Chapter 1 - The Gathering Storm
The silence at the front desk was deafening. Patricia’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. The screen in front of her didn't just display a reservation for Suite 904; it bore a unique, gold-coded digital seal reserved exclusively for the Vance Group’s highest leadership.
"I... I found it, sir," Patricia stammered, her voice dropping an octave, the condescending smile completely erased from her face. "There seems to have been a... a glitch in our primary system. I apologize for the oversight."
Karla stepped forward, her smirk vanishing as she glanced at the screen. The realization hit her like a physical blow. Even if they didn't know Ethan was the ultimate owner yet, a gold-coded corporate reservation meant he was a high-level executive who could get them fired with a single phone call.
"Mr. Vance," Karla said, her tone doing a desperate 180-degree turn into sycophancy. "Please allow me to carry your backpack. And those roses—let me have them sent to a florist immediately to be revived and placed in your suite."
Ethan didn't move. He kept his arm securely around Lily, who let out a soft, innocent sigh against his neck, completely unaware of the wolves turning into sheep around her.
"Do not touch the roses," Ethan said. His voice was not loud, but it possessed a freezing weight that made both receptionists freeze. "And do not touch my bag."
He turned his gaze to Lupita, the housekeeping maid who had risked her job to speak up for a stranger. The hardness in Ethan's eyes melted into genuine warmth. "Thank you, Lupita. Your kindness tonight means more than you know."
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"Just doing what's right, sir," Lupita said with a humble nod, though she could feel the thick tension radiating from her superiors.
Before Patricia could hand over the electronic key cards, the heavy glass doors of the lobby slid open. A man in a tailored three-piece suit strode in, flanked by two security guards. It was Marcus Sterling, the General Manager of the Grand Regent Chicago. He was rushing toward the desk to prepare for the arrival of the board members for tomorrow's gala, entirely unaware that the man who signed his paychecks was already standing there in a faded leather jacket.
