"Manager Thompson?"
Grayson was taken aback—he hadn't expected to run into Derek Thompson here. Derek was a manager at the family's Western branch. The last ti Grayson had been invited by Sebastian Caldwell, who heads the Western branch, to dine at the Celestia Grand Hotel, all the Western branch's managers were there, including Derek. Since every manager in the Western branch had introduced themselves to Grayson that night, of course he rembered Derek.
"Young Master Grayson, you actually rember !" Derek almost jumped out of his skin with excitent. After all, even though they'd t briefly at the Celestia Grand, the difference in status between Young Master Grayson and himself was like comparing a backyard drainpipe to the Pacific Ocean. There was no reason Grayson should have rembered him! Yet here was Grayson's voice, calling him "Manager Thompson," and Derek's heart swelled with pride.
"Why are you here, Young Master Grayson?" Derek asked, trying to keep his composure.
"Oh, I stayed out too late and couldn't make it back to campus," Grayson replied, matter-of-fact. "I ca here to check myself in. Funny coincidence, though." He didn't ntion that he was with Indie, Jace, Lila, and Ryan.
"Having you stay here is an honor, Young Master Grayson," Derek said, bowing his head respectfully. "Rest assured, Maple Creek Inn & Suites is officially open to the public, but it's also one of our family's primary guesthouses. Whenever family mbers co to Cleveland on business, they usually stay here."
Grayson nodded. "Makes sense."
"Since you're here, Young Master, let upgrade your room," Derek continued. He turned to the two front-desk clerks and said, "Please hand the keycard for the Imperial Suite."
The two young desk clerks stared in awe. They both held Manager Thompson in the highest regard. He was not only their hotel's general manager but also frequently ferried around in luxury cars. Rumor had it that Derek was a person of considerable influence in Cleveland. They'd even witnessed firsthand the day a street gang showed up to stir trouble at Maple Creek Inn & Suites—by the next morning, they saw the head of a major local gang personally apologizing at the hotel entrance to Manager Thompson. Ever since then, no gang dared cause a disturbance at Maple Creek. And if the two desk clerks ever left their purses on the counter while napping in the break room, not a single cent would ever go missing. No one dared steal.
A few weeks later, they ran into those sa small-ti gang mbers out on the street—and every last one of them was missing a thumb. That's how unshakeable this hotel's reputation was. Manager Derek Thompson commanded respect far and wide.
But now Derek was acting reverently toward this young man—like he was royalty. The clerks could hardly believe the sight: they'd never seen Derek show such deference. And on top of that, he'd called this guy "Young Master." What a title! The girls—hearts pounding and palms sweaty—realized this young man's status must be off the charts.
"Here you go, Manager Thompson," they said, hands trembling as they handed over the card.
Derek took the keycard, as if handling a treasure. "No need, Manager Thompson," Grayson waved the card in his hand casually. "I'll stick with the standard room this ti. I'll check out the Imperial Suite next ti I visit—heh heh."
"Ah...all right," Derek said reluctantly. After eting Grayson, he'd learned that this young master was down-to-earth and unpretentious—a far cry from the stereotypical aristocratic brat. At the Celestia Grand dinner, Grayson had even packed up a box of fruit to take ho. That modest gesture had impressed Derek, so he had no choice but to accept Grayson's wish. "We'll see you to your room, Young Master Grayson."
As the two desk clerks escorted Grayson upstairs, their expressions were a mix of awe and reverence.
On the second floor, the corridor's plush pure-wool carpet and ticulous décor radiated luxury and refinent at every turn. This truly was an exceptional family hotel.
Grayson found his room just beside the staircase—conveniently located. He opened the door and beheld a king-size feather bed with a soft, inviting duvet. A warm, amber glow spilled from the bedside lamp, illuminating floor-to-ceiling drapes in a sumptuous shade of gray. As he gazed around, a sudden spark of desire flickered within him.
He thought of Indie and Jace back in their room, and of Ryan and Lila in their own. What were they doing right now? It didn't take much imagination—Lila and Ryan were almost certainly wrapped up in passion on a bed just like this one.
A pang of frustration knotted Grayson's chest. This mont should have been his triumph—but Ryan had snatched it away. And Lila, after all the humiliation and teasing she'd given him—why should he stand by and let that happen? Wasn't it his right to expose the truth? To make Lila tremble, co to him in apology, shut herself inside his room, strip bare the long, perfect curves of her legs, and let him, in a raw release of his fury, claim her so she could feel the consequences of her own mistakes?
Alas, it was too late. By now, they'd long since done the deed. Grayson sighed, turned off the lamp, and slipped beneath the covers, trying to push the bitter feelings aside and drift off to sleep.
But then faint thumping footsteps sounded in the hallway—rapid, hurried, as if soone were running. Thud—sothing hit the wall. Thud—more running, spliced with frantic shouts. The hotel's impeccable soundproofing muffled the exact words, but the panicked tone was unmistakable.
Soon those sounds reached Grayson's door—his room was right next to the stairs, after all. He heard the footfalls coming down the stairs.
"Lila, Lila!" Ryan's voice rang urgent and breathless.
That had to be Lila racing ahead of him. What were they doing spooking through the hallway at this hour? Grayson debated whether to mind his own business. But sothing in his gut refused to let him sleep. He got up and opened the door.
The hallway was empty. Further down, Grayson could see the stair landing where Ryan's voice ca from.
"Lila, you okay? It's freezing out here—let's go back inside."
"That's it! Get lost!" Lila's voice cracked with panic, heartbreak, and a kind of raw hysteria.
"What's wrong? We were fine! After you went to the bathroom, why did you bolt like that?" Ryan's tone was weary, discouraged. It was clear he didn't know why Lila had fled. He sounded exasperated—his pants were already off in the room he'd opened, yet she'd run away?
"Heh heh heh, Ryan, you shaless bastard!" Lila scread, her voice reverberating down the corridor. She had truly snapped. "My dad told the truth—your family didn't help us at all!"
Lila was on the verge of losing her mind. She'd always assud Ryan Walker had pulled so strings to help her family. She didn't really love Ryan himself, but his family's influence seed to smooth her path. She'd convinced herself a relationship with him was worthwhile. Tonight, when they sent for a room, she'd been prepared to take that final step with him.
She went into the bathroom first upon arriving in the hotel room. No sooner had she closed the door than her phone rang—it was her father calling.
"Dad, what's the result?" Lila asked, heart pounding. She knew that before going into the theater earlier, her father had gone to see Ryan's father. It'd been well over two hours now—surely the eting had taken place. And her father must have told Ryan's father about her and Ryan. This call had to be good news.
But...
Sure enough, when Charles arrived at the Walker residence carrying a gift, Mr. Walker was stunned. He had no idea his son was taking credit for a favor he hadn't done. The last ti Ryan had called to ask his father, his father had clearly told him the Walker family hadn't helped. So the fact that Ryan brazenly claid that credit himself—there was no way Mr. Walker would let that slide. He might have stepped in last ti just to soothe his son, but this ti, there was no question. Charles had walked right into an awkward trap.
At that mont, Charles froze—then his first thought was of his daughter. He imdiately called Lila, and that was what triggered her freak-out in the hallway.
Hearing her words, Ryan, too, was stunned. "Are you kidding ?" he thought. "This is a disaster—so close to slam-dunking it!"
Lila's mind swirled. Looking at Ryan's face only confird her fury. She pivoted and stord off, clothes forgotten, slamming her sleeve into a frad painting on the wall. Slam—crash! The picture shattered into shards on the floor.
She didn't stop to care. Over the broken fra, Lila bolted for the exit.
"Stop right there!" bood a resonant, authoritative voice that carried an unmistakable weight. The sound halted Lila in her tracks.
Standing before her was a middle-aged man—broad-shouldered, with a commanding presence.
"Manager Thompson!" The two desk clerks appeared behind him, eyes respectfully bowed, their voices in unison.
But Derek didn't look at the clerks. He focused on Lila. "Ma'am, you just smashed one of my art pieces. You cannot leave the hotel."
"Pffft—what's one stupid painting?" Lila scoffed. She whipped out her wallet and tossed a handful of bills onto the desk. "Consider yourself paid."
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