“This way, Khun Petra,” Anya said, leading her through a private entrance hall before stopping in front of an elevator guarded by security staff.

Turning to Petra, Anya explained, “This is a private elevator. Just tap the key card, and it will take you straight to the thirtieth floor, where Khun Rafah’s penthouse is.”

She gestured for Petra to step inside, but did not follow.

“Welcome to Black Eden No.4, Khun Petra.”

When the elevator doors closed, silence settled around her.

Petra clutched the key card tightly, her heart pounding. When the elevator finally reached its destination, the doors opened to reveal the reception area of a luxurious penthouse, breathtaking enough to feel unreal, like a scene lifted from a film.

And there,

Petra found herself standing inside the world of Rafah Witchakornin.

…